Her Ladyship's Girl (10 page)

The lady’s maid needed to be aware of the latest fashions and choose perfumes and ball gowns and perform manicures and pedicures and facials. She should know about etiquette and local
customs and cultures and formalities, so the mistress didn’t put her foot in it with dignitaries. She’d be responsible for the upkeep of the lady’s wardrobe and would be skilled
in the care and cleaning of valuable clothing.

And I thought to myself, maybe it’s just as well I didn’t get the job, as I didn’t have a clue about most of that stuff. All right, I’d seen moaning Mona perform some of
her duties at the Hardings’, but our paths didn’t cross that often and she wasn’t one for fraternising with scullery maids.

Thursday in the tea shop was just as frantic, with Hannah frowning at me for not doing what she told me and studying the menus and the methods of serving and satisfying the delicate Belgravian
palates. I was slower than the day before because my feet were killing me from long hours in the boots and I knew I wasn’t going to make it as a nippy and would be on my way back to Wales at
the end of the week’s trial. By Friday, though, things were starting to get a little bit better. I was getting used to the work and the customers and the cuisine and the different types of
tea. But Hannah was making grumpy noises about the back room and if the owners found out I was living there she’d get it in the neck and I knew she wanted me out. I was thinking, if I could
just get somewhere to live, then this job might not be so bad after all. I made up my mind to go searching on Sunday for a room or a boarding house somewhere, but it would mean being locked out of
the shop from Saturday night until it opened again on Monday morning.

Then an embossed envelope was delivered by hand to the tea shop. It was blazoned with a lion couchant and it was addressed to me. I opened it, expecting to be told I hadn’t got the job as
a lady’s maid.

I showed the letter to Lucy and she was convinced they were going to give me the job after all.

‘Surely not?’

‘Why would they ask you back, then?’

‘Maybe I’m not the only one?’

So, Saturday after work in the tea shop, I collected my wages of half-a-crown and lugged my case back down to Bermondsey to spend one more night with Lucy and her lovely family. I gave her
mother a shilling for my bed and board and she didn’t want to take my money, but I made her.

Sunday morning I was up early and washed and dressed in my best and Lucy did my make-up and I set off for Belgravia, again in my green hat. I arrived at Chester Square at 10:45 a.m. and the
tailcoat opened the door and showed me into the waiting room. I was the only one there and I waited for the others to arrive – but nobody did. At 11:00 a.m. precisely, tailcoat came back and
called me from the room. I followed him up the stairs again and along the corridor, but this time he showed me into a smaller room, with a fire burning in the grate and a table set for tea and
petits fours
. He took my hat and coat and motioned for me to sit at the table, then he left. I waited for about five minutes before the book-reading woman I met at the first interview came
into the room and sat opposite me.

‘It’s always best to allow the tea to draw for a few minutes, don’t you think? Shall I be mother?’

Before I could answer, she poured two cups of tea and shoved the plate of little biscuits my way.

‘It’s only Darjeeling, probably not what you’re used to at the Sussex Rose Rooms, but I’m sure it will suffice.’

‘I’m sure it will, Madam.’

We sipped the tea in silence for a while, with her looking at me and me looking away from her, so as not to upset social niceties and catch her eye. Eventually she spoke.

‘Why did you apply for this job, Anwyn Moyle?’

I didn’t answer immediately. It needed a bit of quick thinking.

‘Because I know I can be a good lady’s maid, Madam.’

‘And how do you know that?’

How indeed? My brain was racing round the room, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t sound completely ridiculous. And I got the feeling if I didn’t find a good one, I’d be
shown the door again. She was testing me, I knew that – to see what I was made of.

‘Because I can think for myself, Madam.’

She smiled. Not a broad smile – more with her eyes than her mouth. I took a petit four from the plate and nibbled at it delicately.

‘Wait here.’

She rose without saying another word and left the room. I thought I was being clever, but maybe I was being conceited. I should have said, ‘Because I can clean and sew and I know something
about fashion and I’m young and can learn and my mind is open.’ But it was too late now; tailcoat would be coming any minute to throw me out.

After about quarter of an hour, Mr Peacock came in and sat at the table opposite me. He had a couple of documents in his hand.

‘I’m pleased to inform you, Miss Moyle, that, should you still be interested in the position of lady’s maid, we are prepared to offer it to you on a month’s trial
basis.’

‘I’m still interested.’

I said this too quickly. Too eagerly. His left eye twitched slightly as he looked at me.

‘If Mrs Bouchard is happy with your work after that period of time, the position will be offered on a permanent basis.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

Mrs Bouchard. It was the first time I’d heard her name mentioned – the women I’d be working for. It sounded French, but she didn’t speak with a French accent. Peacock
placed the documents on the table in front of me, along with a pen.

‘A contract of employment and a confidentiality agreement.’

I didn’t know what a confidentiality agreement was, but I signed both documents just the same.

‘The wages will be five shillings per week for the trial period, rising to eight shillings if you are deemed suitable and then to ten shillings after a year. Is this acceptable, Miss
Moyle?’

‘Eminently.’

He smiled covertly at my sauciness. But he didn’t shake my hand, and it seemed to me he wasn’t completely happy with my appointment.

‘When can you start?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow would be capital, Miss Moyle. Shall we say seven o’clock? In the a.m. of course.’

‘Of course.’

Jacob the beak-nosed butler showed me out again. A timid, early spring sun was shining in Chester Square as I skipped my way down the street. I’d be sad to leave Lucy; she’d been so
good to me when I needed a friend. But the tea shop was only five minutes away and I was sure we’d be able to meet up quite often and carry on our friendship into the future. I hurried back
to Bermondsey to tell her the news and we all celebrated that night in her family’s humble home and drank dandelion and burdock and ate friendship fruit cake and had a little sing-song till
it was time to go to bed. Everyone had to be up very early in the morning.

I couldn’t sleep and I wrote a letter to my mother in Wales, telling her about my good fortune. I was all excited and happy and thinking about what I could do with eight shillings a week.
I’d send half home to my mother and I’d be able to go dancing and dining and delighting myself with the rest. Then the doubts crept in and they kept me awake more than the excitement.
How would I be able to cope with this job? What would they expect of me? They’d find me out for a fraud after the first day and then I’d be disgraced – have to crawl back to the
tea shop with my pretentious tail between my legs. Have to scuttle back to Wales and arrive at the same time as this letter, promising my mother half-a-crown a week for the trial period. I tossed
and turned and turned and tossed in the bed beside Lucy. I counted sheep until I could’ve collected ten buckets of droppings and sold them for fire-fuel. The next I knew was Lucy shaking me
by the shoulder.

‘Anwyn, get up! It’s half-past-five.’

I jumped out of the bed and took my turn in the shared toilet to have a wash. Then I dressed and had a cup of tea and a bit of leftover bun from the night before. Lucy did my make-up as usual
and I lugged my case down to the number thirty-six tram stop at a quarter-past six. I was standing on the step outside 24

Chester Square at ten minutes to seven. Tailcoat took my case and put it somewhere, then he introduced himself as Jacob, the first footman, even though there were no other footmen in the
household. He took me through and introduced me to the cook, whose name was Mrs Jackson – she was a jolly sort of woman in her mid-forties and not at all like the Beadle of Hampstead. She had
two kitchen maids under her, Esther and Annie, and she said they’d call me Miss Moyle so nobody would be confused. I don’t know if she meant that as a joke and they all knew I was just
a jumped-up scullery maid, or if she was being sincere. The scullery maid was Josie and she genuflected when I shook her hand, even though I was only a few years older than her. Tom, the chauffeur,
was having his breakfast and he was an ex-army man and asked ‘How are you, young lady?’ I told him I was well and he said he was glad to hear it.

We then went upstairs and Jacob introduced me to the two parlourmaids, Heather and Beatrice, both of whom were about eighteen, the age I was pretending to be. They giggled when I shook their
hands, as if they were party to a joke and I wasn’t. There were no children in the house and no nanny and, finally, I was shown into the housekeeper’s drawing room to meet Miss Mason,
the head housemaid, who was responsible for catering and linen and the supervision of the other female servants. She was a severe-looking woman of about thirty-five, dressed all in black and
buttoned up to the neck in a figure-hugging frock. Her face was pale and thin and her features were sharp and her hair was pulled back in a severe braided bun. She barely touched my hand when I
offered it to her, as if she might catch something unpleasant from it. Then she sniffed and waved to Jacob and I was taken away. The footman then took me to my room, saying I’d meet Mr Biggs
the butler and Mrs Hathaway the housekeeper later in the day. My case had already been delivered to the room and he left me and closed the door behind him, not mentioning what I was expected to do
or what my duties were or what would happen next.

The room was spacious enough, bigger than anything I’d ever been used to, at least. There was a fair-sized sprung bed with a thick mattress and a matching set of walnut bedroom furniture,
consisting of a bedside cabinet and a mirrored dressing table and a big wardrobe. The room was carpeted in brown and beige, and matching floor-length curtains covered the window that looked out
over the manicured back of the house. I unpacked my case and put my stuff away in the drawers but, when I opened the wardrobe, I found there was already an assortment of clothes hanging there
– dresses and coats and jackets and cardigans and rayon stockings and five or six pairs of shoes on the floor. So I left my own couple of dresses in the case, thinking these clothes belonged
to Mrs Staines the previous lady’s maid, and she’d be sure to be coming back for them. There was a crystal jug with water and a set of crystal glasses on a table close to the window, so
I poured some and had a drink to quench my thirst and sat on the bed and waited. It was only about half-past eight in the morning.

I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

It was Heather, one of the young housemaids.

‘Would you like breakfast in your room, Miss Moyle?’

‘As opposed to . . .?’

She didn’t seem to understand my question for a moment, then she giggled and put her hand up to her mouth.

‘Oh, sorry . . . or with Miss Mason in Mrs Hathaway’s parlour.’

‘I’ll have it here, thanks.’

I couldn’t tell if it was a giggle or a snigger, but she left the room with her hand still up to her mouth and, ten minutes later, came back with a pot of tea and a fried breakfast of
bacon, sausage, eggs and toasted bread. My eyes lit up and I started tucking in straight away because I was famished. Heather watched me for a moment, as if I was behaving exactly as she supposed I
would.

‘
Bon appetit
.’

She said it in a fake French accent and I thought it must be some kind of sarcasm that fitted the context of Mrs Bouchard’s name.

I waited again after breakfast, but still nobody came to tell me what my duties would be or when I should start them or what I should be doing now that I was here. At 11:00 a.m., I could stand
the prevarication no longer, so I decided to venture out of my room and take a look around, not knowing what parts of the house might be off limits to a lady’s maid in waiting.

My room was on the second floor, as were three other private bedrooms, all much bigger than mine and one with a separate dressing room. There were two bathrooms, one en suite to the master
bedroom, which I presumed was Mr and Mrs Bouchard’s, while the other bathroom was smaller and I expected it was for use by the rest of the family. The first floor consisted of a large,
opulently furnished drawing room, a music room, which housed the piano, and a tea room, where I’d been the day before. The ground floor housed the large entrance hall, another drawing room,
smaller than the one on the first floor, and a library, similar in size to the one at Hampstead, and a room which I could only assume was Mrs Hathaway’s parlour. The basement of the house
accommodated the kitchen and scullery, of course, and the male servants’ quarters, while the top, or attic, floor housed the female servants’ rooms. There was also a third floor which
seemed to be unused at the moment, but which might be utilised from time to time as guest rooms, when the house hosted parties or soirées.

It was midday by the time I finished my little tour and, while I was mooching about, I saw no one, except for a brief glimpse of Beatrice the housemaid in one of the drawing rooms, and the cook
and her kitchen maids in the basement. At one o’clock lunch was served and this time I was summoned to the housekeeper’s parlour. Jacob showed me in and I was confronted by Miss Mason,
all buttoned up in her black and still sporting her stern face, and a middle-aged woman with dark eyes and dressed in a tweed two-piece. She was of stout stature with a pleasant face and her
greying hair was done up in a loose sock bun on top of her head.