Authors: Benita Brown

Tags: #Newcastle Saga

A Dream of her Own (3 page)

BOOK: A Dream of her Own

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‘She’s never been like a servant!’ Mrs Sowerby’s outburst was so vehement that both her son and Constance turned to look at her.

‘What do you mean?’ Gerald seemed genuinely surprised. ‘As far as I know she has always performed her duties satisfactorily.’

‘You are a fool, Gerald.’ His mother’s tone was scathing. ‘Always taken in by outward show. Have you never noticed her manner?’

‘I’m sure she’s always appeared to be quite properly modest and reserved.’

‘Supercilious and secretive more like! And her voice - it is not the voice of a servant!’

‘No ... you’re right ...’ Gerald’s murmur of agreement betrayed surprise. He looked at Constance speculatively and then, suddenly, he walked over to her and lifted up a strand of her hair. ‘And this hair...’ He let the silky curls fall and placed his knuckles under her chin to raise her face. ‘And these eyes ... are they blue or violet?’

Constance held her breath. She was unnerved to find herself so close to him and her eyes widened with alarm as she found she couldn’t avoid his amused gaze. She tried to turn her head away but he began to stroke the line of her jaw and the soft flesh underneath with the back of his fingers. She felt a pulse throbbing in her neck as she cringed at his touch, but pride made her raise her chin and hold his stare.

‘And this soft skin,’ he said. ‘You are quite right, Mother. I wonder why I have not bothered to notice before how very unlike a servant Constance is.’ Gerald’s face mottled with sudden heat. His breath smelled of brandy.

‘That’s enough!’ His mother’s voice was sharp but Gerald took his time to drop his hand and step back. He was laughing but, when Constance saw the look in his eyes, she felt a frisson of fear.

‘Constance, I have decided that you need not wait until tomorrow.’ Mrs Sowerby’s voice was cold. ‘Go up and collect your belongings and leave now.’

‘Now? But, until I am married in the morning, I have nowhere to go!’

‘That is not my concern. You have no more duties here, there is no reason to stay.’

She stared at the doctor’s wife, aghast. Mrs Sowerby had never been easy to work for but, as she was neither pleasant nor considerate to any of the servants, Constance had never taken it personally. Now she saw that the woman disliked her intensely and was enjoying venting her spite.

‘Take nothing from this house that you did not bring with you. If you do, I shall know where to find you. And be sure that you leave by the servants’ entrance. Dr Sowerby will go down to lock up at eleven o’clock; you must be gone by then.’

Chapter Two

‘Fancy throwing you out at this time of night - doesn’t she know that’s wicked?’

Nella stood shivering in her nightgown, clutching a shawl around her skinny shoulders with one hand and holding a candle with the other. The light gleamed on her pale, bony face and cast a cruelly exaggerated shadow of her crooked body on the sloping wall of the eaves behind her.

‘If she does, she doesn’t care.’

‘Well, she should. All them improving texts she makes us read. What about “Do unto others as you would they should do unto you”? How would she like it if
you
threw
her
out on the street?’

‘You don’t think Mrs Sowerby believes in any of that, do you, Nella? That kind of thing is only to keep us in our place. “Be obedient unto your masters”, that’s all she’s interested in!’

Constance pulled off the cheap cotton uniform dress and left it lying on the floor where it fell. Quickly, for the attic room was freezing cold, she put on one of her own blouses and a blue serge skirt. Then, she started to pull open the drawers at her side of the shared chest and toss the rest of her belongings on to her narrow iron bed.

Nella’s small features were taut with worry. ‘But, what will you do? Where will you gan?’

‘Hush, Nella, not so loud. If we wake the others, Mrs Mortimer will have something to say to us in the morning.’

They looked at each other. ‘“Noisiness is considered Bad Manners” ’ they intoned, each trying to imitate the cook-housekeeper’s attempts at refinement.

Nella giggled. ‘Old Mortimer’ll be fast asleep by now, tucked up with her bottle of mother’s ruin. And, besides, come the morning, she’ll only hev me to scold. You won’t be here.’

‘Thank goodness!’

Constance stopped what she was doing and they smiled at each other. The prospect of freedom was marvellous and Constance knew that Nella was pleased for her, even though she was going to be left behind.

The moment was short-lived. ‘But you heven’t told me what you’re gannin’ to do - or where you’re gannin’. Will you gan to John’s?’

‘No. His mother would be shocked if I turned up there without an explanation the night before the wedding.’

‘Why can’t you tell her what has happened?’

‘Nella, you know I’ve never met her, but John has told me that, in spite of my circumstances, he’s convinced her that I will make the perfect wife for him.’

‘Of course you will. I knew the minute that I set eyes on yer ma that she was a real lady!’

‘And me? Surely I’m just another workhouse brat?’

‘Like me, you mean? The difference is that I was born there.’

‘Oh, Nella, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘Nivver mind. Anyone can see that you were born to better things. What happened wasn’t your fault.’

‘That’s just what John said! He told me that when we first met he would never have guessed that I was in service and, when I told him, oh, Nella, it made no difference to him!’

‘He fell in love with you!’

‘When I tried to tell him about what had happened he said it didn’t matter. He said it was obvious that my family had fallen on hard times - like many another - and that he thought all the more of me for keeping my standards.’

‘Spoken like a true gent!’

‘But now, if I tell John’s mother that my mistress has thrown me out, she might begin to question her son’s judgement.’

‘I suppose so ...’

‘I’m sure of it. And, besides, her health is not good. I wouldn’t want to start my married life by upsetting my mother-in-law.’

‘No, that wouldn’t do, especially as you’re all gannin’ to live together. Ee, Constance—’

‘Hush, don’t fret. I’ll go to John’s friend’s house in Fenham; his parents are away but his sister, Rosemary, should be there.’

John’s friend Matthew Elliot had agreed to collect Constance from the Sowerbys’ in the morning and take her to the church in his motorcar, but she had never been invited inside the grand house overlooking the Town Moor and she had no idea whether she would be welcome there now in such strange circumstances. Nor would she tell Nella that Rosemary Elliot was three years younger than she was and, at fifteen, was hardly old enough to be a proper chaperone. She did not want her friend to worry.

‘Now, please help me to pack my things. And hold that candle steady; you don’t want to set light to the place.’

‘Divven’t I just!’

Nella set the candlestick down on top of the chest of drawers next to the one Constance had brought up, which was almost spent. She took another from their precious hoard and lit it, dribbling wax into an old saucer and then securing the candle.

‘Let’s hev plenty of light for a change!’ She grinned.

There was no gaslighting on the top floor of the Sowerbys’ house, and Mrs Mortimer doled out candles to the maids’ rooms parsimoniously, but tonight Nella didn’t care about saving her ration.

Nella and Constance’s friendship had begun when both were children in the old workhouse on Arthur’s Hill. Nella had been born there and couldn’t remember her mother, who had died when she was very young. When Agnes Bannerman and her daughter had arrived, obviously used to a better way of life, Nella had watched them with envious fascination. Constance and her mother had been aware of their silent little shadow and one day Agnes had invited Nella to sit with them at table.

After that she had attached herself to them like a stray kitten. But she was tough and wise beyond her years. She taught them the tricks they needed to survive in such a place and, in return, received the affection she craved. She would have died for them. Nella had told Constance time and time again how lucky she was that the Sowerby family had taken them on together.

She had tried to hide her dismay when Constance told her that John had proposed to her, and now she was doing her best to be cheerful as she helped her friend pack her clothes into a large flat cardboard box.

Constance smiled at her. ‘If that’s the last of my petticoats, you can help me fold my wedding outfit.’ She held up the dove-grey grosgrain dress and examined it critically.

Nella clasped her hands together. ‘Ee, Constance, it’s lovely!’

‘It was when my mother first wore it and, even then, it wasn’t one of her best.’

She sighed. John’s Uncle Walter owned a chain of gentleman’s outfitting shops, and John worked in the main branch in Grey Street, in the heart of Newcastle’s smart commercial district. He was always smart and well groomed. Constance didn’t want him to be ashamed of her tomorrow, especially as his uncle would be giving her away.

‘Yes, well,’ Nella said, ‘yer ma was a lady and she had good taste. You’ve altered it to suit the fashion of today and that bit of lace you’ve added makes all the difference.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘You’ll look more elegant in that old dress than Mrs Sowerby could ever look, for all the money she spends on herself!’

‘I hope you’re right.’

A moment later, Constance put the lid on the box and secured it with string. She had not had much to pack. The clothes she had worn when she came here six years ago at the age of twelve were long outgrown.

For the past year or two she had been altering and updating those of her mother’s clothes that she had managed to beg. Just before Constance’s twelfth birthday, Agnes Bannerman had died, worn down and made ill by nearly two years of the harsh workhouse regime. She had been small and slight just like her daughter. If she had been a larger woman, the matron would probably have kept her clothes for herself.

Nella suddenly cried, ‘Ee, Constance, I’ll miss you!’

‘I’ve explained to you where John’s house is, and you know you can come and see me on your days off. I want you to.’

Constance meant what she said, even though she had never told John about her friendship with Nella. She had met him on one of her solitary walks on her afternoon off and John thought she was all alone in the world. He didn’t seem to care that she had no family and, indeed, he didn’t seem to want to know about her past. He was so good-hearted - surely he wouldn’t mind if Nella visited now and then?

Constance took hold of Nella’s hands. They were red and work-roughened, but her grip was firm. Constance knew that her friend’s misshapen, undeveloped body held great reserves of strength.

Now Nella’s eyes were shining. ‘You’re so lucky. You’ll be mistress of yer own house!’

‘Well, strictly speaking, John’s mother will still be mistress, although he has explained that she will be willing to give up most household duties and responsibilities to me.’ Constance smiled, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. ‘But I hope you don’t think that’s why I’m marrying him - for a house.’

‘Of course not! You’ve told me. John is clever and kind and handsome!’

‘He’s not just handsome, he’s - he’s absolutely beautiful! Oh, I just can’t explain ... He’s like a painting in the art gallery! When you meet him, you’ll see what I mean!’

Nella’s eyes were round and wondering. ‘You really love him, then?’

‘Of course I do! What a funny thing to say!’

‘Divven’t take me wrong - but you’ve nivver said much about the way you feel. You’re very close, always have been. You know that, divven’t you?’

BOOK: A Dream of her Own

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