After luncheon, we set to cleaning the silver cutlery. I was thankful for the chance to sit quiet, away from Mrs Jessop’s beady eye. If she got wind of what’d happened up in Kit’s bedroom, then we’d all be for it. But I was the one who’d let that blasted fire go out; if anyone got flayed alive, it’d be me. Yet we didn’t speak of it between ourselves. Instead, we worked in silence, sitting close to the hearth, and drinking hot sugary tea like people who couldn’t quite get warm.
Mid-afternoon, when the light was fading, Peter the under-footman came in. There were tiny flakes of snow all over his smart woollen coat.
‘Post’s been,’ he said, taking off his hat.
He was a great tall thing, all arms and legs and with fine blond hair which now lay flat to his forehead. In truth, he looked a bit of a lummox. And as he hovered by the fire to warm his hands, Gracie turned suddenly sulky.
‘Dorcas, this came for you,’ he said, handing her an envelope which she stuffed in her apron pocket without as much as a glance.
‘Thank you. Can I fetch you some tea? You look in need of it.’
He shot Gracie a pleading look, but she stared hard at the fork she was cleaning, leaving him to dither like a spare part. I couldn’t help but smile.
‘Tell him to sit down, then,’ I said.
‘He can do what he likes,’ she muttered. ‘I in’t his mother.’
Dorcas frowned. ‘Now come on. That’s no way to speak to Peter.’
‘Go on, Gracie,’ I said. ‘Be a good sort.’
Huffing loudly, she jabbed her fork at Peter. ‘Take it down the other end of the table, then. We’ve got work to do here.’
Peter’s mouth opened like he was about to speak, then he thought better of it. He pulled himself up to his full height and strode out of the room.
‘Well,’ said Dorcas. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’
‘Can we change the subject?’ said Gracie, irritably.
No one said anything for a while. The fire hissed as snowflakes blew down the chimney and the clock on the wall ticked lazily. I began to feel almost sleepy.
Then Gracie spoke like she was halfway through a thought. ‘No, I honestly can’t think of one boy I’d trust with a confidence.’
Dorcas smiled. ‘Sounds a bit dramatic.’
‘Well, it’s true. They all think we’re half-wits.’
‘Are we still talking about Peter, then?’
‘He’ll do for starters.’
‘What do you think, Tilly?’ said Dorcas.
I reckoned this Peter looked a fine one to be calling anyone else a half-wit.
‘I know girls I’d not trust, never mind boys,’ I said, thinking of Eliza.
Gracie rubbed a spoon furiously. ‘I’ve given up on boys. I swear I have.’
Dorcas tried not to smile. ‘Until Peter wins you over again. It’s always like this with you two. You fall out, make up, then fall out again.’
I tried to picture how Peter might win anyone over with his baby-fine hair and great gangly legs, and gave up.
‘Not this time,’ said Gracie.
‘Maybe you should try your luck with that butcher’s boy, Will Potter, instead? He seems a nice sort,’ said Dorcas.
My face went suddenly hot.
‘I wouldn’t count on it!’ I said, a bit too quickly. ‘All the girls like him . . . well . . . most of them, anyway.’
But Gracie was busy scowling at Dorcas.
‘I don’t need no matchmaking, ta very much. And anyway, what would you know about having a sweetheart?’
Dorcas’s hand went to the pocket of her apron. ‘You’d better mind your manners,’ she said, coolly.
An uneasy silence fell over us. It was almost half past four by now, and very nearly dark outside. Shadows lurked in the corners of the room. The fire hissed and spat. Any good cheer I’d felt had gone. And despite the hot tea, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. I moved my seat closer to the hearth; it didn’t stop dark thoughts returning.
Something was very wrong with this house. A spirit haunted the back stairs. Above stairs was a queer shrine to a dead boy. The place was so full of secrets. Even the servants seemed to have them, for flip’s sake, so goodness only knew what Lady Barrington was keeping to herself.
A service bell rang, and someone out in the passage shouted, ‘Her Ladyship! Front parlour!’
As Dorcas glanced my way, I felt the colour drain from my cheeks.
‘I’ll answer it this time,’ she said, reading my look. ‘You two finish this cutlery off.’
I thanked her.
‘Save your thanks. You’ll have to face her again soon enough.’ She swapped her plain pinny for a lace one and tucked the letter up her sleeve.
Once Dorcas had gone, Gracie said, ‘I bet that letter’s from her sweetheart.’
‘Dorcas is very pretty,’ I said. ‘She must have men queuing up.’
Gracie shook her head. ‘Only one. He writes every week, but she’s cool as anything. She’s got plans.’
‘Oh?’
‘To be housekeeper of a big fine house. She don’t want to get married.’
It struck me as a sad thing, to choose a job over love. Maybe Dorcas didn’t love her sweetheart enough, or maybe she just wanted her dream more. And a thought came to me, so quick it made me catch my breath.
Pa chose his dream over me.
Anger rose up in me, hot and strong. Never mind what Eliza had done. Pa was supposed to love me. He was on my side. He did have a heart. Didn’t he? And yet he’d wanted his dream so badly, he couldn’t take me with him. He couldn’t even say goodbye.
Such thoughts would drive me mad. By now my eyes were full of tears but I wasn’t about to sit here and blub. Heck no! A quick dab of my face and I turned to Gracie, hopeful she might cheer me up.
‘Go on then, tell me, what did you and Peter fall out over?’
‘Well,’ said Gracie, smoothing her hair behind her ear. ‘See, it’s about that back-stairs business.’
My heart sank. This was hardly likely to cheer me.
‘Tuesday breakfast I told Peter what was happening, about the funny feeling on the stairs, and the broken plates and that.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said all girls have these stupid fancies, and what I needed was a cold bath and a really long walk. Reckoned it always worked on his sister.’
‘Really?’ I said, not exactly warming to Peter.
‘But I told him it weren’t no fancy. I said I’d seen plates spinning through the air clear as day.’
‘Bet he didn’t believe that.’
‘No he didn’t. And the stupid clot told Samuel Ketteridge. So then he started on at me, saying they’d think I wasn’t right in the head and they’d send me away if I wasn’t careful.’
‘Oh Gracie!’ No wonder she couldn’t be civil to Peter. I felt guilty now that we’d teased her. Rather than asking him to stay for tea, we should’ve told him to sling his hook!
‘And by the time breakfast was finished, I was so upset, Mrs Jessop said I was fit for nothing and made me go back to bed.’
Of course!
Tuesday was the day we’d got done trespassing and Mrs Jessop was one maid down. So it was because of Samuel Ketteridge’s teasing that I’d got my foot in the door here. It was hard to be glad of it though, when I felt so sore for poor Gracie.
We fell quiet to our thoughts. The polishing was nearly done now, but for a few fiddly-looking forks. I reached for one and held it to the light.
‘So you’ve broken off with Peter for good?’ I said, squinting at the fork.
‘Oh yes. It’s finished. I trusted him with a confidence and he blabbed it. No true sweetheart does that.’
I looked at Gracie. ‘What if Peter had believed you?’
‘But he didn’t, did he?’
‘Sometimes people surprise you, and believe you when no one else does.’
She glanced at me sideways. ‘You thinking about a sweetheart of your own? I can see you are!’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m not.’
And I wasn’t, neither. I was thinking about Will Potter in an almost kindly way. Because compared to Gracie’s Peter, Will was a flipping saint. When I’d told him about Kit, he’d listened. And for this I was mightily grateful.