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Authors: Rosie Clarke

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BOOK: The Downstairs Maid
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‘None of that,’ Pa said. ‘I’m Joe to you, same as always, and Emily is Em. We’re relying on you to run this right for us.’

‘I’ll do that, Joe. I’ve been mending a chair this morning. That yew Windsor armchair was a bit rocky, but I’ve glued the stretcher at the bottom and clamped it together and it will be as right as rain.’

‘Good. Put it in the window and charge two pounds ten shillings for it.’

‘I think it might make a bit more than that,’ Christopher said. ‘I’ll see who asks after it before I tell him the price.’

‘There …’ Pa said beaming at Emily. ‘Didn’t I tell you he was bright?’

‘You did,’ she agreed and laughed. ‘This was a wonderful surprise, Pa – the best ever.’

‘Well, you deserved it.’ The smile left Pa’s face. ‘I’ll leave you to look round where you like, Em – but meet me here in an hour.’

‘Don’t you want me to help carry some stuff?’

He shook his head and went off without another word. Emily frowned, because she felt that he was hiding something … but Christopher was talking and she turned to him with a smile.

‘Shall I put the kettle on, Emily?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I want to pop to the library while I’ve got a minute and then I’ll see if there’s anything cheap in Woolworth that I fancy. I’ll be back soon and we’ll have a cup of tea then.’

She was feeling pleased as she went out. She might buy a fresh cake from the baker’s when she’d been to the library and share it with the young man she’d just met. Christopher was nice. She liked him and her world had just got that little bit better.

Emily borrowed the two books she was allowed – Jane Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
and a book depicting silver hallmarks. Pa was always wishing he had one, to check up on various bits of silver he picked up on his rounds. If this was the kind of thing he needed, she would save her pennies and order a copy from the bookseller in the High Street for his Christmas gift.

After leaving the library, she went down the hill to Woolworth and popped in to look at the cosmetic counter. It smelled of the loose, rose-scented bath salts you could buy by the pound and various cheap perfumes, but she came away without purchasing anything, though she fancied a bottle of eau de Cologne. Instead of spending her last sixpence on the scent, she went to the cake shop and bought three iced buns. One for each of them, to eat with their cup of tea.

As she crossed the Market Square, waiting for the brewery’s wagon with its beautiful heavy horses to pass, their harness jingling like bells, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Uncle Derek. Despite the warm sunshine, a trickle of ice slid down her spine as he leered at her.

‘Quite the young lady now, aren’t we?’ Derek asked. ‘You’re growing up, Em. I dare say you’ve got half the lads in the neighbourhood sniffing after you?’

‘I don’t go out with lads. I’m too busy.’

‘Been to the library? What’s in the bag?’

‘None of your business. Excuse me, I’m busy.’ She tried to dodge by him, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. ‘Let go of me, Derek.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’

She was aware of the strong, sharp scent of his cheap hair oil and her stomach churned, though there was little he could do to harm her in the middle of a busy street.

‘I say,’ a voice spoke from behind them. ‘Let go of her like a good chap.’

Emily turned and looked at the man who had spoken. He was a gentleman, well dressed and there was something vaguely familiar about him, though she was sure she didn’t know him.

‘And who’s going to make me?’ Derek muttered belligerently.

‘Perhaps I shall if you force me,’ the man said, slate-grey eyes narrowing. ‘However, I see a police officer just across the road. Perhaps you would wish me to summon him?’

Derek’s face went red and then white, but he let go of Emily’s wrist, turned and walked off without another word.

‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled at her rescuer. ‘That was kind, sir.’

‘Jonathan Barton,’ the man said. ‘I should be careful of fellows like that if I were you. Best not to give them the time of day. Good afternoon.’ Tipping his grey felt hat, he went off without giving her a chance to reply.

Emily was torn between feeling grateful that he’d stopped Derek molesting her and annoyance that he should imagine she’d wanted that kind of attention. She stared after him, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to make a cutting remark – but what good would it have done if she had?

He saw her as just a common girl and of course girls like her always encouraged men to make free with them – didn’t they?

Emily felt a surge of frustration and anger. One day she was going to be someone. When she married and had children they were never going to hide from the tallyman. In fact they wouldn’t buy from him. Emily wanted to walk into a posh dress shop and buy whatever she liked; she wanted to be somebody – to be respected and admired.

For a moment the clouds seemed to gather about her, but then she pushed them from her mind. This was a good day and Derek wasn’t going to spoil it for her – and she wouldn’t let herself be affected by that rude gentleman. He had been rude, even though he’d seen her uncle off.

Lifting her head proudly, Emily ran towards Pa’s shop. Sunshine was hitting on the brass harness of a horse between the shafts of a baker’s van. The horse lifted its tail and a stream of liquid shot out, the pungent smell making her wrinkle her nose as she went into the shop. She was going to make a cup of tea and eat her iced bun with Pa and Christopher and to hell with the rest of them!

Chapter 5

Emily glanced at herself in the dressing mirror Pa had given her recently. It was in the shape of a shield, dark mahogany with a light fruitwood stringing in the frame. Pa said he couldn’t sell it, because the mirror was a bit spotty and the drawer had bowed slightly, making it difficult to open and close. The mirror was one of the best things Pa had given her and she didn’t mind its faults.

‘It might bring in a few bob but I’d rather you had it, Em,’ he’d told her, the night he brought it home. ‘It’s good that – Regency or even earlier by my reckoning – and it will teach you to appreciate nice things.’

‘If it’s worth a few bob you should sell it and give me the money,’ Ma grumbled. She was sitting at the table mending Pa’s socks, a silver thimble on her finger. ‘How you expect me to manage on what you give me I don’t know.’

Pa looked at her but said nothing. He took three half crowns, some shillings and a sixpence from his pocket, the coins jangling into the jar on the mantelpiece. Saucepans were bubbling on the range and the enticing smell of a stew made Emily’s mouth water.

Her father turned to her. ‘Have you got a dress for the dance next Saturday, Em? It’s the special Christmas do and the vicar gave me tickets in exchange for a goose and three ducks.’

Emily listened to the sound of a wailing cry from upstairs. Jack had woken again, but she didn’t go up to him at once, because Ma said it would spoil him if he was forever being picked up.

Ma sniffed loudly and put away her darning things, getting up to move the pans off the heat. Neither Emily nor Pa took any notice of the sniff, even though it showed Ma’s disapproval of Pa wasting money on the dance.

‘I’ve finished my dress,’ Emily said to cover the silence. ‘Ma showed me how to finish the buttonholes.’

‘Stella was always good with her sewing.’

Emily looked at her mother as Pa went upstairs, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t decide whether Ma was upset or angry.

‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘Please yourself.’ Ma shrugged. ‘I shan’t come to the dance with you. If you want to go with your father, then that’s up to you.’

‘Your blue dress is nice but we could make another in time.’

‘It’s not the dress. I don’t want to come so don’t ask.’

Emily had tried to persuade her. She’d made tea for her mother, reminded her that their neighbours down the road were willing to look after Jack for a couple of hours if she changed her mind but she just started setting the table for dinner and refused to answer.

Now, getting ready for the dance that Saturday evening, Emily was saddened by her mother’s attitude. Why had she refused the treat offered? It was so seldom that Pa could spare the money for something special like this Christmas dance. Emily didn’t understand why her parents were almost strangers these days. They hardly spoke to each other, though Pa was never harsh to her mother in Emily’s hearing. He just behaved as though she didn’t exist.

They had never been very loving to each other but now Emily thought they might actually hate one another.

Sighing, she fastened a string of pink faux pearls about her throat. Pa often bought job lots of costume jewellery and he let Emily pick something for herself. Sometimes he was lucky and they would find a gold pin amongst the junk, but they always had to sell that, of course. One day she intended to own a string of real pearls – or at least a good set of cultured pearls. The difference was that real pearls were formed naturally in the oyster, whereas cultured pearls came from a small piece of grit being inserted into the living oyster. Emily had read that in a book. She was fascinated by jewellery in any form and had borrowed a book from the library, tracing the history of jewellery from Roman and Greek times.

Her dress was a very special one. It had sleeves that reached to just above her elbow and the bodice consisted of two pieces; underneath was a lace panel that was low enough for her to show off her necklace, and over the top a full bolero, which she’d edged with the same lace. The skirt was long and narrow, with a straight panel at the front and gathered panels over her hips. She’d seen an expensive gown made by the dressmaking establishment of Jays’ Ltd in a magazine of 1908 and copied it as best she could with two remnants and a bit of lace from the market. The front panel was plain pink, and the side panels were a kind of shiny brocade in a darker pink, which she’d thought made it look similar to the glamorous gown she’d seen in her magazine. However, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she wasn’t sure that it looked right, but it was too late now to change her mind; she had nothing else fit to wear.

Ma had told her to copy a simple dress she’d had for dancing before she married but Emily had liked the elegant gown in the fashion plate. She wondered if perhaps her mother had been right after all.

She pushed the thought from her mind. It was a special night, her first dance. Pa was making a big effort because he said she was sixteen and old enough to see a little bit of life. Emily was thrilled and determined that nothing should spoil her evening.

When she went downstairs in her new dress Pa looked at her for a moment in silence. She saw the doubts in his eyes and her heart sank into her boots. Of course the dress ought to be worn with pretty shoes but Emily only had the sturdy black boots she wore for Sundays. Her stomach started to tie itself into knots.

‘Do I look awful?’ she asked. ‘Should I put my Sunday-going-to-church dress on, Pa?’

‘No, of course not. You look … lovely,’ he said and smiled. ‘I was just taken back for a minute. I hadn’t realised you were so grown up, Em.’

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She’d thought for a moment that she looked silly.

The village hall was decorated with dark green and butter-cream gloss paint. At one end of the long room there were trestle tables covered by white cloths and set with plates of sausage rolls, cheese sandwiches and mince pies. There was beer for the men, sweet sherry for the ladies and orange squash for the children, some of whom were running about, laughing in excitement. At the other end of the room was the stage for the musicians and they had started to play a soft melody.

Emily felt a thrill of excitement. Looking round, she saw a couple of girls she’d known at school. Their dresses were just variations on the clothes they normally wore and Emily was uneasy again. Had she been foolish to try and copy the stylish gown she’d seen in that magazine? She was aware that a few of the girls and women turned their heads to look at her as Pa found her a seat amongst them and went off to fetch a drink for them both. Hearing a giggle from behind her, Emily flushed and felt hot, sure that the girls were laughing at her.

However, Pa was soon back from the bar. He handed her a small glass of dark, sweet sherry and told her to sip it. She almost choked on the first sip, because it seemed very strong. She took another sip and then set it down on a windowsill. Emily didn’t want to say but she would have preferred the orange squash.

Pa finished his beer, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked at her. ‘Want to risk your feet dancing with your old man?’

‘Yes, please.’

Emily stood up instantly. She’d been watching the dancers and it looked easy enough. Pa had shown her a few steps at home and she’d practised them alone in her room. The band struck up a catchy tune for what the announcer said was a barn dance. Emily watched for a moment or two and then Pa led her onto the floor. She was hesitant at first but the steps were easy to follow and she felt comfortable with her father, but then the announcer said it was time to change partners. She felt a moment of panic, but Pa squeezed her hand and passed her on to the next man in the line, taking a new partner himself.

‘You’re new here,’ the man said and smiled at her. He was taller than Emily but he had a friendly smile and she relaxed. ‘I think you must be Joe’s daughter Emily. I’m Harry Standen. I’ve got a farm in Sutton Fen. Your father was asking me about my bull the other day. I’ll be bringing him over when your Sally Anne is in season.’

John Standen’s natural talk of the farm put Emily at her ease. She talked to him about her father’s best cow and then asked him about his own farm, which he invited her to visit soon. Her father was going to look at some old junk in his barns that he wanted to get rid of, and he suggested that Emily should come too.

Harry liked him at once and was sorry when she had to pass on to another young man. This one didn’t talk much and kept tripping over Emily’s feet. He mumbled his apology and said it was his first dance, but it was hers too and she’d found the steps easy to follow. After the rather uncouth youth, she passed to an older man who smelled of beer and kept squeezing her hand too tightly. Emily couldn’t wait to get away from him but when she came face to face with her next partner she was almost too shocked to take his hand, because it was the gentleman who had rescued her from her uncle’s attentions in Ely.

BOOK: The Downstairs Maid
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