Annie navigated the stairs as she carried a tray for Mrs Carlisle. She filled the pot to the rim because she paid attention. She knew that Mrs Carlisle had gone straight up to her room for a rest before dinner. She also knew Mrs Carlisle would awaken in need of some refreshment, and that not only would she drink every drop of tea, but she would eat all the toast and marmalade as well. Mrs Carlisle ate like a man twice her size. Despite all the food she consumed, she had the tiniest waist Annie had ever seen. Annie rested the tray on her hip, freeing up a hand, so she could knock on Mrs Carlisle’s door.
‘Come in,’ a muffled voice said.
Annie stepped into the room, took one look at Mrs Carlisle’s battered face, and would have dropped her tray if Mrs Carlisle hadn’t hurried over to help her.
‘Oh, Annie, thank you. I’m famished.’
‘You’re welcome, Mrs Carlisle,’ Annie said. She tried to avoid looking at the older woman’s eye, which was red and swollen, as though she had been in a fight. She put the tray down on the writing table.
‘Please, call me Cat. Mrs Carlisle makes me feel old.’
‘I can’t. Miss Isobel –’
‘Isobel wouldn’t like that, would she? How about you call me Miss Catherine? That’s a little less formal.’ She touched a damp cloth to her face and winced. ‘In case you’re wondering, I was attacked today while I was shopping.’ Annie stepped into the corner out of Miss Catherine’s way, just like Miss Marie trained her to do – while Miss Catherine poured herself a large cup of tea. She added milk and sugar, took two pieces of toast and a large dollop of marmalade before she sat down at the vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘What am I going to do? Isobel will have kittens if I come down to dinner looking like this.’
Annie started to giggle, but stopped herself.
‘May I get you a fresh cold cloth?’ Annie moved away from the window and stood with her hands in front of her.
‘Thank you, Annie,’ Miss Catherine said.
Miss Catherine’s bathroom was tiled in white, with a large tub with what Miss Marie referred to as a mahogany surround. A basket full of flannels sat on a table near the tub. Annie dampened one and came back into the bedroom just as Miss Catherine unpinned her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. It took all of Annie’s effort not to stare at the red curls, which shimmered with a life all their own. Annie thought it was the most beautiful hair she had ever seen.
‘Will there be anything else, ma’am?’ Annie asked.
‘I suppose Isobel has you running all over the place.’ She turned around on the vanity stool and faced Annie.
‘Yes, ma’am. Tonight I’m to serve at table. It’s my first time. Mr Carlisle and Mr Sykes are eating tonight, all formal like. And I’m to change into a proper black uniform with a white apron to serve. Miss Isobel bought it for me special.’
‘Thank you, Annie. You’ve been very helpful and I’m sure you’ll do a smashing job at dinner tonight.’
By half past three, Annie had finished setting the table for dinner, the last of her chores. Under Miss Marie’s watchful eye, she aligned the knives and forks to the plates, and arranged the flowers. A roast lamb had gone in the cooker hours ago. Miss Marie hurried around the kitchen, slaving over the gravy, a precise recipe, which consisted of the drippings taken from the roaster seasoned with a concoction of nutmeg, claret, and the juice of an orange. Miss Marie had opened a bottle of claret to make the sauce and sipped on it as she cooked. She poured Annie a small glass and said, ‘Taste this. It’ll put the roses in your cheeks.’
Annie sipped, thought it disgusting, but didn’t let on.
‘I don’t have anything else for you to do at the moment, Annie.’ Marie glanced at the clock. ‘Back down at half past seven?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Annie said. She hurried from the kitchen before Miss Isobel showed up and found something for her to do.
At a quarter past seven, Annie stood before the small mirror in her room and studied her appearance. The black dress fit her properly, giving a sleek profile. Annie double-checked the chignon to make sure it would stay in place for the evening before she put the white cap on. After the hat was secured with pins and she double-checked that her uniform would meet Isobel’s discerning scrutiny, Annie headed downstairs.
She found Miss Marie in the kitchen scraping the drippings out of the roaster, through a strainer and into a saucepan.
‘Annie, would you take the drinks tray to the men? They’re in the drawing room. And when Mr Sykes comes, you could take his coat and show him through.’
Annie took the tray that held a dish of olives, fresh ice, and the soda syphon to the drawing room. Blackie was at the sideboard, filling a glass with brandy while Mr Carlisle sat in one of the club chairs reading a newspaper.
‘Ah, the lady with the ice. Let me help you with that,’ Mr Carlisle said. He jumped up and took the tray from Annie.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘No trouble,’ Mr Carlisle said. Annie felt her cheeks go hot. Mr Carlisle looked like a cinema hero. He had lovely blond curls and navy blue eyes. It was all she could do to not stare at him.
When the bell rang, Mr Carlisle said, ‘That’ll be Freddy.’
‘I’ll go, sir,’ Annie said. She scurried out of the room before Mr Carlisle saw her blush.
Freddy Sykes was a short stout man, with thick yellow hair as straight as straw. A lock of it hung over his forehead, giving him a boyish look. His tortoiseshell glasses had lenses thick as the bottom of a milk bottle. When Annie opened the door, he bowed. ‘Freddy Sykes, at your service.’
Annie stood aside and let him come in.
‘May I take your hat, sir?’
‘Of course,’ Freddy said. He handed Annie his hat. ‘You’re new aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Annie said.
‘I mean new to service,’ Freddy said. ‘Pardon me for saying so, young lady, but you don’t seem like the type of girl to be a servant. There’s a certain poise about you that one doesn’t often see in a serving girl.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Annie said.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘Mr Benton and Mr Blackwell are in the drawing room, sir,’ Annie said.
‘I actually require a private word with Isobel.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure –’
‘Never fear.’ He moved towards the staircase. ‘I’ll just go and announce myself.’
Helpless to do anything else, Annie stood by as he took the stairs two at a time.
‘Don’t worry, young lady. I’ll make sure that Isobel knows you did your best to stop me.’
***
Cat found everyone in the drawing room, the murmur of voices and the sound of ice in crystal glasses letting her know that cocktail hour was underway. By virtue of the dim candlelight that Isobel preferred of an evening and the careful application of make-up, Cat would be able to downplay her black eye.
She paused for a moment before she entered the room, listening as Blackie, Freddy, and Benton argued about politics. Cat stood in the doorway, girding herself to face them all. She stepped into the room. All conversation stopped. Cat didn’t move, as if awaiting judgement. Isobel sat off by herself on the settee in the corner of the room, nursing a sherry and staring out the window. Freddy was the first to break the silence.
‘What the devil’s happened to your eye, Catherine?’
When she explained that someone had tried to steal her purse and in the process had punched her, everyone was mortified, but after Cat’s assurances that she was not really hurt, the conversation moved back to politics, and no one seemed to care. Freddy Sykes was the only one to take Cat aside. He gave her that direct gaze that was uniquely his and said, ‘I say, old thing, you’re not really hurt are you?’ She tried to convince him that she was fine, but he pushed. ‘You can tell me, darling. I’m your friend, you know. And for my part, I think Benton is a brute to you.’
A friend. The words touched Cat. She stared into Freddy’s face, the boyish lock of hair in direct contrast to the myriad of fine lines at the corners of Freddy’s eyes. It was nice to know that someone cared about her, even if it was only poor Freddy, who couldn’t keep a job and depended on the charity of his wealthy relatives to pay off his gambling debts.
‘Your words are very noble, Freddy.’ She offered him her arm. ‘Now escort me to dinner, if you will.’
Isobel, with her predictable penchant for tradition, insisted on using the Carlisle china, the good silver, and fine crystal goblets – used by the Carlisles since Victoria was queen – for every dinner. The dining room had no windows. The dark green wallpaper, along with the glow of the two candelabras, cast the room in a depressing gloom. Cat used to think the dining room was warm and inviting. Now she found everything about it detestable.
Annie, with the help of Marie, carried the tureen of soup and a succession of serving dishes into the room and placed them on the mahogany sideboard. Benton enjoyed his role as man of the house. He presided over the head of the table and carved the meat, putting each slice on a plate, which Annie distributed.
‘What a treasure that young lady is,’ Freddy said after Annie left the room.
‘She’s taken on a lot of responsibility,’ Isobel said. ‘The agency wasn’t able to send someone with any training. There’s simply no one to be had. We don’t need a full staff any more, thank goodness. If Benton was still entertaining like he used to, I don’t know what I’d have done. Annie’s a good worker, especially given her age.’
‘Give her a rise, Isobel,’ Freddy said. ‘She deserves it. I know women who would pay dearly for a decent girl to work in their houses.’
‘Enough domestic nonsense,’ Benton said. ‘Let’s raise our glass and drink a toast …’
Cat got through dinner by drinking too much claret. It went down easily. The food was sublime. Cat ate in silence and let the others carry the conversation.
Benton talked of Winston Churchill, who believed that war with Germany was imminent, a direct contradiction to the beliefs held by other members of his party. Benton scoffed at appeasement. Blackie agreed with him, while Freddy didn’t believe for a minute there would be war.
When Blackie spoke, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him. He had never spoken of his life in Germany. ‘Hitler’s building planes and conscripting an army. Why would he do that if he wasn’t going to war? He’s of the opinion that Germany should get back what she lost. He makes no bones about it. They took my wife, you know. And her brother.
‘It was those damn pamphlets. I don’t know what Leni was thinking, or if she was thinking at all. It was in March, before the Olympics. They – she – had a box of flyers in the flat, stuffed in the back of her wardrobe. One of them was called, “Learn About Beautiful Germany.” Inside, they raged about Hitler, provided a map of the location of all the camps, and the conditions under the Nazi regime.’
He gulped his wine. Time seemed to stop. All eyes were on Blackie, who didn’t seem so nervous and fragile now. He looked around, seeing nothing. His gaze lingered on Cat. ‘Women aren’t allowed to attend university any more. Hitler believes a true German woman’s place is in the home, producing children and caring for family. There’s no individuality at all. Everything belongs to the Reich. Women are to give children to the Reich; the people are to make sacrifices for the Reich. The Nazis control what Germans read, what they eat – and there wasn’t much in the way of food when I left. All extra resources are going to the war machine.
‘People don’t meet their neighbours’ eyes any more. The slightest indiscretion could attract the attention of the Gestapo.’ With a shaking hand he poured more claret into his glass. ‘I was coming home from work, expecting dinner and a stein of beer. I stood in the rain and watched as my wife and her brother were hauled to the car, thrown in the back and driven away.’
‘Couldn’t you hire a solicitor and get them released?’ Cat couldn’t believe – didn’t want to believe – there was nothing to be done.
Blackie laughed, scoffed really, and looked at Cat. ‘You don’t question the Gestapo. You hope that your loved one is done away with quickly, but given my wife’s offence, I am certain she suffered. The penalty for disseminating anti-Nazi literature is death. They always torture first. If the offender has any secrets, he won’t hold them for long.’ Blackie’s hand started to tremble. He set his glass down. The claret sloshed up the sides and dripped onto the white linen tablecloth, like drops of blood.
Cat swallowed the lump that formed in her throat.
‘My wife stared at me out the back window as the car drove away. I’ll never forget the look on her face. One of the men stayed to search our house. I asked where they were taking them. The man beat me with his stick and told me to mind own business or they would take me, too, never mind that I was English. The next day, I tried to find out where they were taken and was told they were at the Gestapo prison centre. I went there, thinking I could get them released, offer money – I didn’t know what else to do. When I walked by I heard the terrible screaming.’ A sob broke from Blackie’s throat. He tried to disguise it with a cough. ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’
He pushed away from the table and hurried out of the room.
No one spoke. Cat blinked back her tears. Benton took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.
‘I had no idea,’ Freddy said.
Cat didn’t know how long they sat in the candlelit stillness after Blackie fled. No one spoke. The treachery hung in the room, a sour note to a barely tolerable evening.
Isobel broke the silence. ‘He’s with us now. We’ll see that he’s taken care of.’
‘Let’s talk of something else,’ Benton said.
‘It’s charity ball season. Freddy, let me tell you all about my latest project,’ Isobel said.
‘Best just to promise her some money now, Freddy,’ Benton said. ‘She’ll get it out of you anyway.’
‘Short on funds, I’m afraid, Isobel.’ Freddy swallowed and dabbed the corner of his mouth with the white napkin. ‘But we’ll figure something out, won’t we?’
Isobel’s cheeks flushed scarlet. Was that fear that flickered through her eyes?
Cat bit back a sigh when Isobel droned on about the orphanage that she would build. The wine flowed. The noise level rose as alcohol loosened tongues. Cat tuned them all out and concentrated on the food, thoughts of Blackie’s story running through her mind. Her heart broke for him. The men had resumed their discussion of politics. Isobel had gone quiet. Cat caught her staring at Freddy Sykes with a strange look on her face. Was Isobel angry with Freddy? Cat refilled her glass, knowing that she would have a pounding headache tomorrow.
After dinner there was discussion about a quick game of bridge before Benton and Freddy went out for the evening, but Cat begged off claiming a headache. She hurried up to her room, kicked off her shoes, and climbed on top of her bed still dressed, like a very drunk bird in a gilded cage. The room started to spin. She took deep breaths and wished she were someplace else.
Cat woke shivering. She left her window cracked and cold but sobering gusts of air flowed into the room. Her eye, which had finished swelling all the way shut while she slept, pounded. She reached up to touch it, wincing when her fingers made contact. Her mouth was dry as the Sahara. A claret-induced headache pounded in her head. She needed an aspirin and a glass of water and would have to go down to the kitchen to fetch them. She flicked on her bedside lamp, surprised that it was only a quarter past ten. Safe in the knowledge that Benton and Freddy were either drinking in Benton’s study or out for the evening, Cat decided to slip downstairs.
***
Annie enjoyed the time of night when the work was done and she had the kitchen to herself. The men were in Mr Carlisle’s study, smoking cigars and drinking brandy. Marie told her that she could clear the drawing room tomorrow morning. Isobel had congratulated her on a job well done and had promised to discuss another small rise in salary. ‘We don’t want you thinking you’re not appreciated.’
Annie stood and stretched her back. She was tired. Her feet were sore and she was certain she could sleep for a week. She hung her apron on the hook, double-checked that the kitchen was just as Miss Isobel expected it to be, and headed upstairs to her tiny yet welcoming bed. She stopped on the landing nearing Miss Catherine’s bedroom. She felt the hair on her arms rise. Her breath caught. She wasn’t alone.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could just make out the shape of a man lurking in the shadows. She reached for the switch, flipped it, and in the dim light she saw Freddy Sykes, leaning against the wall.
‘Hello, sweetheart.’
‘What are you doing up here?’ Annie knew the question was impertinent the moment it left her lips. ‘Did you need something? You’re coat’s downstairs –’
‘I was looking for you, actually.’ Freddy Sykes moved towards Annie. She recognised that look. She had seen that same expression on her stepfather’s face when they were alone together. Heart pounding in her chest, Annie tried to sidle past Freddy. If she could just make it to the stairs that led to the third floor and her room, which thank goodness had a lock, she might be safe. Surely a gentleman wouldn’t chase a simple maid such as herself. Would he?
Freddy was inches away now. Cold sweat broke out between Annie’s shoulder blades. She didn’t know what to do, how to act. Freddy stepped close to her, blocking the stairs that led to freedom.
‘I’m very fast at running up stairs.’ Freddy smiled. He spoke in a lazy manner, like a tiger stalking its unsuspecting prey.
Annie’s heart pounded. She thought she had run away from this. In one fell swoop, Freddy scooped her into his arms and pressed her against the wall.
‘How old are you, Annie?’ he whispered into her ear. He wrapped his arms around her, rendering her helpless as he pushed his body against her, grinding his hips into hers.
She filled her lungs and screamed with all the force she could muster.
Freddy clamped his hand over her mouth. Annie couldn’t breathe. Panic caused the adrenaline to pulse through her veins. She kicked and thrashed, but Freddy held her fast.
She wanted to die. Maybe she would die. People did sometimes, when men did this.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Miss Catherine’s voice cut through Annie’s fears. ‘Freddy, let her go. Right now.’
‘Who’s going to stop me?’ Freddy smirked. ‘This little lady and I were just talking, weren’t we, sweetheart.’
Annie started to shake. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.
Miss Catherine moved towards Freddy. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Freddy Sykes. Let her go. Right now.’
Freddy let Annie go. He clenched his hands into fists. ‘You know, Benton should have beaten you into submission long ago. You forget your place.’
‘Spoken like a true friend,’ Miss Catherine said.
Annie watched, horrified, as Freddy cocked his fist and stepped back, ready to swing at Miss Catherine. Miss Catherine was quicker. She kicked Freddy in the groin, hard. He groaned as he sunk to the floor. Annie just heard him utter the word, ‘Bitch.’
Miss Catherine took a key out of the small purse she carried under her arm and handed it to Annie. ‘Go to my room, lock the door, and wait for me there.’
Annie hesitated.
‘I’m the mistress of this house; do as I say. Go. Now. You’ll be safe in my room.’ Miss Catherine’s voice was firm, but her face was kind. Annie Havers was a good girl. She would rather leave this home with no reference than lose her virtue to a man like Freddy Sykes.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ She ran.