‘Emily, Emily, Miss Rose is calling for you.’ The small girl dressed in a plain grey dress, over which rested a starched white pinafore, raced down the narrow hallway, almost knocking over the tall young woman who was crossing the hall, her arms full of freshly ironed linen.
‘For goodness sake, Mary, you nearly had me over. Look where you’re going in future, and stop your shouting. I’ve told you before about that.’
The small girl tossed back her head defiantly, her pert face taking on a look of resentment.
‘Well, it won’t matter after today, will it? This is me last day here, an’ I won’t be sorry to see the back of this place. There’s loads of work going, now the men are away fighting. I can easily get a job in one of the factories, and it’ll pay more than the measly few bob I get here.’
Trying hard to hang on to her temper, Emily Ford hugged the laundry closer to her chest and replied harshly, ‘Well, you haven’t finished here yet. And if you want your wages, you’d better get on with your work. There’s still the drawing-room and bedrooms to clean before the dust-sheets go over the furniture, so you’d best get on with it, unless you want to stay on after your time.’ Mary Dawkins, maid to the Winters since she’d left school, flounced off down the corridor.
Emily watched her go, her expression thoughtful, before leaving the hallway, her steps taking her towards the room known as the Study. Turning her back to the brown mahogany door, she knocked it open with a swift thrust of her buttocks and entered the room.
It was a large, airy room and Emily’s favourite, for it overlooked the long, winding garden and the small orchard at the back of the three-storey house. At this time of year, with winter beginning to set in, the trees were bare, as were the rows of flower beds. But in the late summer months, when the trees were heavily laden with apples and plums, and the flower beds were bursting with a riotous assortment of colours, Emily would open the wide, glass doors and drink in the fresh sights and smells of nature at its very best. And always she would find herself wishing that her mother and Lenny could be here with her. The only view from the back to-back terraced house in Fenton Street was of their neighbour’s yard backing onto their own.
Walking swiftly, she crossed the room and laid the sheets and linen on the corner of the long window-seat adjacent to the patio doors, intending to sort the laundry into individual piles.
Instead, she eased herself onto the plush red upholstery and, resting her arm on the windowsill, gazed out over the barren garden. She shouldn’t have gone for Mary like that, especially knowing it was her last day. But that was the exact reason why she had spoken so harshly to the younger girl. Sighing softly, Emily cupped her chin in her palm. She wished this was her last day. It wasn’t that she was unhappy here. Both Mr Winter and his sister Rose had always been very kind to her, but after nearly six years in service Emily was restless, and a little resentful. She was supposed to have a half-day off a week, and one whole day every fortnight, yet today would be the first time she had been home in two months.
She was very fond of her employers, but sometimes she felt they were taking advantage of her good nature. Miss Rose in particular had become very clinging during the past year. The elderly woman was terrified that a bomb would drop on the house. She jumped at every loud noise, and many a night Emily had had to leave her bed to sit with the frightened woman until she fell asleep. It was because of his sister’s fears that Mr Winter was shutting up the house for a few weeks. But who could tell if they would return at the end of the month? If Miss Rose got herself settled comfortably at her cousin’s house in Surrey, then Emily’s employers might well decide to remain there until the war ended; and by the looks of it, that could be years away. Stifling a yawn, Emily found herself hoping that the elderly couple would stay on at the Surrey house. That way she would be set free without feeling guilty about leaving them.
Turning her head slightly, she looked over her shoulder at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was ten-thirty already, and she had a dozen things to see to before the house was shut up for the duration of its owners’ absence. And, according to Mary, Miss Rose was asking for her, even though Emily had only left her a short while ago. And it wasn’t only Miss Rose who was constantly taking up her time. Mr Winter, too, seemed to be depending on her more and more these past few months. If someone were to ask her to define her job now, she would be hard-pressed to give an answer. When she had first started at the house, it had been as a maid of all work. Back then there had been two other maids, a cook and a housekeeper to run the household. The cook had left three years ago, having found herself a more lucrative position, and Emily, then sixteen, had been asked to take over her duties until the post could be filled. Eager to please, she had made such a good job of the cooking that somehow the post of cook had become hers, without the extra wages to go with it.
Mrs Banks, the housekeeper, had been the next to leave, her departure rather hasty, after a heated altercation with Mr Winter. Emily had never found out what the row had been about, and she hadn’t even realised she was slipping into the woman’s shoes and taking on her duties as well. It had just sort of happened. Then last year Betty, the under-housemaid, had upped and left and was now, so Emily had heard, working as a bus conductress. Like the other servants, Betty hadn’t been replaced although, to be fair to the Winters, they had advertised the post in the Hackney Gazette, but so far there had been no replies. Nor would there be, not with the way things stood at the moment, with factories and businesses crying out for women to take the men’s place on the work front.
Now Mary was leaving too, and if the Winters did stick to their plans and return at the end of the month, Emily would find herself running the house single-handed. Which would please her mother no end, for Nellie was inordinately proud of her daughter’s rise in status. The fact that Emily had only been given a five-shilling rise to compensate for the extra work didn’t seem to matter to Nellie. Emily had broached the subject of getting more help with Mr Winter, but each time she was told that the matter was in hand, and there it seemed set to remain. She heartily wished that her employers weren’t so kind, because then she would have been able to hand in her resignation with a clear conscience. But as things stood, and feeling a genuine affection for them both, she found herself bound by loyalty and obligation to stay with them for as long as they needed her.
Then there was her mother to think of, who seemed desperate to have Emily remain where she was. Thoughts of her mother brought a worried frown to Emily’s face.
In spite of assurances to the contrary, Emily knew things weren’t right at home. Her dad was up to his old tricks again, she was sure of it. Shaking her head slowly, she thought back over the years before she had come here, her eyes hardening as she recalled the strange noises coming from her parents’ room during the night. Once, nearly out of her mind with fear, she had banged on the wall, shouting at her dad to leave her mum alone. It had gone eerily silent, but the noises had stopped. She never heard them again, but every morning she would come downstairs, holding a bleary-eyed Lenny by the hand, not knowing what to expect, and there would be her mother, standing in the scullery or laying the table for breakfast, a smile on her face as she pulled her children against her stomach for a morning cuddle.
As the memories became clearer, Emily’s blue eyes misted over. It was a ludicrous situation. Everyone in the street knew what was going on, yet the subject was never discussed. Nor would it be, while her mother continued to shield the man who had systematically beaten her for years. If only her mother would confide in her, bring the whole sorry business out into the open, then Emily would be able to do something positive. Still, she comforted herself, her mother would be safe for the next few weeks at least, and during that time maybe, just maybe, she could talk some sense into her. It would be easy enough to find somewhere else to live for Nellie and Lenny, and if need be she, Emily, would leave this lovely house and move back in with her family. As much as she felt obligated to the Winters, if it came down to a choice between them and her mother… Well, there wasn’t any choice, was there?
Aware that time was getting on, she moved restlessly. Oh dear, she really must get a move on. The quicker she was finished, the sooner she could get home. But it was so comfortable sitting here in the quietness of the room, looking out over the garden.
It was another twenty minutes before she picked up the laundry once again and made her way across the landing and up the two flights of stairs that led to Miss Rose’s room.
‘Ah, there you are, Emily,’ Rose Winter said querulously. ‘Didn’t Mary give you my message?’ The elderly woman was seated on a padded chair, looking at Emily through the reflection in the gilt-edged mirror of her ornate dressing-table. Turning around, she tilted her head a little in order to look up at the attractive face that she was so fond of. Emily was wearing a plain navy dress with narrow white frills at the neck and cuffs, the latter having been added by Emily herself to relieve the severity of the dress that was also her uniform. Her chestnut hair was plaited and pinned to the back of her head, but as always tiny tendrils of hair had escaped the grips and lay in soft wisps on her forehead and cheeks. Rose Winter never tired of looking at the lovely face, with its large blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of the pert nose. Today, though, she was feeling her age, and the affection she felt was tinged with envy. Envy and a sense of desolation for her own youth, which was gone for ever.
Aware of the scrutiny, and striving to keep her voice even, Emily replied quietly, ‘Yes, she did, Miss Rose, but as you know there’s a lot to be done before you and Mr Winter leave.’ She would have liked to add, ‘And only me to see to it all, because Mary is neither use nor ornament today,’ but instead she said, ‘I came as soon as I could.’
‘Yes, yes, I know you’re busy, dear.’ The sharp blue eyes beneath the mass of white hair stared up at Emily. Rose Winter was entering her seventieth year, and although she was often to be heard declaring that she would soon be ‘pushing up the daisies’, she was going to remarkable lengths to ensure that she didn’t meet her maker just yet. And when her time came, she wanted to go peacefully in her sleep, not blown to smithereens by a bomb. Just thinking about the danger brought a tremor to her bones. The sooner she was out of London and installed in her cousin’s house in Surrey, the safer she would feel.
Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to remember why she had sent for Emily, her memory failing her for a moment. Then, as comprehension dawned, a thin smile came to her lips.
‘Has Matthew arrived yet, dear? He said in his letter he would be here about eleven. Oh dear, you don’t think something might have happened to delay his coming, do you?’
Seeing the old woman’s plight, Emily felt her irritation fading. The poor soul was so frightened of being hit by a flying bomb that she was in grave danger of dying from a self-induced heart attack.
Taking hold of the trembling hands in hers, Emily said soothingly, ‘Now then, Miss Rose, you know Captain Winter will be here as soon as he can. Besides, it isn’t quite eleven yet. Why don’t I get Mary to make you a cup of tea while you’re waiting. It’ll settle your nerves.’
The white head bobbed in agitation. ‘Yes, yes, that’s a good idea. Oh dear, I’m sorry, Emily, you must be eager to get home. I’m sure your mother is anxious to see you, though how we’ll manage without you for three whole weeks I don’t know, I’m sure. Now, have you remembered that Captain Winter will be staying here during his leave?’ Without waiting for an answer she hurried on, ‘Once he drops us at Victoria Station he will be coming straight back here, so you can hand over the keys to him. I don’t know as yet how long he will be staying, but I shall remind him to drop the keys in on you at your home before he leaves, so that you can open up the house in time for our return.’
Her eyelids fluttered nervously. ‘Dear me, Emily, this terrible war, I do so worry about Matthew. He’s the only child of our dear brother… You remember me telling you about him, don’t you, Emily?’ When Emily nodded, the elderly woman carried on, ‘He was killed at Khartoum when Matthew was five. My poor sister-in-law never got over his death. I think she only clung to life for the sake of Matthew, because once he reached adulthood she simply gave up on life. Poor Matthew was quite lost for a while. We were so pleased when he married, such a lovely woman she was. George and I were terribly upset when she died, and Matthew was devastated. We feared for his sanity at the time. But, as they say, time heals all… Though I’m not convinced of that particular piece of logic.’
Emily watched the wrinkled eyelids flutter, then close, and for a moment she thought Miss Rose had fallen asleep. She was about to leave the room quietly when the quivering voice halted her.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, there’s a parcel for you… over there on the bed. No opening it, though, until you get home. It’s a surprise.’
Emily looked over at the four-poster bed and the bulky parcel that lay on the quilted eiderdown, her heart sinking rapidly as she realised that, once again, yet another inducement had been made to keep her here. Maybe she was being unfair and the gift was being offered simply out of kindness, but she couldn’t help wondering if they knew what had been on her mind for the last few months.
It seemed that every time she plucked up the courage to speak out, one of them would either praise her or give her yet another gift, while telling her how they couldn’t manage without her.
Taking the parcel, which Emily surmised contained more items of clothing from the trunk in the attic where Miss Rose kept her old clothes, she smiled.
‘Thank you, Miss Rose, but you mustn’t keep giving me presents. It’s not as if I work for nothing.’
The old lady waved her hand dismissively. ‘Tush, there, child. I’m only too well aware that the money George and I pay you is nowhere near what you could earn in one of the factories, especially now, when so many of our poor young men are away fighting. Still, there’s no shortage of women waiting to step into their shoes, though it’ll be a different story when the war is over and the men come back home. The government may be grateful now, but they won’t let the women keep jobs that rightly belong to the men. Oh, don’t pay me any attention, dear. I know you’re far too sensible to consider such an action. You run along now, and see George and collect your wages.’
Was there a warning in the lightly spoken words, Emily wondered, and for a moment she experienced a flash of anger. Then she looked into the faded blue eyes and saw the uncertainty mirrored there, and once again she relented. After all, she reasoned to herself as she hurried out into the long hallway, there was no point in upsetting Miss Rose now, when the problem could well resolve itself. She would wait until the end of the month to see how things lay, and in the meantime she would make the most of her unexpected holiday, for she wasn’t likely to get another chance of three weeks’ paid leave. And while she was home she would see how the land lay between her parents. Her dad might be able to put on a front for her usual few hours’ visit, but he’d be hard-pressed to keep it up for three whole weeks. Placing her bundle on the hall side-table, she ran lightly up the two flights of stairs to the large den where George Winter spent most of his time.
Knocking once on the heavy panelled door, she heard a gruff voice bidding her to enter and twisted the carved doorknob. This room, like the Study, was large and airy with a high, embossed ceiling. Around the walls stood solid book shelves, each of them crammed to overflowing with an assortment of books, some lying flat, some stacked neatly and others left open, their binders splayed untidily where they had been put down at an open page and forgotten. At the far end of the room rested an enormous oak desk, also covered with a multitude of books, and sitting behind the disordered array sat her employer – his face, like his sister’s, smiling fondly at her as she made her entrance.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear. I was just about to ring down for you.’ George Winter was a man of stocky build, with kindly blue eyes and a shock of grey hair that was for ever falling over his forehead and obliterating his view of his beloved books.
Getting to his feet, he came round the side of the desk and took her hands warmly, repeating the words his sister had uttered just a few minutes before. ‘Whatever will we do without you, Emily? I only wish we could take you with us… Oh, don’t be alarmed,’ he laughed merrily at the stricken look that came to her face. ‘I’ve no intention of kidnapping you and dragging you off to the wilds of Surrey. Though if you weren’t such charming company, and pretty to boot, we wouldn’t be so reluctant to let you out of our sight.’
The clear blue eyes twinkled merrily in the deeply lined face, bringing forth a loud chuckle from Emily’s throat.
‘Well now, I mustn’t keep you talking any longer, my dear. I’m sure you’ve a dozen things to attend to before you leave.’ Pushing aside a small pile of books, he picked up two brown envelopes. One had Emily’s name written clearly in George Winter’s bold handwriting, the other, intended for Mary, was unmarked. Holding both envelopes out to Emily, he waited while she put the envelopes into the pocket of her skirt and then, clasping his hands behind his back, he walked over to the bay window that overlooked the gardens below. Clearing his throat loudly he said, ‘You’ll find a month’s wages, as promised, also an extra two pounds. The two pounds constitute a rise of ten shillings a week. I only wish it could be more.’
Behind him, Emily stared at the profile of her employer, her hand involuntarily going to the side pocket of her skirt. Oh Lord, this wasn’t fair. It was as if the pair of them had the power to read her mind, and were doing everything possible to dissuade her from leaving them.
This was borne out as George Winter added solemnly, ‘We… that is, my sister and I, realise that you could easily earn twice what we pay you, including the raise. And neither of us would harbour any ill-feeling should you decide to leave our employ. With Mary gone, you will have to run the house single-handed, for I doubt we’ll be able to get any help.’ He gave a short, nervous laugh. ‘It seems as though the days of the servant are over. Or maybe Rose and I have simply outlived our time. Everything has changed so much since the war started, it frightens me at times. Even our monetary system has been altered. Oh, I don’t suppose it bothers you over-much if you’re paid in silver, sovereigns or paper money, but then you are young, and the young always adapt to change much more quickly and easily than the elderly. But I can’t get used to a paper pound, and a paper ten shillings. It just doesn’t seem like real money to me.’ He shook his head and sighed heavily.
‘The world… that is, the world that we grew up in, has gone. And I doubt it will ever return; at least, not in our lifetime.’
Emily stood silently, her eyes fixed on the broad back by the window, and again her mind shouted: It’s not fair, it’s not bloody fair. They were playing on her good nature, and on the genuine affection she felt for them. But even as she silently ranted against the unfairness of the situation, she knew she couldn’t just walk out on them. She was bound by her own sense of honour to remain here for as long as she was needed. Not trusting herself to speak, she mumbled a hasty thank you and fled the room. Once out on the landing, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was being silly, getting herself worked up into a state. What she had to do was get on with her work, and push everything else to the back of her mind.
There’d be time enough during the next few weeks for her to think about her future. For now she had a job to attend to, and it wasn’t going to get done on its own. Giving herself a mental shake, she lifted her head and walked purposefully down the carpeted stairway. The rustle of the two envelopes in her pocket reminded her that she had to give Mary her wages. Then again, she would be wise to hang onto it for a while longer, until Mary had finished the tasks allocated to her before leaving.
Humming quietly, Emily went in search of the young maid.