Her Ladyship's Girl (2 page)

‘Tea?’

Her face looked even more baboon-like than before and she turned into Mister Bumble the Beadle from the orphanage in
Oliver Twist
.

‘What sort of an impudent girl are you?’

‘I’m not a girl, I’m nearly seventeen.’

Apparently, scullery maids were normally no older than fourteen when they started and I was long-in-the-tooth at sixteen. But I was still a skivvy.

‘And don’t you forget it!’

I could tell we weren’t going to get along.

When I finally got to my room, which was up four flights of back stairs, right at the top of the house, I found out I was sharing with an Irish colleen called Kathleen. Like me, she was nearly
seventeen and had been there for two years and it was her job I was taking over, on account of her being made up to be a parlourmaid. She was a pleasant enough girl and made me feel as welcome as
was possible in the little room with two single beds and no heating. The mattresses were thin and thrown on top of iron-sprung beds and we were covered over with two blankets apiece. I
couldn’t keep my eyes open to chat with Kathleen and find out more about the Bumble Beadle like I wanted to – and soon the soft little paws of sleep came creeping.

I’d only been asleep for five minutes when I was woken again by a tap-tapping on the door. I got out of the thin bed and rubbed the sleep into my eyes and yawned so wide I nearly got
lockjaw. There was a young lad of about my age outside and he said his name was Bart, which was short for Bartholomew – but everybody called him Brat. Kathleen was still asleep in the other
bed and curled up like a child.

‘What time is it, Brat?’

‘Five o’clock.’

‘Is it that late?’

‘In the morning.’

‘Lord save us, it’s the middle of the night.’

‘You don’t want to be late on your first day. It’s going to be a very busy one.’

An early sun struck the windowpane a glancing blow and poured a gentle glow into the room through a gap in the curtains. It melted over the walls and crept like velvet-silk across the floor. I
rinsed my face and under my arms in tepid water in the small washroom on our floor, got into one of the skivvy uniforms that Cook had given me, and made my way down the back stairs, the same way as
I came up the night before. The basement was big, with rooms to the left and right of a long hall – the kitchen and the scullery and storerooms for food and coal and a cellar for wine. The
gardener went home every day like Cook and none of the live-in maids were yet stirring. I was trying to remember what I was supposed to do first, because there was no one else up to ask and Brat
had disappeared somewhere into thin air, like Ariel.

All right, I said to myself, first rake out the range and light the fire ready for Cook. Put the kettle on and get the big copper going. That was a task in itself! I made myself a cup of tea
when the water boiled and then went for a mooch around while everyone else was still snoring. There wasn’t much to see in the basement, so I sneaked upstairs. Mirrors and paintings lined the
walls and there was a chandelier, the likes of which I’d never seen before, in the hallway. There were rooms here and there and everywhere and, I thought, surely they couldn’t fit so
many into the one house? It didn’t look that big from the outside. I didn’t know what they were all used for, or why they were needed for only four people.

The floors were covered with thick rich carpets and the windows hung with velvet curtains and the furniture looked like it had come from a prince’s palace. There were enough books to fill
fifty libraries. I was fond of reading when I was at school – I liked Alexander Carmichael and D. H. Lawrence and the Brothers Grimm and Shakespeare – but I’d never seen as many
books as this. I wondered if they’d all been read, or if they were just on the shelves for show.

It was summertime, so they didn’t have that many fires burning in the house, but I came across Kathleen raking out and lighting a fire to take the morning chill off for the family when
they got out of their beds.

‘Morning, Kathleen.’

‘Anwyn, what are you doing up here?’

‘Mooching around.’

‘You better get back down before Cook catches you.’

When I went back, the kitchen maids were there and I helped them with the breakfasts. I had a toasted bun and another cup of tea before Cook arrived – I didn’t dare ask her for
anything again, in case the Beadle marched me off to the oakum room with a bowl of fly-infested gruel. She came in at about half past eight and soon had me on my knees scrubbing the floors and
brushing the stairs and, despite her dour disposition, I stayed cheerful and the morning moved along before I had time to feel sorry for myself. I was in the scullery seeing if the copper was
working and starting the wash, when Cook came and called me out in an angry voice. I’d only forgotten to red-polish the front steps and she gave me a shrieking that the whole house must have
heard because there would be a lot of guests coming later that day and it wouldn’t do at all for the steps to be scruffy.

‘See to it straight away!’

So I did.

That’s when I went back downstairs and found the copper boiling over and I’ve already told you about the rest of that day.

Next morning, Bart the Brat woke me at five o’clock again and got me out of the bed where I’d been so safe and sound. I didn’t see much of the other servants during that first
day, because everything was so manic and full of mayhem. I didn’t know who was who or what they did, except for Irish Kathleen. Bart said it would be quieter today after having been thrown in
at the deep end yesterday, and I’d be able to get my bearings a bit better and settle in to service as a skivvy. He called me the same as Cook did, but I don’t think he meant any insult
by it like she did – it was what scullery maids were known as.

The rest of the day passed without a boiling-over or a bungle on my part and I was starving half to death by dinner-time, which was at seven o’clock in the evening for us servants. Cook
was gone home from half past six and it was the first chance I had to get to know the other inmates – that’s how it seemed to me, like we were prisoners in a private workhouse.

Bart was a trainee gardener. He was seventeen and from Leeds and a likely looker. Then there was Kathleen the parlourmaid, who I already knew – she was a shy type and only said a few
words. Mona was a lady’s maid and spent most of her time upstairs; she was twenty-one and snooty as a sow’s ear. Lilly, the nanny, was about thirty-five; she was a teacher-type and
plain in comparison to Mona. She ate with the two children of the house: Lucinda aged seven and Jonathan aged five. I didn’t see much of her the whole time I was there because she was always
with the kids. The two kitchen maids were Nora, who was nineteen, and Biddy, who was eighteen, and you could tell they liked to have a bit of fun with the boys. There was another upstairs
parlourmaid called Fanny, short for Frances, who was in her late twenties and might have been married. She went home in the evenings as well. There was the gardener and general handyman, who was
Bart’s boss, but over it all was the head butler, who opened the front door to me that first day, then slammed it in my face. His name was Mr Ayres and he looked like Uriah Heep from
David Copperfield
. He always wore an impeccably pressed dark suit, with a white shirt and black tie. He was clean-shaven and spoke like he had a hot potato in his mouth. Mr Ayres was the
king of this castle and a man who was not to be messed about with.

We sat talking. Most of the other girls were human enough and I asked if there was any chicken left over from earlier in the day.

‘You don’t want to touch that.’

‘Why not?’

The kitchen maids smirked and said they saw Cook put the arse-end of the chicken over a mantel and let the gas go inside like stuffing. Then she lit it and it flared up like a firework and after
that she washed and cooked it. I didn’t know what they were talking about and I thought that must be how the London entrepreneurial classes liked to have their poultry prepared.

‘It was smelly and slimy.’

‘That’s why she filled it with gas.’

‘To get rid of the pong.’

Which struck me as strange, but I didn’t want to show my ignorance by asking stupid questions. So I just took their advice and stayed away from the chicken.

It was pleasant enough having a bit of a chinwag with the other maids and they all mucked in to help me finish my jobs so we could go to bed at the same time. It was gone half past eight when my
head hit the pillow and I was spark out for the counting.

The Brat woke me at five every morning. I wasn’t sure if he lived in like us maids, or went home every evening with the others. I heard his tap-tapping on the door, like a little bubble of
morning memory that rose up and burst on the roof of my brain.

‘It’s Bart, Anwyn.’

‘I know who it is.’

I was so tired and stiff from the few days before that I could hardly move. I washed in tepid water again and went downstairs to start the new day. I was hungry after cleaning and lighting the
stove, so I pinched an egg and boiled it and ate it with a cup of tea, before anyone else got out of bed. After doing all the early routine jobs and not seeing a soul, I came back down to the
kitchen to help with the breakfasts and I could hear Cook questioning the two kitchen maids about the missing egg. I just kept my head down and stayed out of the way until the dragon went to her
lair.

‘What’s all the fuss about, Nora?’

‘She’s missing an egg.’

‘What? All that
trafferthu
¹
over an egg?’

‘It’s one less she’ll be able to steal.’

Nora told me that Cook had a coat with deep inside pockets on both sides and every evening she stuffed them with food before going home. She said Cook came from a dodgy London family who were
mixed up with toughs and criminal types and it would be dangerous for anyone to dob her in.

After breakfast, I made sure I red-polished the front step before scrubbing the hall floor – it was long and wide and tiled black and white and, while I was doing it, I noticed someone
standing over me. I looked up and saw this well-dressed woman of about thirty-five or so. She was small and nervous-looking and wearing clothes that I’d only seen in magazines.

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Anwyn, Madam.’

She gave me a funny kind of look, like she wasn’t sure if I was really a girl, or some nanny goat that had wandered in from the garden. Then she nodded and walked away.

I got on with my scrubbing.

Back downstairs, I put the copper on and made sure not to overfill it this time. Biddy came over to me.

‘Listen, anything you want to half-inch, do it before Cook makes her count.’

‘When does she do that?’

‘Just before she goes home.’

I had my toast and another cup of tea before tackling the rest of the day. There seemed to be even more washing today than yesterday and, even with the wooden dolly, my hands were hurting from
the hot steam. Cook came over to me with a frown on her face like a wet Sunday in Llandudno.

‘When you’re asked, your name is Moyle, not Anwyn.’

‘Why?’

‘Because skivvies like you don’t have first names.’

I was going to tell her I was just as good as she was but then, I was in a strange city, and she might get her dodgy relations to come round and garrotte me with piano wire in the middle of the
dark and desperate night.

I decided to keep my eye out for Cook and keep out of her way as much as possible for as long as I was to be the lowest of the lowly in that house.

Later in the day I noticed she was soaking a big boiling ham in vinegar, so I asked Nora what she was up to.

‘Apart from when there’s a party, she buys meat that’s on the turn cheap in the market, then she washes it in vinegar to take the smell out.’

‘Why don’t she buy fresh meat?’

‘God, you are naive, aren’t you, Annie!’

Nora laughed. I’d have to be careful what I ate – if the others didn’t touch it, then neither would I. I was skinny enough as it was, but I thought to myself I’d fade
away to a farthing here. But I didn’t want to get sick because I’d been sick before and it wasn’t something I wanted to go through again and, as much as I hated the job, I
didn’t want to be sacked and sent back home, humiliated. I was surprised them upstairs didn’t all die from galloping gut-rot, but maybe the rich had better constitutions than the
poor.

Cook had all sorts of tricks for fiddling the people she worked for, but it was none of my business and I’d only get shot by a soldier of Diamond Jack Sloane or some other gangster if I
didn’t keep my nose out. So I did.

Once the washing was on, I helped prepare the vegetables and then it was on to the ironing. My mother’s iron at home had to be heated on the fire and it had to be just right – if it
was too hot, it would burn through the covering cloth and if it wasn’t hot enough, it wouldn’t get the wrinkles out. But the one I used here was the latest in electric flat-irons and
much easier to use, though it took me a while to get used to it. I saw Bart in the yard later, when I was hanging out the washing.

‘Where’s your room, Bart?’

‘In the basement.’

‘And you come all the way up to the top to wake me at five?’ He gave me a wink and I wondered what that meant. You see, despite the fact that I thought of myself as an intellectual,
I was really just a wet-behind-the-ears Welsh valley girl with a hankering for fine clothes and didn’t know the difference between a nod and a wink. But I soon would.

Other than finding out I didn’t have a Christian name any more, the rest of the day went well enough and I now had four friends. I asked the kitchen girls if we could go out for a walk
after we finished in the evening.

‘If you have the strength left for it, Annie.’

That’s what they called me, short for Anwyn. When the day’s work was finally done and Cook was gone off home with her coat full of cheese and crusty bread, I was sitting in the
kitchen having a little chat with the others. I noticed the Brat paying a lot of attention to Biddy and I knew she had a room close to mine and Kathleen’s on the top floor. Nora showed me a
hiding place where she and Biddy stored food before Cook did her count. There was bread and eggs and cheese and meat and cake and biscuits – and we could help ourselves if we got peckish
before breakfast-time came round in the morning. She put a finger up to her lips and I thought, there’s some good people in this place after all.