The Downstairs Maid (3 page)

Joe Carter worked hard from early in the morning to late at night, mucking out the horses and the cows, milking and watering and feeding the stock. His was only a small farm and he eked out a scarce living from his pigs, cows, ducks and chickens. He had one ten-acre field put down to arable, which he alternated between barley, rye, wheat and potatoes, with a patch for vegetables for the house. He worked alone most of the time, though there was a lad of sixteen who came to help with the jobs he couldn’t manage alone. Bert was a little slow in his head but strong and a good worker. No one else would employ him, because he couldn’t be left to do a job alone, but Pa gave him a shilling now and then and he was always hanging around the yard, grinning at nothing in particular and eager to help. Because he was harmless and would do anything, Ma tolerated him and if there was nothing else for him to do she asked him to chop the logs for her.

When Pa had nothing much to do on the land he went out buying the things other people threw away. He had a barn filled almost to the rafters with old furniture. Ma said it was all junk; but Emily had seen some things she thought looked nice.

Pa had shown her some chairs, with turned legs and a wide carved splat at the back, which he said were Georgian. He’d told her they were quality when new, but he’d only got five of a set of six and two of them had broken legs. One day he hoped to mend the legs but he was always looking for a single chair that would match the set – because a set of six was worth a lot more than five.

Best of all Emily liked the selection of silver bits, china and glass that Pa kept in a cabinet in the barn. She liked the delicate silver jug with a shaped foot Pa also said was Georgian, the little enamelled snuff or pill boxes with pictures on the lids – and the silver box that opened to reveal a singing bird. That was lovely and Emily would have loved to own it, but Pa had to sell his nice things because there wasn’t enough money coming in from the land. He’d talked of having a shop in Ely one day, but Ma told him he was daft because he could never afford to pay the rent.

If Pa had got Uncle Albert’s house and money he could have bought a shop. Perhaps then Ma and Emily wouldn’t have had to hide from the tallyman ever again.

It was quiet downstairs now. The quarrel seemed to have finished. Emily supposed Ma had given up. Whatever she said, Pa wouldn’t go to a lawyer and challenge his uncle’s will; he wasn’t that sort of man – and perhaps he thought Miss Concenii deserved the money for looking after her employer so devotedly. Besides, he had a few things to remember his uncle by – and fifty pounds was more money than he usually got for the harvest.

Turning over in her warm bed, Emily tried to stop thinking and go to sleep, but she couldn’t forget what Ma had said. Until now she hadn’t realised there were people who would guide an old man’s hand just to get his money. It struck Emily as being more than unkind; it was wicked and Pa ought to do something about it, because Miss Concenii shouldn’t get away with it.

Yet in her heart she knew that Pa was too gentle a man to do something like that and she felt sad again. If people didn’t stand up for themselves, others just walked all over them. Uncle Albert had been kind to Emily and he’d thought enough of her to give that ring to the lawyer for her – and she hadn’t liked Miss Concenii, who was
no better than she ought to be
.

Perhaps she was a bit like her mother, Emily thought, because if she’d been in Pa’s shoes she would have gone after that woman and made her admit what she’d done.

It was too difficult a problem for a ten-year-old girl to work out. Sighing, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

It was nearly three weeks after the quarrel over Uncle Albert’s money when Ma had the miscarriage. Because Pa had money in his pocket, Emily was at the vicar’s school and the first she knew about it was when she arrived home at half past two in the afternoon, to find there was no sign of her mother and the kitchen looking a mess. She called out a couple of times and heard sounds from upstairs. She was just clearing some dirty dishes into the deep stone sink when her father came downstairs. Emily turned to look at him and was disturbed to see how drawn he looked. He saw her but didn’t smile in his usual way, just sat down in his old wooden rocking chair next to the stove and buried his head in his hands.

Emily felt a thrill of fear. She took two steps towards him and then stopped uncertainly.

‘What’s wrong, Pa?’ she asked. ‘Where is Ma – is she ill?’

‘She’s not feeling very clever at the moment,’ he said, looking up at her. She was stunned as she saw the expression of despair in his eyes. Pa never looked like that no matter how bad things were. ‘Your Ma’s lost the baby, Em. It was lucky I was here to get her upstairs. I sent Bert for the doctor but he was out visiting another patient. By the time he got here, three hours after Bert went for him, it was too late … He was sorry but there was nothing he could do …’

‘Oh Pa …’ Emily’s throat was tight and she was sad that her mother had lost the new baby. How could you lose a baby when it wasn’t even here? At least, Emily hadn’t seen it. ‘I don’t understand properly …’

‘Come here, love,’ he said and opened his arms. She crawled on to his lap and he kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s time you understood these things, Em. The new baby was in your Ma’s tummy – or her womb, as it’s properly called. It shouldn’t have come out for another four months.’

‘Is that why she looked fatter?’ Emily asked and he nodded. ‘How did it get in there?’

‘Your Ma and me, we made the baby between us. It’s called loving and you’ll understand that bit when you grow up and get married, but you need to know that losing the baby has made your Ma ill.’

‘I’m sorry Ma is ill. What can I do?’

‘You were starting to clear up when I came down. You’ll have to do that for a while, Em. It means no school for at least a couple of weeks, perhaps longer.’

Emily’s heart sank but she didn’t let her father see she was upset. It was her place to look after her mother while she was ill and she would. Besides, she would have done anything to take that sad, defeated look from her father’s face.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Pa. You didn’t make Ma lose the baby.’

He was silent for a moment, then, ‘In a way it was, Em. You see your Ma could have married anyone. She was pretty the way you are – all dark hair and eyes too big for your face. I promised her I’d be rich one day and she believed me, but all I’ve done is disappoint her.’

That was the first time anyone had told Emily she was pretty and she would have been pleased if Pa hadn’t been so sad over Ma losing the baby.

Emily puzzled over the rest of what he’d said. How could Ma be disappointed in him when he worked all hours for them? It wasn’t his fault that it rained and the wheat went down in the fields and was half ruined; he didn’t rule the low price of potatoes when there was a glut – and he couldn’t help it if a cow died in calf …

Thinking about the cow that died, Emily remembered the farmer bringing the bull to her some months earlier. She’d hidden behind the barn and watched what happened … it was sort of awful but fascinating to watch at the same time. Now she wondered if that was how Ma and Pa made the baby but it seemed improbable and unpleasant so she decided it couldn’t be the same for people.

‘I’d better get on,’ she said. He nodded and let her go. For a moment he sat in his chair and then he took down his pipe. His tobacco jar was filled, because he’d allowed himself a little money from Uncle Albert’s bequest, and he lit the pipe, smoking as Emily cleared the table and washed the dirty dishes. She looked round and saw a pile of ironing waiting to be done. The flat iron was near the range so it looked as if Ma had been about to put it on to heat up when she lost the baby.

Emily stuck it on the range, which was hot. Pa must have made the fire up at some time during the day. As Emily was putting the old sheets on the table in readiness for the ironing a woman came down the stairs. Her name was Granny Sawle and she lived with her husband in a cottage at the edge of the village.

‘She’s settled now and will sleep,’ she said to Pa. He nodded and took some coins from his pocket, offering them to her. ‘I don’t need paying, Joe. Stella has been good to me. She helped me out last winter when my Tom was down with the agues. I’m sorry we lost the boy but it was much too early. Even if the doctor had got here sooner I doubt the babe would have lived.’

Pa nodded but didn’t say anything more. She gave him a pitying look and then turned to Emily. Her dress was black and she had on a plaid shawl over her shoulders, her hair rolled tight into a bun at the nape of her neck. Emily could smell carbolic soap on her hands.

‘Your Pa’s upset over losing his son and heir,’ she said. ‘As for your Ma, she’s devastated. You’ve got to be brave and look after them both, Emily love. If you need me – or you’re worried – just send young Bert to fetch me.’

‘Thank you,’ Emily said. ‘Is Ma all right?’

‘She will be. All she needs is rest and looking after,’ she said and went out without another look at Pa.

Emily carried on with the ironing. Her mother didn’t normally allow her to do it, because she said Emily might burn herself on the iron if it was too hot and she liked her things just so. Emily couldn’t put as much pressure on as Ma but she could make these towels and her Pa’s long-johns and shirt look all right.

Her father didn’t look at her. He seemed lost in his thoughts and after a few minutes he got up and went outside. He didn’t speak to Emily and she knew he was too upset, but she missed his smile and hoped it wouldn’t be long before he would be back to normal. Clearly he was upset about losing his son and heir, like Granny Sawle had said, because he always had a smile and a word for Emily.

She finished the ironing and was wondering what to do when the door opened and a young man entered. Emily frowned, because she didn’t like her uncle very much. He was her mother’s brother and Ma thought the world of him, but there was something about the way he looked at Emily that made her feel he wasn’t to be trusted.

‘Been doing the ironing, Em?’ he said and she scowled, because that was her father’s pet name for her. ‘Where’s Stella?’

‘My name is Emily. Ma is upstairs sleeping – she’s lost the baby.’

Derek sat down abruptly, the colour washing from his face. ‘I told the stupid woman not to do so much. She ought to have had help while she was pregnant. If your father had anything about him he would have got a girl in to help out.’

‘I help sometimes.’ Emily was defensive, because no one was allowed to find fault with Pa.

‘What can you do? A bit of washing up or ironing? What about making the butter, scrubbing floors and all the rest of it? Stella works too hard and always has done. She should never have married that loser.’

‘Don’t talk about Pa that way …’ Emily was furious. She had the still-warm iron in her hand and without thinking just threw it at him. It missed and fell a few inches short but it shook him up. For a moment he stared at her, his eyes narrowed in anger.

‘You want to watch that temper, girl. What you need is a good smacking …’

‘You’re not my father.’

‘You little bitch …’ Derek lunged at her, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her across his knee. He slapped her hard several times and she gasped with pain but struggled and then nipped his leg through his trouser. He yelled and hit her harder.

‘Beast. I’ll tell Pa …’

‘Hurts your pride does it?’ he said and then his hand caressed her backside through her knickers. ‘Rub it better shall I?’ His hand had slipped beneath the cotton drawers and he was caressing her bottom. She felt a surge of revulsion mixed with anger and bit his bare arm hard. Derek shouted with pain and jerked. She rolled off his lap and ran across the kitchen, pulling open the back door and making a run for it. Her heart beat wildly as she made her escape, fleeing through the yard and out into the fields beyond. The air was cold and damp but she hardly noticed in her panic.

Derek was horrid! She hated him now. What did he think he was doing, pretending to make it better after he’d hurt her? The thought of him touching her made her feel sick and dirty. She didn’t know why, but it had seemed wrong and nasty and she would have done anything to get away.

Emily knew that she would have to be careful when her uncle was around in future. He was mean and spiteful and he would get his own back one of these days.

If Emily had dared to tell her father he might have sent her uncle packing but she couldn’t do that, because it would cause another quarrel between her parents. Ma thought the world of Derek. He could never do anything wrong in her eyes and she was always telling Pa how much better her brother was at farming than he could ever be.

All Emily had done was to throw the iron at him in a fit of temper, because he’d been rude about Pa – and he’d punished her. Pa never hit Ma whatever she said or did. He just looked at her in his hurt way and went out without speaking. Derek was a bully and he made her feel uncomfortable whenever he touched her.

She wouldn’t tell on him, because Ma wouldn’t believe her and if Pa did there would be a row – so she’d keep it to herself, but she wouldn’t give him a chance to touch her again like that …

She made a bolt for the open fields. Ma was sleeping and if Derek woke her up she wouldn’t want Emily around. All Ma really cared for was her brother and money – and, apparently, the son she’d lost. The son and heir that had made Pa lose his smile.

The tears building inside her, Emily ran and ran. She climbed the stile at the edge of her father’s meadow, where the cows were feeding on the meagre grass, raced across the dividing lane and scrambled over the stile into the next meadow, where she threw herself down on the damp grass and wept. The ground was soaking wet, because it had been raining and heavy clouds scudded across the sky even now. It was getting darker and turning much colder. Emily was too miserable to notice. She didn’t know why she was so miserable but her life just seemed to get worse and worse. She’d always been able to run to her father, but now suddenly she felt alone, forced to stand up for herself.