Part 6 (1/2)

'I'm sorry, Father. I'd like to do all those things, but not yet. All I really want is to enjoy Hyndburn whilst I can. And I am enjoying it believe me, even if I'm not laughing my head off all the time.'

George sighed.

'I understand, Stephen. It's entirely up to you. We don't want to push you to do anything you don't want. In actual fact, though, one of the reasons why I suggested London for a week was because your Uncle Paul's arriving today, so your mother informed me this morning. Evidently he rang last night and said he'd be down this afternoon. I told Jessica that he could at least ask if it would be convenient that he come, because I know that he isn't your favourite person. I was quite annoyed when Jessica told me.'

Stephen pulled out a packet of Woodbines from his pocket. He lit one, raising one eyebrow at his father. 'So Uncle Paul's coming, is he? Yes, you're right he's not my favourite person. Far from it and I don't know how you put up with all his visits. He's a sponger and I hate the way Mother kowtows to him. She seems to forget anyone else exists when he's here.'

George frowned. 'Yes, I know. But they've always been close. Twins usually are and if it keeps your mother happy, I don't mind. But I do mind when it puts people out and this time it has.'

'Oh, don't worry about me,' Stephen said. 'I can keep out of his way. Hyndburn Hall's a big place.'

When his father had gone Stephen got up from his chair and stubbed his cigarette out on the ashtray. He went to stand by the window, looking out onto the gardens and well tended lawns of Hyndburn. His father had been right about his uncle. Stephen despised him and he knew that his father had no great liking for him, either. His uncle was a leach!

Paul and Jessica de Lacey came from an aristocratic though impoverished family. Like Jessica, Paul was a sn.o.b and expected all to defer to him, was chagrined when Stephen and George did not. Stephen thought his father was far too easy on Paul, and it annoyed him that George had made Paul manager of one of their Manchester mills (misguided generosity), paying him an exorbitant wage, which Paul did little to earn.

Stephen walked back into the dining room and poured himself another cup of tea. He craved tea. That seemed to be all he could stomach. He was parched all the time, his mouth as dry as a bone in a desert when he awoke in the mornings. So it was tea and of course, his cigarettes, which he reached for a dozen times a day.

From his seat he could see that the roses had reached full bloom, the fallen petals creating a carpet of colour. Fallen, like so many of his friends, he thought sadly. d.i.c.ky Malone, Teddy Brownlow, Buffy Tenant: dying on some lonely field in Flanders. He stared across the gardens to the distant hills of the Pennines. His heart contracted. This might be the last time he ever saw this view and he tried to imagine never coming to this place again, or of seeing his family.

He shook his head to rid himself of the morbid thoughts and turned his mind instead to the impending arrival of his uncle. He put up with Paul for Jessica's sake, but each time he saw Paul de Lacey his dislike increased. However large the Hall, it wasn't large enough for the two of them.

He was grateful, too, that young Ray had been packed off to some cousins in the Lake District. He'd just about got to the end of his tether and had been ready to kick his brother in the backside. The boot was what Raymond needed and right on his spoilt a.r.s.e! After the episode with Gertie Wicklow his father had insisted that Raymond be sent to relatives immediately. Thank G.o.d, Stephen thought, and lit another cigarette. He'd just have another cup of tea and a cigarette and then catch up on some long overdue correspondence

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Leah followed Mrs. Walter's trim figure down the unfamiliar corridor. It was all so strange. How many other servants had done this over the years she wondered? It was quite dark, although a gas lamp shone at the far end and suddenly Leah thought she saw a shape in a long white robe holding a candle flitting across the corridor at the far end. She blinked in astonishment and it was gone.

'What was that?' she said.

'What?' Maud turned to stare at her.

'Oh, nothing, sorry Mrs. Walters,' Leah blushed. She must be imagining things again. Her mother was always telling her she was 'fey', whatever that might mean!

At the end was a narrow, uncarpeted flight of stairs. Maud stopped at the bottom as a dark shape appeared at the top and they both waited as a long thin man descended.

'It's Mr. Grimsby,' Maud said to Leah. 'This is Leah and I'm taking her to see Miss Fenton,' Maud said to the descending man.

Long thin legs in black, was all Leah could see for a moment, then a long body and a long thin face. 'So this is Leah?' He was so tall that Leah had to tip her head back to see him properly. He was like beanstalk! She nodded her head shyly.

'Kettle's just boiled Alf, if you want a cup of tea. I'll be back in a minute after I've got Leah settled in.'

'Thanks Maud, I could do with a cuppa.' Mr. Grimsby nodded at Leah and then walked off, like a two-legged spider.

'Mr. Grimsby's from London, that's why he sounds a bit different like,' Maud explained as they made their way up the stairs. 'He was with the mistress before she married Mr. Townsend.'

Leah listened in silence as Maud chattered on, trailing a little way behind. She was exceedingly nervous, in spite of Maud's attempts to make her feel at home.

They went down another corridor of the first floor, which led to the back of the house. It had dark green carpet and Leah's clogs sank into the thick pile. It was like another world, she thought, her wondering eyes taking in the obvious luxury, from the rich carpets and embossed wallpaper, to the ornate lights (and electric on this floor, not gas she noticed).

Another flight of stairs and they went up these and along a narrow corridor until they came to a door at the end. Maud knocked. The door was opened by a tall, slim, middle-aged woman in a long, dark gray skirt and white blouse b.u.t.toned to the neck and leg of mutton sleeves. Her brown hair was drawn back in a severe chignon, but to Leah's relief she was smiling kindly at her. Leah had met Miss Fenton at the interview but had not really taken much notice at the time.

'Ah, Leah,' she motioned her into the room. 'I've been expecting you,' she continued, eyeing Leah speculatively. She nodded at Maud, 'thank you Mrs. Walters. Leah will be all right now.'

'I'll get back to my cooking then,' Maud said. 'Will you be down for your morning tea as usual?'

'Yes, yes, we'll both be down at ten thirty, thank you.'

'Right then, I'll be on my way.' Maud gave Leah a quick smile and then turned and hurried back down the corridor.

Leah stood timidly and Miss Fenton closed the door and turned back to Leah. 'Don't look so worried, my dear. We'll have a little talk first, shall we?'

Leah nodded. She didn't know what to say and Miss Fenton must think she was daft.

They were in a cosy sitting room, also carpeted, although this carpet was not quite as luxurious as the other carpets. The wallpaper was in a bright, flowered design and two cretonne-covered easy chairs were set on either side of a fireplace. A small fire burned in the hearth, for although it was still summer the warmth had not penetrated the thick stone of the Hall.

Miss Fenton went to sit on a straight backed chair at a round table in the centre of the room. She indicated that Leah sit on the other one, thinking how small Leah looked for fourteen.

'You know, of course, Leah that you are on trial for a month?' Leah nodded and this time managed to whisper.

'Yes, Miss Fenton.' She was still in awe of this woman and her upper cla.s.s accent didn't help at all. She sounded like a real toff!

'Yes, well, I'm sure there won't be any problem there, but you will be working in the kitchen for a week until the new maid starts. Then you'll come to me and help me with the sewing. From what I've heard, Leah you like sewing.'

'Oh, yes I do, Miss Fenton. I love it.' Leah's eyes glowed. Miss Fenton stared. She'd never seen such lovely eyes: such a lovely blue and those long lashes.

Miss Fenton glanced at Leah's hands. They lay in her lap, one hand clenched tightly over the other. Putting out her hand Miss Fenton gently entangled the fists and lifted both onto the table. First she looked at the palms, then turned them over and studied the back of the hand, the nails in particular. Neither was particularly clean, but she noticed the delicate bone structure and the long slim fingers.

'I do insist on one thing, Leah.' Leah looked concerned, 'no, no, not to worry, but you must keep your hands and nails meticulously clean when you're sewing. You'll be handling fine muslins and so on, often white, so you can see that your hands need to be clean. Come,' she rose and beckoned Leah to a wash basin and jug on a stand in the corner. 'Wash your hands now. And clean those nails with that small brush. We can't have you seeing Mrs. Townsend with dirty hands now, can we?'

Leah blinked. She had to see the mistress? No one had told her this. Now she was more nervous than ever and she dropped the nailbrush and let the small hand towel fall on the floor as well, her hands were shaking so much.

Miss Fenton noticed Leah panic.

'Don't worry so much Leah. Come. Look in this room. I'm sure this will cheer you up.' She went to a door on the far side. Leah gazed in delight when she entered. Miss Fenton smiled, pleased at Leah's response. 'Yes, it's a brand new Singer and this is our sewing room.'

'Oh, it's lovely,' Leah couldn't control her pleasure. She'd seen one of those sewing machines in the Co-op and never in her life had she thought she might use one. 'You'll learn to use it, too, Leah; now come. We'd better go and see Mrs. Townsend.' Leah's delight evaporated slightly, but her initial nervousness had gone.

She couldn't wait to start sewing on that new machine. It wouldn't seem like work at all and even that week in the kitchen, well, she could put up with that for that short time. And she'd been thinking she'd rather be in the mill! She must have been mad. Wait till she told Janey and her Mam about the Hall. She liked Miss Fenton, too and if it hadn't been for that Gertie Wicklow and that meeting on the drive she'd be over the moon.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Had anyone had the temerity to ask Paul de Lacey his opinion of his job as manager of a Manchester mill, he would have replied without compunction that it was 'a sodding bore'. He hated it, although was absent more often than not, relegating the work to Bill s.h.i.+elds, the supervisor.