After the excitement of the coronation, things went quiet. I became so engrossed in my job that time slipped by unnoticed. I was learning something new every day and more and more responsibility was being placed on my shoulders. On my seventeenth birthday, I was given a rise in pay and my new salary was fifteen pounds a year, or one pound five shillings a month. I was in clover. I worked hard and the months flew by. Before we had time to look around, pouf! It was 1904.
At Easter that year, the master and the mistress took their usual annual holiday in Cornwall, taking Susie with them. I was left in the temporary position of acting parlour maid - not a big job as there was only Harold and Emma to look after. When it came to Harold, things hadn’t changed much. I still took his tea in the morning but I’d become clever at dodging out quickly before he could start his hanky-panky. One morning, however, when he was particularly insistent that I join him in the bed, I accidentally upset tea on the crotch of his pyjamas. The hot treatment cooled his ardour.
Emma continued to go to her meetings with the WSPU in Manchester but when her parents were away, she invited her friends to meet at home and I was given the job of waiting on them with tea and biscuits. It was a task I
enjoyed for the group wasn’t a bit snooty and they talked to me as an equal. Apart from Miss Emma, there were three other women - Christabel Pankhurst, Annie Kenney, Teresa Billington. And one man - Bernard Sheridan!
The talk at the meeting was about opening a charity shop which Miss Emma had agreed to run in Macclesfield town centre.
‘Instead of giving our cast-offs to the servants,’ Christabel said, ‘we could sell the clothes to raise money for the poor and the cause of women’s suffrage.’ When I took their tea into them, they asked my opinion.
‘Do you think such a shop will work, Kate?’ Christabel asked.
I curtsied before I answered. ‘I don’t know, Miss Christabel.’
‘No need for that bowing and scraping, Kate,’ she smiled, ‘and you can call me Isabel.’
‘Yes, Miss . . . er . . . Isabel. Depends on what was being sold,’ I answered, ‘and the prices being asked.’
‘Good answer,’ said Bernard warmly. ‘It’s what I’ve been saying. We must only buy goods that are saleable. It’s no use buying things like ladies’ hats which are personal objects. We need to concentrate on objects like ornaments, books, good furniture.’
‘I think you’ll find there’s a ready market for, as you put it, things like ladies’ hats.’ Miss Emma laughed.
‘I’m sure I can persuade many of our richer supporters,’ said Christabel, ‘to part with some of their unwanted items to further our objectives.’
‘The matter is becoming more and more urgent,’Teresa added. ‘This parliament won’t budge on the matter of women’s franchise. An MP recently said that it wouldn’t be safe to give us the vote as we have different mental powers and we’re too fickle. I ask you! How did people like
that get into parliament? I often wonder what working- class women think about insults like this. I’d like to ask Kate here what she thinks about women getting the vote.’
Tm sure I don’t know, miss,’ I replied nervously. ‘I’m kept too busy earning a living to be able to think about such things.’ What a smarmy answer, I said to myself. What I really thought was that it’s all right for rich young things like you lot drinking tea and playing politics. For you, it’s a way of filling in your time and amusing yourselves - an escape from boredom. You put charitable work on a par with going to dances and parties.
‘How many hours a day do you work, Kate?’ Bernard asked.
‘Depends, sir. A normal day is about fourteen or fifteen hours but if there’s a dinner party on, it can be as much as sixteen or even seventeen.’
‘Exploitation!’ my handsome hero exclaimed. ‘Let me see your hands, Kate.’
He took my hands in his. His were soft and warm. He examined the palms of mine.
‘Look at those,’ he said to the other ladies. ‘A beautiful young lady like Kate with red raw hands. It’s not right it's social injustice.’
Christabel agreed. ‘Women in all walks of life will be exploited until we can win power at the ballot box.’
Their debate continued as I sided the table. No one offered to tackle social injustice by helping me. But they were discussing, not doing.
For the rest of the day, I could feel Bernard’s gentle, sensitive touch on both my hands. And hadn’t he called me beautiful? I was sure he fancied me.
Emma opened her charity shop and she was kept busy every day. It was soon doing well, for the items for sale were of good quality and going cheap. From time to time,
Bernard called at the house to help Emma with the bookkeeping. How I looked forward to him coming, for he never forgot to greet me and shake my hand.
Around this time, I started to look more closely at myself in the looking glass. I was a frump. What horrible-looking clothes I had. I’d never bothered too much about my personal appearance as it had never seemed important. Who would have looked twice at a servant girl from Ancoats? One morning when everyone was out, I stretched out on Miss Emma’s bed to feel what it must be like to be her. I picked up a copy of the Illustrated London News and studied an advertisement telling the reader how to be beautiful and healthy.
ALL IN SEARCH OF HEALTH SHOULD
READ THIS
The lady who wants to be beautiful keeps her system well regulated, is careful of her diet, sleeps nine hours a day, takes a cold plunge every morning upon rising, and then exercises a little time with her two-pound dumb-bells. She wears a Harness’ Electric Corset which makes the most awkward figure graceful and elegant. Her stockings are held by suspenders from the shoulders, thus allowing for free circulation of the blood. She avoids strong beverages, and spicy dishes. After each meal she takes Vogeler’s Curative Compound, the greatest blood purifier and strength restorer known to pharmacy and medicine.
Fine, I chuckled to myself, but where was I going to get an electric corset and a pair of two-pound dumb-bells?
I examined her clothes, especially her silk and satin underwear, and for the first time I felt envious when 1 realised how dowdy my own stuff was. Mine was coarse
calico that tickled every time I wore it. Serviceable but lacking in elegance and refinement. Then I had a stroke of luck. If you could call it that.
I was cleaning the grate in Harold’s room when I found a pound note all screwed up. I thought, this represents four weeks’ wages to me and I wondered if Madam had put it there to test me out. Surely not. I’d been working there for three years and I had an unblemished record; she wouldn’t still be putting out decoy money. I agonised about it for the whole of that morning. I smoothed the note out and studied it ’cos I’d never possessed a pound note as such. Whenever Madam paid us, it was always in silver coins. Back in my room, I caught a reflection of myself in the wardrobe mirror and saw once again my shabby outfit. I made up my mind.
‘Bugger it,’ I said aloud. ‘I’m keeping this.’
That week, I drew out three pounds from my savings and, putting it with the pound, went into Macclesfield and bought myself a new rig-out, including a silk nightdress. And that wasn’t all. I bought a bike for two guineas, a straw hat and a set of knickerbockers, known as Rationals, to go with it. The new look Kate. I was in with the latest fashions. Time, I thought, to loosen my stays, get on my bike and make my presence felt. Back in my room, I tried on the new outfit and studied myself in the looking glass. Not bad, I thought, not bad at all. New clothes gave me an uplift and I felt as if I was as good as the upstairs people.
When the staff saw me in my new apparel and riding my mechanical steed, they couldn’t resist making cracks and singing in chorus:
Daisy , Daisy give me your answer do
Dm half crazy all for the love of you.
It won ’t be a stylish marriage.
I can *t afford a carriage.
But you’ll look sweet
Upon the seat
Of a bicycle made for two.
‘Hello, hello,’ said James when they’d finished their warbling. ‘Something’s going on and it’s not even spring.’
‘What’s got into you, young lady?’ Mrs Armstrong laughed. ‘Have you met a young man? Or have you won the Tit-Bits competition?’
‘Didn’t you read what it said in the Daily Mail ?’ I said. ‘Straight-laced corsets and stuffy bustles are to be chucked into the dustbin.’
‘I think I have an idea of who she’s dressing up in her Rationals for,’ Susie commented slyly. ‘I’ll bet it’s that young Bernard Sheridan who’s on Miss Emma’s committee.You want to be careful there, Kate. Don’t go getting ideas above your station.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ I answered, blushing deeply. Susie’s words had struck home.
‘She’s right there,’ added Mrs Armstrong. ‘Them upstairs don’t like the idea of you getting dressed up better than them. They believe you should dress according to your position.’
‘Well, I approve strongly of Kate’s new get-up,’ Old Ned declared. ‘Don’t you be surprised if you have the young men swarming after you like wasps round a pot of jam.’
Ned was right for I found that whenever I went into Macclesfield to do a message at the Shambles Market, I had a chorus of cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the errand boys and the butchers’ lads.
I had to admit, though - I liked it.
And Mrs Armstrong was right about them upstairs not
liking my new look. It wasn’t long before Her Majesty called me upstairs.
‘I am not pleased, Kate,’ she said, ‘about this cycling of yours. Ladies who do that kind of thing should be ashamed of themselves, going about on those immodest machines. Why, I saw Mrs Whiston on one in town yesterday and her with little children at home. I don’t know what the world is coming to. I read the other day that ladies’ hemlines are to be raised above the ankle. I hope you’ll be careful not to give scandal.’
‘Yes, Madam.’ I curtsied as usual but I took no notice of her. Paying lip service is what I believe it’s called.
In June, Madam and the master went for their usual holiday to Cornwall. This time they allowed Susie to take her annual leave in her home town of Hartlepool. Once again, I was left as acting parlour maid with the responsibility that that involved. It didn’t worry me as I was used to the job and knew the routine inside out. The only interesting things in life were the visits of the various tradesmen to the back door. The butcher’s boy with his wooden trough and his large joints of meat, the chimney sweep in his top hat, the muffin man with his handbell. They brought not only their wares but the latest gossip from around the district. For a while, life was quiet, with nothing exciting or dramatic happening.
Until my nineteenth birthday.
I awoke at five thirty as usual and went through the daily routine. At breakfast we sat down together and Ned brought in three letters for me. One was a card from Cissie wishing me all the best and telling me that things were going well, that she was now first in class and had been promoted to Lucy Morrell’s group. Soon she would be a Lucy Lady. Danny had been promoted again, this time to full corporal, and he was the leader of the woodwind
section in the army band. All good news and it made me happy.
The second letter had an American stamp and I was puzzled for a moment until I saw Lizzie’s name and address on the front. My dear old friend Lizzie! In my first year at the Lamport-Smythes, I’d had a short note from her telling me that she’d arrived safely and that she had found things strange. She’d seemed more interested in the strange foods they’d had aboard ship and her experiences going through American Customs than anything else, though she had mentioned briefly that their next door neighbours had a yacht and a motor boat. Now, judging by the thickness of the letter, I was to have a fuller account. About time too, I thought.
I went into a quiet corner of the kitchen to read the letter slowly and to savour every word.
Dear Kate,
At last I have found the time to write to you. Joan and I have now become used to life out here. And how different it is to the one we knew in Ancoats and in Swinton. Everything, everything is so different, especially the food. We seem to have blueberries with everything - in the mornings, blueberry pancake for breakfast, at lunch, blueberry pie for dessert, and in the afternoon we take the kids berry picking. Yes, you guessed it, blueberries and so we made blueberry jam. We are slowly putting on weight due to all the fantastic ice cream, the flapjacks, and the jelly sand-
s *
wiches. It’s amazing how much stodge the Americans eat - it’s all soft and I’m sure their teeth don’t get enough exercise.
The O’Hagans are rich and own a big department store on Fifth Avenue, New York. Their house is enor-
mous and in twenty acres of ground. They also have a house in California which we visit every summer. This year, they’re even talking about taking a sea cruise to South America and we’re to go with them to look after their young kids. We earn sixteen dollars a month, that’s about four pounds or, if you like, one pound a week. Joan and I are saving like mad as the family won’t let us pay for anything. As for the kids’ nursery, you wouldn’t believe it! No expense spared - toys, equipment, bedding, clothing. We’ve only to ask and we get. Our boss, Mr O’Hagan, is talking about buying the latest automobile and if he does, it means we’ll be riding around in style. The family does a lot of visiting and wherever we go, folk keep embarrassing us by asking us to say something so that they can hear our cute Limey accent. If only my poor mother had lived to see it all! We could have had her over for a holiday, or vacation, as it’s called here. We miss you too, Kate, and we wish you’d decided to come with us. It’s not too late as English nannies here are in great demand because of the way they speak, I think. Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll ask around. Coming here was the best move we ever made. Joan considers herself so lucky that you turned the job down. It’s funny the way things turned out - she got your job and you got hers.
When I think back about the old days and our time in that dreadful workhouse, it makes me shudder. It all seems like a terrible nightmare.
Love to your Mam, Cissie, Danny, Eddie and the rest of your family.
Your loving friend and cousin,
Lizzie
There were tears in my eyes when I’d finished reading. Dear old Lizzie. How I missed her too! Her letter set me wondering. Should I have gone to America with them? It sounded as if they were having a wonderful time compared to my humdrum life in Macclesfield. Then I remembered the glass swan on my bedroom mantelpiece and it reminded me of my dream. I recalled why I had decided not to go.
I turned to the third letter, post-marked Manchester. Unusual to get a letter from home. The only one I’d ever received from Mam was one informing me of Gran’ma’s sudden death and telling me about the funeral which had already taken place. I tore open the envelope. The letter was from Aunt Sarah. If there was any lingering doubt in my mind as to whether I’d made the right decision in not going to America, this letter sealed it. I was needed this side of the Atlantic.
Dear Kate,
As you know, your Mam is not a good letter writer and she has asked me to write to you instead. Don’t be too shocked at what I am going to tell you but your Mam’s had a baby - a little boy and they’re going to call him John. The father is Frank McGuinness.
I hope you are happy to hear this news. It means you now have a little stepbrother. But I think it might be best if you didn’t come home for a while.
I hope you are well.
Love, ' •
Aunt Sarah
>
I couldn’t believe it. Mam had had a baby! And not married! Oh, the shame of it! I could feel my cheeks burning and it must have been obvious to the staff in the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong, Kate?’ Mrs Armstrong asked anxiously. ‘Not bad news, I hope.’
‘Not really, Mrs Armstrong. It’s my mother back in Manchester. She’s given birth to a baby boy.’
‘Oh, that is good news,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m so happy for you and your family.’
The staff didn’t know my mam was a widow and unmarried.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Armstrong, it is good news,’ I lied.
I was in turmoil. What was I to do? I couldn’t give up my job - we were going to need money more than ever ’cos Mam was broke and Frank McGuinness didn’t look as if he had much apart from his pension. The news made me more determined than ever to save and save in order to get the family together again. It meant getting Cissie and Danny out of Swinton and back home where they belonged. But not straightaway. I had to bide my time.
When Susie returned from leave, she seemed different. There was a spring in her step and she looked happier and livelier.
‘As you know, Kate,’ she said that night when we were getting into bed, ‘I hate being a parlour maid and the idea of spending the rest of my life working for Her Majesty and her odious son fills me with horror. I detest both of them and I don’t think I can take much more of it here. I’d love to get one over on them.’
‘What sort of thing do you have in mind, Susie?’
‘I dunno at this moment but I’d do anything to escape.’
‘Anything, Susie?’
‘Well, almost anything. Look, Kate, can you keep a secret?’
‘Hope so.’
Unable to contain herself any longer, she gushed out
her news. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back home this year to be married, no matter what.’
I felt as if Fd been thumped when I heard this and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Too many changes in my life and they were coming too fast. Of course I was glad to see Susie so full of the joys of spring but I was also hurting inside because it meant she would be leaving. Susie had become my bosom friend over the last few years.
‘My childhood sweetheart, Bob,’ she whispered, ‘has finally proposed. He’s a policeman in the Durham Constabulary and he’s summoned up the courage to pop the question. I wish you could meet him, Kate. He’s so handsome. Bright blue eyes and wavy golden hair with a sort of quiff at the front.’
‘I’m so happy for you, Susie,’ I said and I meant it though I knew I was going to miss her badly. ‘And that’s a good job Bob has, being a policeman - good pay and a good pension at the end. You’re made for life.’
‘Ah, but Bob and I are hoping for better things. We’d like to buy a little business that we can run together. We’ve got our eye on a post office in a pretty village called Ferrygate. That’s our big dream.’
‘That’d cost a fortune, surely?’
‘A small one anyway. We need about two hundred pounds to cover the cost of the property, the good will, and the stock.’
‘You seem to have it worked out.’
‘All except for the money. Bob has about thirty pounds and I have around twenty. But that’s taken us six years of hard saving.’
‘That leaves you only a hundred and fifty. Where do you hope to get a sum like that?’
‘It’s not as bad as that, Kate. We can get a mortgage of a hundred and so that leaves us only fifty short.’
‘Still, fifty’s fifty, Susie.’
‘That’s the part of the plan we haven’t worked out yet. Bob wants me to leave as soon as possible, especially when I told him about Madam and her bossy manner. Also about our Harold. He hit the roof when I told him about his groping hands and his obscene suggestions. He reckons we should report him to the police and have him prosecuted for molestation or attempted rape.’
‘That would be going a bit far, Susie. Madam would have a heart attack at the thought of the disgrace. What’s more, we’d lose our jobs.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Kate.’
‘It’s those dirty magazines he’s always looking at. I think they get him excited,’ I said.
‘I feel guilty about leaving you with the job of taking him his morning cuppa, Kate,’ Susie said, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Look,’ she continued, ‘you’ve been taking tea to him and Miss Emma for a few years now. How about a swap? You take the tea to the master and the madam and I’ll take over your chore. A change is as good as a rest, they say. I’ll fight him off for a few months.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you take Harold on,’ I replied. ‘Harold’s as randy as ever and it’s a while since you handled him - or didn’t handle him, as the case may be.’
‘It wasn’t fair that I loaded that on your back, Kate. I’d take it as a great favour if you’d let me take over the job again. It’s been on my conscience for a long time.’
‘Are you sure you know what you’re saying, Susie?’ I said. ‘I mean. I’ve learned to cope with our young master. He knows he has to watch his step with me or I’m likely to have an accident with his tea.’
‘Look, no arguments, Kate. I insist. I’ll start taking in his tea tomorrow. There’ll be no problem. Remember, I
used to deal with him long before you came on the scene.’
‘True, but he’s a few years older now and he’s learned a trick or two.’
‘Maybe, but so have I.’
I was only too happy to make the switch. But I was a little puzzled by Susie’s insistence. She must be going off her head, I thought. I put it down to her being in love.
I was sure she regretted her kind offer when I saw her looking a bit red and flustered a few times when she came out of his room in the mornings.
About six weeks later, we were settling down to sleep as usual when Susie whispered to me, ‘Can I tell you something else in confidence, Kate?’
‘Another secret, Susie? I’m beginning to feel like a priest in the confessional box. But you know you can.’
‘I’m late.’
‘Late? Late for what?’
‘No, not late like that. Late with my monthlies, you know. Kate, I think I’m in trouble.’
In our world, that could mean only one thing.
‘Impossible!’ I said. Not another one in the family way, I thought. This is becoming contagious. ‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘I know,’ she said confidently. ‘Don’t ask me how. Maybe it’s changes in the body chemistry, I dunno. I can tell somehow by instinct.’
‘Who . . . ?’ The question hovered on my lips.
‘Is the father?’ she said, finishing it for me.
‘Is it your boyfriend, Bob?’
‘I doubt it. Bob and I can get pretty passionate at times but no, I don’t think it’s him.’
‘Then who?’ I was afraid to hear the answer.
‘I’m ashamed to say, Kate, but I’ve got to tell someone. It’s Harold.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I swear it.’
‘What in heaven’s name happened?’
‘When we did that swap with the morning tea routine, I had no choice. Just before I went on leave, I was packing my case in my room when Harold walked in on me. You know what he’s like. Didn’t knock. Didn’t think he had to being the son of the master.’
‘Typical Harold,’ I said. ‘But what’s that got to do with the morning tea business.’
‘He saw what I was packing into my case. I had a few items to take home as presents - a bottle of wine, a tin of salmon, some cans of pineapple and pears - you know the sort of thing. They don’t have much money at home.’
Susie had been unlucky getting caught like that. All of us on the staff helped ourselves to a few goodies from time to time. James with the booze, Mrs Armstrong with her deals with the tradesmen, and even Old Ned had a secret vegetable patch in the garden. Me too. I had to hold up my hands and plead guilty. On my last visit home, I’d taken a few things for the family. The Lamport-Smythes had so much and our own people so little.
‘Harold threatened to spill the beans to his mother,’ Susie said, ‘and that would have been instant dismissal, as you know.’
‘So Harold had a hold over you. Either you gave in to his demands or it was all up with you.’
‘Exactly. You can see now, Kate, why I had to do the swap. Harold wanted crumpet with his tea and since he wasn’t getting anywhere with you, I was fair game.’
I didn’t usually swear but I couldn’t help myself on this occasion. ‘The bastard!The conniving bastard!’ I said. ‘It’s a form of blackmail and rape.’
‘But I’d no idea, Kate,’ Susie wept, ‘that he’d become so
persistent over the last two or three years. The first morning, I put down his tea on the bedside cabinet and quick as a flash he pulled me into the bed. Before I could say Jack Robinson, he’d done it. Talk about Flash Harry!’
‘So tell me something new!’ I exclaimed. ‘I know the problem only too well. Haven’t I spent the last couple of years fighting him off. But why didn’t you call for help?’
‘How could I call for help at seven o’clock in the morning? The whole house would have been in uproar, upstairs and downstairs alike. Anyway, it wasn’t one occasion; he had me in his power, blackmailing me. He was demanding it on a regular basis.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Susie, that you’ve had to suffer this. If I had my way, I’d castrate him. But about this idea of being pregnant, you can’t be absolutely sure, can you? -You’ve missed only one period. Maybe it’s worry and tension that’s caused you to miss.’
‘Maybe you’re right, Kate. I hope to God you are.’
A whole month went by before we mentioned the subject again.
We’d had an exceptionally hard day doing one of Madam’s monthly spring cleans when a tearful Susie reported the bad news.
‘No doubt about it, Kate. I’m in the Stork Club all right. Oh, what a rotten kettle of fish! What am I going to do? I’m utterly lost and I feel like jumping into the nearest canal.’
‘No need for that sort of talk, Susie.’
‘Tell me what to do, Kate. Shall I get rid of it? I’ve heard that if you take a hot bath and drink a lot of gin, it can remove the problem.’
‘Don’t even think it, Susie. Besides, not only is it murder but you’d be taking a big risk with your own life. In the old days, there were one or two cases in Ancoats, as I remember.’
‘Then I suppose there’s nothing for it but to dump the problem in Harold’s lap like you did with the hot tea.’
‘That sounds like the best solution, Susie. But what can Harold do? He’s such a spineless character.’
‘Doesn’t matter. He’ll have to tell the family upstairs and they’ll have to take some sort of action.’
‘And if he refuses? What then?’
‘I’ve no choice but to report the matter myself. It’s time the Lamport-Smythes learned what’s been going on. Their little Harold is due for his comeuppance.’
‘His mother’ll strangle him, Susie. She thinks Harold is the centre of the universe and everything revolves round him. She’ll never believe he could do anything wrong. She’ll blame it on you and say you led him on.’
‘I’m going to wait a couple of weeks to be absolutely sure. Then I’m going to confront the family. But Kate, I’m so scared. I don’t think I could face that lot by myself. Will you come with me? Madam frightens the life out of me.’
‘Of course I will, Susie. And I’ll back up anything you say. Her Majesty should learn what kind of little monster she gave birth to - not a boy but a cross between a wolf and a ram.’
A fortnight later, there was no change. Together, we took Harold’s morning tea and gave him the news. His skin was pale to begin with but when he heard that he was to be a father, he turned the colour of parchment. One thing I’ll say for him, though, he didn’t deny it. Instead he kept repeating the same phrase over and over again. ‘What will Mother say? What will Mother say?’
Susie and I were more interested in what mother would do than what she would say. The question was: would Harold have the guts to tell his parents?
It was James our butler who gave us the answer, though
he himself didn’t fully understand it. He came down from having served breakfast looking worried.
‘I don’t like it,’ he said to cook. ‘Something’s amiss up there. Something funny going on.’
‘How do you mean “funny”?’ she asked.
‘Uneasy, tense. You can cut the air with a knife. As if they were angry with each other. I think Harold’s in some sort of trouble.’
‘They’ve probably heard that he’s been messing about in Manchester,’ replied Mrs Armstrong, ‘instead of doing his research work in Chester. I always knew he’d be found out one day.’
Around ten o’clock that morning, James came into the scullery where Susie and I were washing up.
‘You’re wanted upstairs, Susie,’ he said. ‘Something’s going on. Neither the master nor young Harold has gone to work. And they’re wearing them funeral faces which I haven’t seen since the death of the old Queen.’
‘I’ll go with her,’ I said quickly.
James was right, the atmosphere in the drawing room was like a funeral parlour. Susie and I went through the curtsying routine but our employers hardly noticed. The master looked sick but Madam looked worse as if she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her, like half a pound of lemons.
And unusually it was Mr Lamport-Smythe who did the talking.
‘Harold has told us about what’s been happening. Is it true?’ He chose his words carefully.
‘About me expecting, sir? Yes, it’s true,’ Susie told him bravely. A spade was a spade where she came from.
‘And Harold is the father?’ .
‘Yes, sir,’ Susie answered. ‘I’m so embarrassed and so
sorry about it. But I thought you would want to know about it because the baby will be your grandchild.’
Susie couldn’t have picked a better way to hurt Madam. She gave an involuntary gasp. She winced and her face became fixed in a pained expression as if a gobstopper had gone down the wrong way.
Harold hung his head.
‘Well, are you, Harold?’ Madam exploded at last. ‘Are you the father?’
‘I’m not sure, Mother,’ he stammered.
‘Did you or did you not have . . . ?’ She was unable to finish the question.
Mentally I completed it for her. Have her? Have it?
‘Yes, yes, it was me. I got carried away one morning,’ he whinged.
‘Oh, Harold, Harold! How could you do this to us?’ Madam wept.
‘I’m so sorry, Mother. It was just on this one occasion. I forgot myself.’
Madam could hold herself back no longer. She turned on Susie. ‘I feel sure that our innocent young boy was tempted by this Jezebel,’ she rasped, pointing the finger. ‘She led our boy astray.’ She took Harold in her arms to comfort him. ‘My poor little lamb.’
It was time for me to speak up, though I knew it might cost me my job.
‘I’m sorry. Madam,’ I heard myself saying, ‘but I must say something. Susie’s not the only one who’s been the subject of your son’s attentions. Nearly every morning for the last three years I’ve had to fight him off, and I’m no Jezebel.’
‘That’s true,’ Susie added. ‘He’s taken advantage of Kate and me and I’m willing to swear as much in a court of law.’
The reference to the court of law was the master stroke. The whole family turned green.
‘There’s the scandal,’ Mr Lamport-Smythe murmured to himself. ‘It would ruin us and our family name here in Macclesfield. Why, we’d have to move to another district. And there’s my reputation at the Royal Exchange to think of.’
At the mention of scandal and reputation, Madam began to sob.
‘Too late for tears, Miriam,’ the master said. ‘No use crying over spilt milk. What we must do,’ our boss continued, unusually decisive, ‘is first check that Susie really is . . .’ He had the same problem about using grown-up words, like ‘pregnant’. ‘. . . is ... expecting. We shall arrange an appointment with our general practitioner and, if it’s confirmed, ask our solicitor to advise us.’ He turned to Susie. ‘If it’s confirmed, we as a family accept full responsibility and will see to your welfare.’
Later that night Susie and I talked it over.
‘What if the family decide to prosecute you, Susie, and me, come to think of it, for stealing items of food? What then?’
‘Not a chance,’ she said. ‘The whole story would have to come out and so would the scandal. If the Macclesfield Courier got hold of it, they’d be ruined. No, take it from me. The family will do anything to hush the matter up. They’ll have to compensate me.’
‘But what can you say to Bob, your fiance? Surely, he’ll want to know about the baby and where the money came from?’
\ *
‘I’ll tell him the truth. How I took his advice and threatened to report the Lamport-Smythes and their son to the police. I can explain any payment they make to me as “hush” money.’
‘What about the baby, Susie? What will you tell him about that? Won’t he ask a lot of awkward questions?’
‘Somehow,’ she said mysteriously, ‘I don’t think Bob will be a problem.’
Her answer puzzled me but I let it pass.
‘Let’s hope and pray that Bob is understanding and stands by you,’ I said. ‘Do you think it’s going to work out?’
‘I’m going to give it a damn good try, Kate.’
The family made the appointment with the family doctor in Prestbury and Susie’s condition was confirmed.
A week later Susie and I, both of us nervous, were sitting at the table in the servants’ hall. We were wearing our Sunday best which caused a great deal of comment from the other three on the staff.
‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on!’ Mrs Armstrong snapped. ‘If there’s some sort of trouble, I want to know about it. If it concerns them upstairs, it concerns all of us down here.’
The front doorbell rang and James went to answer it. He was soon back and he looked worried.
‘I’ve admitted Richard Lambert, the family solicitor. He wouldn’t be here unless there’s something serious in the wind.’
‘P’raps that son of theirs has broken the law,’ offered Old Ned. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.’
‘That’s as may be,’ Mrs Armstrong said, ‘but why are these two young ladies dressed up to the nines and on a Monday morning? And why has Susie brought her suitcase down? It’s not long since she came back from leave,’
I said nothing and hoped that my face gave nothing away.
‘You’ll all find out soon enough,’ Susie told them. ‘Until then, you’ll have to be patient.’
The drawing-room bell rang and James went to answer it. He was soon back and with a jerk of his thumb indicated that we were both required upstairs.
‘Theirs not to reason why,’ I said to Susie, quoting Tennyson’s immortal lines. ‘Theirs but to do and die.’ I was supposed to be giving her moral support but I wasn’t feeling too confident myself.
We went upstairs into the drawing room where the master, the mistress, Harold, and the solicitor were waiting. Richard Lambert was a frightening figure with a stern, disapproving face.
We both curtsied to show that we knew our place and that we didn’t want to cause any trouble. We were left standing there as no one asked us to sit down. We waited for someone to speak. It was the solicitor who broke the silence.
‘Now, Susie - I presume I may call you Susie - I’ve been fully apprised of the situation. The family doctor at Prestbury has confirmed that you are two to three months pregnant.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Susie replied quietly. She was shaking like a leaf.
‘Now I want to be absolutely certain about what happened,’ the lawyer continued. ‘Did sexual intercourse take place between you and Harold Lamport-Smythe?’ Obviously the solicitor had no difficulty in saying the words. He was a cold fish and no mistake.
I kept quiet but my eyes moved from speaker to speaker.
‘Yes, sir,’ Susie replied.
I looked around and every face in the room had turned red except of course the lawyer’s. I had the impression that
the man was enjoying embarrassing everyone and savour-
\ *
ing the forbidden words.
‘Harold has admitted his responsibility in this matter. It only remains for us to come to some amicable arrangement.’
Susie’s eyes were fixed firmly on the carpet as she nodded her head.
‘The family,’ the solicitor said, ‘is anxious to do all in their power to help you, and in this regard they have asked me to give them advice.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Susie said. ‘I’m truly sorry for the trouble that this situation has caused.’
‘You do understand,’ Richard Lambert continued, ‘that there is absolutely no question of Harold marrying you. You have been in domestic service long enough to understand that it’s not the done thing for a young man from a well-to-do family like the Lamport-Smythes to marry a servant girl.’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ Susie said, ‘I wasn’t considering anything like that.’
The family looked distinctly relieved when they heard Susie say this. It just went to show how out of touch they were. Susie would rather have married Old Ned or Old Nick himself than their obnoxious son.
‘Good, good,’ the solicitor mumbled. ‘Now, we have drawn up a form of contract which we are going to ask you to sign with your friend here as witness. The family has your future welfare at heart and they have authorised me to compensate you for the necessary expenses you will incur. Let me say at once that I think the family has been extremely generous - I would even say over-generous.’ Mr Lambert turned his attention to the form.
‘What is your full name?’ he asked, his pen at the ready.
‘Victoria Garrett, sir.’
‘There’s the matter of registering the birth of the child. Children born out of wedlock usually assume the name of the mother, you understand.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Susie’s eyes were still glued on the carpet.
‘The family has agreed that you will be paid the sum of
seventy-five pounds,’ the lawyer said, ‘subject to the following conditions.’
Ah, here we go, I thought. Here come the whys and the wherefores and the funny legal mumbo-jumbo.
‘First, you will undertake to leave Macclesfield and not return, and second, you will give a solemn undertaking never to contact or communicate with the Lamport- Smythe family again. I take it that you have prepared your things as the family requested.’
Susie nodded.
‘If you accept these conditions, I have a banker’s draft for the agreed amount.’
Susie and I signed the contract where the solicitor indicated. Susie collected the draft, we curtsied and we were out of there.
There was a big hoo-ha in the servants’ hall when we told them the story.
‘If I had my way,’ James muttered, ‘I’d serve up his testicles on tomorrow’s breakfast tray.’
‘And I’d be happy to cook ’em,’ added Mrs Armstrong.
An hour later, my dear friend Susie left in a cab for the railway station, and when she’d gone, there was an ache and an empty space in my heart.
Some time after that, Harold accepted a commission in the Cheshire Regiment. Perhaps the army could instil some discipline into his life.
As for Susie, I heard no more for several months until I received a brief letter.
Ferrygate in County Durham
Dear Kate,
You will be glad to know that everything worked
out for the best after I left Macclesfield. I married
my childhood sweetheart, Bob, and we are both very
happy. It’s so nice to feel that my household chores are now for my own home and not someone else’s.
Bob left the police force and we bought our dream post office. It keeps us busy but we love it as we meet so many interesting people and everyone seems to bring their problems to us. Sometimes, I think we’re more an advice centre than a post office.
I told Bob that the money I got from the Lamport- Smythes was paid to me when I threatened to take Harold to court for molestation. I said nothing to him about ‘the other thing’. I couldn’t see the point as Bob is happy about the way things have turned out. His only comment was that I should have asked for more money.
One other small piece of news! Last week, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy (seven pounds). Everyone said he’s the image of Bob, his dad, with his golden hair and lovely blue eyes.
Ever your friend,
Victoria (who used to be Susie)
I had to sit down when I’d read this letter. I thought back on all that Susie had done and said before she’d left. The pieces fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. The scheming little devil! Susie had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, including mine. I spent the rest of the day chuckling to myself and repeating over and over again a certain Lancashire expression I’d learned as a child. Who’d a thought it?