A Place Called Home (7 page)

‘I suppose so. It's what I was told.'

‘Then you should make the most of it.' Susan arranged the paper and kindling and struck a vesta. Flames took hold and soon the fire was roaring up the chimney. She stood up, shaking the dust from her apron onto the hearth. ‘I suppose I'd best start bringing up the hot water, Miss . . .' She put her head on one side, eyeing Lucy curiously. ‘What's your name?'

‘I'm Lucy Pocket and I'm ten, nearly eleven. How old are you, Susan?'

‘I'm twelve, going on thirteen, if you must know.' Susan straightened her mobcap, which was on the large side and had fallen over one eye as she worked. ‘Watch the fire, and don't let it go out or I'll be for it.' She stuck her mean little face close to Lucy's. ‘And if I gets it in the neck I'll make you sorry you was born. I'll be back in a while.' She sauntered out of the room, leaving Lucy alone once again in the echoing silence of the fourth floor, with only the occasional hiss and spit of gas escaping from the coal for company. She curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, glancing nervously into the dark corners of the room, but gradually as the warmth seeped into her chilled bones she began to relax and the shadows seemed less menacing. Mindful of Susan's threats, Lucy kept adding coal to the fire, nugget by nugget. She was wary of the young tweeny, and she was taking no chances. Life on the streets had taught her how to stand up for herself, but she knew nothing of this strange world, seemingly dominated by servants. Eventually the sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Susan and another girl who, in answer to Lucy's question, said she was Martha the scullery maid.

‘You shouldn't speak to us,' Susan said with a sly grin. ‘You got to learn the ways of the gentry and treat us like dirt.'

‘Why would I do that?' Lucy demanded.

‘Because we're the lowest form of life.' Susan's cat-like eyes sparkled with malice. ‘We aren't even supposed to look at you if you happen to come across us going about our work. We're supposed to be invisible.'

‘Where do they keep the bath?' Martha asked plaintively. ‘I ain't never been up here afore.'

‘Look for it then, stupid.' Susan pointed to two doors on the far side of the nursery. ‘Use your loaf, girl, and have a look.' She sighed and shook her head, leaning towards Lucy and lowering her voice. ‘She's a bit soft in the head. They say her dad used to bang her head against the wall to stop her crying when she was a baby and it addled her brains. That's if she had any in the first place.' She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Have you found it yet, Martha?'

‘It's a bit dark in here, Sukey.' Martha's voice wavered and broke on a sob. ‘Will you bring a candle? I'm afraid of bogeymen.'

Susan rolled her eyes and sighed, but she lit a candle and went to Martha's aid. ‘You can't see for looking, you daft cow. What's that in the corner?'

‘I can't see that far, Sukey.'

‘You're blind as a bat, girl. You need specs. Give us a hand and let's get this done; then we can go downstairs and get a bite to eat. I'm bloody famished.'

Eventually, after several trips downstairs to fetch hot water, the zinc bath was filled and Lucy had to suffer the indignity of being bathed under the watchful eye of Mrs Hodges, who bustled into the room bringing a pile of clean towels. Susan was not the gentlest of souls, and she seemed to take pleasure in scrubbing Lucy from head to foot with unnecessary vigour. She was overly generous with the soap, and when Lucy complained that it stung her eyes Susan poured rapidly cooling water over her head, half drowning her.

The final insult was when Mrs Hodges raked a fine-toothed comb through Lucy's mop of curls. Her eyes watered but she was determined not to disgrace herself by crying. She eased the torment by imagining herself bathed in warm sunshine, floating on a fluffy pink cloud in a celestial blue sky.

‘There, that's done.' Mrs Hodges rose to her feet. ‘You'll have to wait for your clothes to dry, Miss Lucy. Susan will bring you your luncheon when she's finished emptying the bathtub.'

‘Can't I come downstairs, missis?' Lucy asked in desperation. She had seen the look that Susan gave her as she scooped the scummy water into a large enamel pitcher. ‘I don't mind eating in the kitchen, and can I have my dog back, please.'

Mrs Hodges stared at her as if she had just sprouted two heads. ‘No, you may not on both counts. I never heard of such a thing. You've got a lot to learn, Miss Lucy. You'll remain here until you're fit to be seen or until Sir William sends for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

‘Yes, missis.'

‘You address me as Mrs Hodges.' She rounded on Susan, who had barely stifled a chuckle. ‘Get on with your work. I want that bath taken downstairs and scoured clean, and when you've done that you can make up Miss Lucy's bed.'

Lucy knew from the look on Susan's face that she had made an enemy.

Susan said nothing when she eventually brought a tray of food to the nursery, but her tight-lipped silence held more menace than a tirade of words. Lucy thanked her politely, but the soup was cold and there was barely a slick of butter on the slices of bread. She found a spider floating in the water jug and there was a sprinkling of salt on the slice of apple pie instead of sugar. She sighed and fished the spider out of the water. She was too hungry to be fussy and the soup was tasty, although she suspected that it would have been even more delicious had it been hot. She was used to eating dry bread and the smear of butter was a treat in itself, as was the apple pie, even with the addition of salt. She cleared the plates and now that her belly was full she felt more optimistic, and began to formulate a plan. When her clothes were returned she would creep downstairs and look for Peckham, and when the house slept she would make her escape and go home. It was as simple as that.

But first she had to endure Susan's sly taunts while she made up the bed and attended to the fire. ‘You won't last a week here,' was her parting shot. ‘The master will see you for what you are, guttersnipe. You'll end up back where you belong and I'll say good riddance to bad rubbish.'

Lucy had bitten back a sharp retort, and she had so far managed to remain dry-eyed, but now her eyes were moist and she might have given way to tears had she not heard Mrs Hodges' stentorian tones and the softer replies of another woman. The door had barely closed on Susan when it opened again. Mrs Hodges breezed in, followed by a small lady who was carrying an overly large carpet bag.

‘Miss Appleby has come to measure you for some new clothes,' Mrs Hodges announced with a finality that did not invite argument.

Miss Appleby smiled nervously. ‘I took the liberty of bringing some garments that I had ready made, Mrs Hodges.' She opened the bag and took out a petticoat trimmed with lace, two pairs of drawers and a tartan merino dress. ‘These were made for a child of ten who succumbed to scarlatina before the order was complete.'

Mrs Hodges recoiled, staring at the garments in horror. ‘They should be incinerated, Miss Appleby. We don't want disease brought into the house.'

‘No, no, Mrs Hodges. They were never worn by the poor girl. She sickened after the order was almost complete, but was too ill to have a final fitting.'

Lucy looked from one to the other. Neither of them had spoken directly to her and she was beginning to feel that she must be invisible.

‘Stand up, Miss Lucy.' Mrs Hodges moved aside. ‘Try them on for size.'

Lucy rose from her chair but she was reluctant to stand naked in front of strangers.

‘It's all right, my dear,' Miss Appleby whispered. ‘I'm used to seeing my clients in a state of undress.' She held up the petticoat, shielding Lucy from Mrs Hodges' critical gaze as she swopped the towel for the undergarment, and then she stood back, surveying her work with a satisfied smile. ‘It's an excellent fit, Miss Lucy. And now for the unmentionables.' She handed her a pair of drawers.

Lucy put them on without argument. It was the thought of rescuing Peckham and setting off for home that made her compliant, and she stood very still while Miss Appleby slipped the frock over her head and did up the tiny pearl buttons at the back of the bodice. ‘My dear, it could have been made for you,' she said happily. ‘What do you think, Mrs Hodges?'

‘Very fine, indeed.'

Lucy could tell by Mrs Hodges' tone that she considered the outfit far too good for a girl from the streets, but Miss Appleby was beaming with pride as she tied the scarlet silk sash around Lucy's waist. ‘I've got your measurements now, Miss Lucy, and I'll work on the order as soon as I get home. Mrs Hodges has supplied me with a list of your needs.'

‘Sir William wants only the best for his granddaughter,' Mrs Hodges said with barely disguised disapproval in her clipped tones.

‘Yes, of course. I do understand.' Miss Appleby closed her bag with a snap of the lock. ‘Nothing but the finest will do.'

Lucy waited until she was alone again, and when their footsteps died away she held out the skirts of her new frock and did a twirl. If only Granny could see her now. She tried to imagine her grandmother's expression when she walked into the attic room dressed like a young lady. The only problem now was to find her boots. They had been spirited away together with her clothes, and she would have to wait to put her plan in action. But she would walk barefoot back to Hairbrine Court if she could not find them. She glanced out of the window at the darkening skies, wishing that night would come quickly.

Supper was brought to her by Susan, who thumped the tray down on the table in the window and left without saying a word. Lucy did not bother to thank her this time. If Susan wanted her to behave like one of the toffs then that's what she would do. She ate ravenously. The food was delicious and like nothing she had ever tasted in her life. Feeling full and rather sleepy she settled in a chair by the fire, biding her time.

Martha sidled into the room to collect the tray. She glanced nervously at Lucy. ‘Is it all right to take it, miss?'

Lucy nodded her head. ‘What's going on downstairs?'

‘I dunno what you mean, miss.'

‘What are the servants doing now?'

‘They're having their supper in the servants' hall as usual, miss.'

‘And the master?'

‘Lawks, I dunno, miss. How should I know what he's doing? I'm just a slavey sent to pick up your tray, and I'll get it in the neck if I don't hurry back.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hinder you.' Lucy eyed her warily. ‘Do you know where they got me dog? He'll be scared without me.'

Martha hesitated in the doorway. ‘He's with the master's animals. They got a big kennel in the back yard. I daresay they'll eat your one for their supper.' She left the room, and Lucy could hear her giggling as she made her way towards the back stairs.

‘That settles it,' Lucy muttered, jumping up from the chair. ‘I'm leaving this drum and taking me dog. We're going home.' She hurried after Martha, following the sound of her as the slavey chattered to herself all the way down several flights of uncarpeted stairs to the servants' domain. Martha disappeared into the kitchen and Lucy dodged past the open doorway, heading towards the back of the house where she hoped to find Peckham. There were doors on either side of the long passageway and she became disorientated. She blundered by mistake into a room with a pungent smell that she recognised as boot polish, and sure enough there were shoes lined up in pairs awaiting the attention of the hall boy, but hers were not amongst them. She hesitated for a moment, peering out of the door to see if anyone was coming, and having satisfied herself that the servants were all fully occupied she snatched a pair of boots that must have belonged to one of the younger maidservants, but were now hers. She put them on and they fitted, more or less, but equally as well as the ones she had been wearing when she arrived. Soundly shod and filled with renewed energy she felt ready for anything.

She had to struggle in order to reach the top bolt on the back door, but eventually she managed to wrench it open and she stepped outside into almost complete darkness. The sound of barking led her to the brick-built kennels, and Peckham's white coat shone like a beacon as he jumped up and down, recognising her instantly. Sir William's dogs, a yellow Labrador and a bouncy cocker spaniel, kept a wary eye on the mongrel. What he lacked in size he made up for in spirit and it was clear that he had established his position in the pecking order. Lucy opened the gate and he leapt out, barking ecstatically and running round in circles of sheer delight. She scooped him up in her arms. ‘Hush, now, you silly boy. Keep quiet until we're well away from here. We're going home.'

She had hoped to escape through the yard, but the gate was padlocked and the walls were too high to climb. The only way out was to go through the house and she retraced her steps, holding Peckham close. ‘Please don't make a sound,' she whispered as she tiptoed through the maze of passageways, heading for the back stairs which would take her to the entrance hall. She had to dodge out of sight several times as servants hurried to and fro, but after several close encounters she emerged through the green baize door, and at the far end of the corridor she could see the hall lights blazing. The house above stairs was like a different country, far away from the stuffy heat of the kitchens and the seemingly endless toil of those who served their master. It was eerily quiet as she crept towards the pool of light where the passage opened out into the marble-tiled vestibule. She could see the front door and she broke into a run, but Peckham was suddenly alert and he wriggled free, leaping from her arms, barking frantically. She was about to remonstrate when someone caught her by the scruff of her neck. ‘And just where do you think you're going, miss?'

She uttered a cry of fright and Peckham flew at Bedwin, sinking his teeth into the pinstripe material of the butler's trouser leg. Bedwin did not loosen his hold on Lucy as he hopped around on one leg, trying to shake the dog off, and a liveried footman appeared as if from nowhere. He tried to catch Peckham but the dog was too quick for him and avoided all attempts at capture.