Gypsy (11 page)

‘I see.’ Mrs Bruce nodded. ‘Tell me, if you didn’t have Molly, would you like to go to America?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Beth exclaimed, her eyes brightening. ‘It sounds such a wonderful place. I often daydream of playing the piano in a big hotel.’

‘You play the piano?’

Beth smiled shyly at her surprise. ‘Yes, though I’m probably rusty now because we had to sell ours when Mama died. I play the fiddle too. Sam managed to save it in the fire. I like that best, but Mama called it Devil’s music because they play the fiddle in low ale houses.’

Mrs Bruce smiled. She had heard someone playing jigs on a fiddle on many an occasion but she’d never guessed it was coming from the coach house. She didn’t think it was Devil’s music either; it was gay and bright. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?’ she asked. ‘It’s such a wonderful accomplishment.’

‘I thought it might sound like I was boasting. Servants aren’t supposed to do that.’

‘I would never have thought it boastful, and I would love you to bring your fiddle over here sometime and play for me.’

The way Beth’s eyes lit up made Mrs Bruce smile. ‘And don’t you stop dreaming or planning for your future,’ she went on. ‘I made the mistake of always putting duty before my own desires and ambitions, and because of that I missed out on marriage and children. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.’

‘What wouldn’t you want to happen to Beth?’

Both Mrs Bruce and Beth turned their heads in surprise on hearing Mrs Langworthy’s question. They hadn’t heard her come down the stairs to the basement. She looked stunning in her apple-green silk dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves and her hair arranged in sleek, fat curls on the top of her head.

‘Beth was just telling me that Sam is dead set on going to America, and I suspect she really wants to go with him,’ Mrs Bruce said.

‘I can understand that.’ Mrs Langworthy nodded. ‘It sounds such a wonderful, exciting place. But don’t go rushing off just yet, Beth, I’ve just got used to having your help. And seeing this little one every day!’ She stood by the perambulator looking down at Molly adoringly. ‘She is just the most perfect baby. I wish she’d wake up so I could cuddle her.’

Mrs Bruce could feel her mistress’s raw longing for a child as she leaned over Molly. When she first married Mr Edward she used to say she wanted at least six children, and she was so strong and healthy that Mrs Bruce had expected it would come about in the fullness of time. But it hadn’t, and as each year passed it seemed less likely.

Molly woke and stretched. On seeing Mrs Langworthy, her face broke into a wide smile and she lifted her arms to be picked up.

‘She’ll be wet and spoil your dress,’ Beth said in alarm.

‘As if I care about that!’ Mrs Langworthy laughed and eagerly scooped the baby up. ‘So, little Molly, it must be nearly your dinnertime,’ she said. ‘What is it to be today?’

Molly was busy playing with Mrs Langworthy’s necklace, and tentatively tried to chew it.

‘Cook saved some of the lamb stew from last night for her,’ Mrs Bruce said. ‘She’s such a joy to feed, I’ve never seen her refuse anything.’

‘Could I feed her?’ Mrs Langworthy asked.

Beth couldn’t understand why her mistress would want to do such a thing, but she readily agreed. ‘You’d better put an apron on, though, she’s a bit messy,’ she added.

Mrs Bruce busied herself with her duties, but made a point of going in and out of the kitchen as Mrs Langworthy fed Molly. To her surprise the mistress looked entirely at ease with the baby on her lap, spooning the food into her greedy little mouth. Yet even more amusing to watch was Beth, for as she sat on the opposite side of the table to the mistress, her mouth kept opening and shutting in time with Molly, and every now and then her hand would move involuntarily as if unable to believe Mrs Langworthy could scoop uneaten food from around the child’s mouth and pop that in too, the way she did.

Her mistress clearly picked up on Beth’s tension. ‘I have had some previous experience,’ she said with a gay little laugh. ‘I used to feed my younger brothers and sisters regularly. I just haven’t had any encounters with babies or small children since I married.’

‘You are really good at it,’ Beth said admiringly. ‘I was scared stiff of Molly at first. I’d never even held a newborn baby before, much less fed and changed one.’

‘I must try changing her too,’ Mrs Langworthy said, her face all aglow. ‘Babies are much more agreeable to take care of than grumpy old men.’

Mrs Bruce turned away so that neither Beth nor her mistress would see the tears well up in her eyes. She sensed it could only end badly because Beth would move on before long and take Molly with her.

All through the autumn, at Christmas and into the New Year of 1895, Mrs Bruce watched Beth and Molly gradually working their way into everyone’s hearts at Falkner Square. She knew it wasn’t her imagination because she too was falling under their spell.

It was hard not to love someone who could sing even when she was sluicing filthy napkins. Her merry laugh enlivened the basement; her eagerness to help everyone with their chores created a happy atmosphere. She would gladly spend the afternoon cleaning silver, pressing Mr Edward’s clothes or reading to old Mr Langworthy, even though she wasn’t paid to do any of these extra duties. Perhaps it was because she preferred to work than be alone with Molly in her rooms, but whatever the reason, Mrs Bruce liked having her around.

They had celebrated Molly’s first birthday before Christmas in the kitchen. Cook made a special iced cake and a trifle, Kathleen the maid had blown up balloons, and even Sam and Mr Edward came home earlier to be there. Beth had made Molly a new pink dress, which she immediately daubed with trifle. She had been able to walk a few steps holding on to someone’s hands for some little time, but that afternoon she took four or five steps unaided to reach Mrs Langworthy.

It was undoubtedly because there was a child in the house that Mr Edward brought home a Christmas tree, for they’d never had one before. Sam fixed it securely in a large tub and placed it by the drawing-room window, and Beth helped Mrs Langworthy trim it with candles and glass baubles.

As always in the past, various relatives came for Christmas dinner and Sam was on hand to carry old Mr Langworthy down to the dining room. But although the festivities upstairs were much the same as in previous years, downstairs it was a far jollier affair.

Once the dinner was over upstairs, old Mr Langworthy had been taken back to his room and the master and mistress were entertaining their guests in the drawing room, the staff dinner took place in the kitchen.

Mrs Bruce asked Sam, as the only male, to sit at the head of the table and carve the goose. Mrs Bruce sat at the foot, with Cook on one side of her and Molly perched up on a box on a chair on the other. Kathleen and Beth, both wearing paper hats, sat either side of Sam. Whether it was the wine they drank, or just that there were three more people than usual around the table, the laughter started when Sam fooled around pretending to be a surgeon as he attacked the goose with the carving knife, and it didn’t stop.

Cook didn’t live in but had lodgings nearby. She’d been in service since she was a young girl, always in households with a big staff. She related hilarious stories about some of the blunders they made, and how the rest of the staff covered them up.

Sam told them tales too about people who came into the bar at the Adelphi Hotel. He could mimic their voices and mannerisms so well, it was almost as if these people were in the room.

Mrs Bruce studied Sam as he was talking and noted how much he’d come out of himself since he became a barman. He was more confident now, looking directly at whoever he was talking to, not dropping his eyes the way he used to. He was a handsome lad, with his blond hair, peachy skin and brilliant blue eyes, and his easy manner with women was very attractive. Mrs Bruce thought he’d be irresistible once he’d put a little muscle on to that lean frame.

But she also noticed how little attention he paid Molly. After the dinner, as she staggered around the room going from one person to another, Sam didn’t watch her as everyone else did. He picked her up when she fell over by him and he offered her small pieces of an orange he was eating, but he didn’t take her on his knee or make a fuss of her. Mrs Bruce decided that while he certainly wasn’t unkind to her, he was actively avoiding any involvement.

She wondered why this was, and the only logical reason she could find for it was that he intended to walk out on Beth and Molly. He probably felt he could do that more easily if he didn’t allow his heart to become engaged with his baby sister.

Mrs Bruce found herself fretting about this a great deal as the New Year came in. She told herself that Beth could be fine, for with or without her brother, the Langworthys would continue to employ her. Yet whenever Beth played her fiddle over in her rooms, and she heard the joy and hope in her music, she couldn’t help but feel dismayed that her life was never going to take her beyond Falkner Square. Mrs Bruce could already see the shackles binding her here. Right now it was just because of her duty to provide for Molly, but the longer she stayed, the bigger she’d feel her debt to the Langworthys was. By the time Molly was old enough to work, Mrs Bruce would be old, and Beth would slip into her shoes. She’d never get the chance to play in public, to see more of the world. Most likely she’d never marry either.

Chapter Nine

‘Mam, mam,’ Kathleen screeched out at six in the morning. It was early February, bitterly cold and still dark, the master and mistress asleep. Mrs Bruce had just gone down to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove for tea.

She rushed back upstairs to find Kathleen in the doorway of old Mr Langworthy’s room. Kathleen’s first job each morning as maid was to stir up the fire in his room, and on seeing the girl’s horrified expression Mrs Bruce guessed that the old man was dead.

‘He had his mouth and eyes open,’ Kathleen sobbed. ‘I asked him if he wanted a cup of tea. But I think he’s dead.’

‘Control yourself,’ Mrs Bruce said sharply. She was just going to add that Kathleen should have come down and told her quietly without waking the master and mistress, but it was too late — both their bedroom doors opened simultaneously. Mr Edward was in his long nightshirt and the mistress was clutching a shawl around her shoulders.

‘Is it my father?’ Mr Edward asked.

Mrs Bruce nodded and went into the old man’s room. Kathleen had put the oil lamp on the mantelpiece, so there was enough light to see exactly what she had seen. He was lying awkwardly, his head right at the edge of the mattress, as if he’d been struggling to get out of bed.

Mrs Bruce went over to him and found he was indeed dead. She lifted him back on to the pillow and closed his eyes and mouth. ‘He has passed on then?’ Mr Edward asked from the doorway, his wife standing beside him as if they were both afraid to come in.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Mrs Bruce said, straightening up the bedclothes. ‘I am so sorry. But you two must go back to bed or you’ll catch your death of cold. I’ll get Kathleen to take a note round for the doctor.’

When Beth came over to the house with Molly at nine that morning, she found Mrs Bruce, Cook and Kathleen sitting at the kitchen table looking very woebegone.

Mrs Bruce explained what had happened, and said that the doctor was up with the Langworthys now signing the old man’s death certificate. ‘It is for the best really,’ she sighed. ‘He had no real life any more, and the mistress will be spared all that hard work. But just the same, it’s hard to see him go.’

‘His eyes made me think of a fish, so they did,’ Kathleen blurted out. ‘And I touched his hand and it was cold as ice.’

‘That’s enough now, Kathleen,’ Mrs Bruce said sternly. ‘I know it was a shock to find him but we must all show respect for him and support the master and mistress.’

Beth’s eyes filled with tears. She had been scared of the old man when she was first asked to sit with him. His face was distorted because he was paralysed all down one side and he was so thin that he looked almost skeletal. When he tried to speak his mouth was all over the place and the sounds that came out were unintelligible and frightening. But she had grown used to it and after she’d read to him a few times she began to understand what he was trying to say. He could convey pleasure with his eyes, irritation with a wave of his good hand, and sometimes she could make out real words in his grunts, and if she repeated them to him he would nod.

She sensed his delight when she came to see him, knew when he was enjoying a story, and the more time she spent with him, the more she felt for him. She thought it must be the worst thing in the world to have a keen mind trapped in a body you couldn’t control, to suffer the humiliation of being fed and changed like a baby, and to have no real way of showing that you knew what was going on all around you.

‘Don’t cry, Beth,’ Mrs Bruce said, picking up Molly who was looking anxiously up at her big sister. ‘He’s gone to a better place, his suffering is over and he can join his wife again.’

A pall of gloom descended on the house, which seemed to grow heavier daily as the master and mistress made the arrangements for the funeral.

For Beth the atmosphere was all too familiar, and on top of disturbing reminders of her parents’ deaths and funerals, there was the niggling worry of what might become of her now. Without all the old man’s laundry there wasn’t going to be a lot for her to do. Mrs Bruce, Cook and Kathleen ran the house like clockwork between them. Would Mr Edward want to pay wages for someone he no longer needed?

Beth’s seventeenth and Sam’s eighteenth birthdays came and went that week without celebration. Beth was kept busy helping Cook prepare cakes and pastries for the funeral wake, and making minor alterations to the mourning clothes their mistress had worn when her mother-in-law died.

On the morning of the funeral, Beth woke when it was still dark, but there was enough light outside from the lamp at the end of the mews to show it had snowed during the night. She sat up in bed for a minute or two looking out of the window. Everything looked beautiful, grime, rubbish and ugliness hidden under a thick blanket of pristine, sparkling white. It brought to mind the snow just over a year ago when Molly had been born. Beth remembered standing at the kitchen window with the baby in her arms, marvelling that the back alley and the rooftops beyond had been miraculously transformed into something magical.