Today is the fifth anniversary of my arrival at Haverford House. To say that the last five years have changed me is an understatement. I feel like a completely different person to the young girl who walked up the sweeping gravel drive on my first day as a housemaid. I was nervous then, and timid. I had no idea what I was in for and part of me was sure that I’d lose my job within weeks when they realised that I had no idea what I was doing. Now I feel stronger, more confident, and the world of Haverford doesn’t scare me anymore. I may still spend too much time daydreaming, but I am a lady’s maid now and, despite what I might secretly think about grown women being able to dress themselves, there is still a lot to be proud of there. Not too proud mind – I wouldn’t want to upset Mr Prentice who is always warning us about the dangers of pride.
Every week, on my afternoon off when I go back to the village to see my mother for tea, I realise again how much I have changed. I am a different person to the one who left home five years before and that is partly to do with the other staff at Haverford. They have become friends. I hadn’t realised I was lonely before when I lived at home. Perhaps it’s not until things change that we notice what they were like before.
My mother and I don’t talk about it – we while away the afternoons with small talk and village gossip – but I wonder if she notices too. I wonder if she recognises the daughter who left home for Haverford House anymore.
Meanwhile things continue to change around me as well, and the biggest change has been quite a shock to everyone, even to me who should perhaps have seen it coming.
Polly is leaving. It seems the ‘bigger dreams’ she spoke of when I was first promoted to lady’s maid must have come to fruition, because she is to marry a Harrogate solicitor who moved, with his mother, to one of the large houses on the other side of Cranmere last autumn. I do wonder if marriage is the big dream she talked about or if this solicitor, Stephen Mather, is merely an escape route, a way out of domestic drudgery. Neither Polly nor I want to end up like Mrs Derbyshire. I keep my views about that to myself, but Polly has always been rather vocal about it, which has led to whispered conversations in the butler’s pantry about ‘getting ideas that are above her station’.
Her impending marriage has caused quite a stir in the servants’ hall, I can tell you. There is much speculation about where Polly and Mr Mather met. They haven’t known each other very long and the marriage seems sudden which has, of course, only added to the gossip. I’ve overheard some of the conversations about ‘trouble’ and ‘the family way’ that stop as soon as either Polly or I walk into the room.
She isn’t expecting though – that much I do know. She is far too sensible for that. She’s waiting for her wedding night because, while Mr Mather may be infatuated with her red hair and her green eyes, this is Polly’s escape and nobody ever escaped from anything by having a baby outside of marriage.
Speaking of marriage, Ned hasn’t made any more comments about houses and families to me since that afternoon in the kitchen garden over a year ago. The next time I saw him everything seemed back to normal – gentle chatter as we walked in the grounds – and I wonder if I imagined the whole conversation, or at least read far too much into it. Either way I am glad of it. I cannot think about much else now that I am a lady’s maid and with Polly gone I’ll be busier than ever.
The rest of the servants may speculate about Polly’s upcoming nuptials, but she and I do share things – it’s impossible not to when you live in such close proximity with somebody for so long. I know that she met Stephen Mather at the Easter Fair in the village and has been sneaking out at night to see him ever since. She’s very secretive about him though. She won’t tell me how they went from secret meetings to being almost married and she never tells me what they talk about, what they have in common. In fact, when I think about it I realise that she hasn’t told me much about Mr Mather at all other than he has the most beautiful blue eyes. Well, Ned has lovely eyes too but I’m not going to marry him on the strength of that alone.
We do speculate about what her life will be like after the wedding though – life as Mrs Mather won’t be like life for Lady Prunella and Lady Cecily, but it won’t be like life as a housemaid either. She’ll have a maid of her own, just the one she tells me, and a cook.
‘I won’t know what to say to them,’ she tells me. ‘It’ll be peculiar not having to do the dusting myself.’
I ask her what she will do all day but she doesn’t really seem to know. They will be living with Mr Mather’s mother after the wedding so she will probably have her work cut out there – or so my own mother tells me when she hears Polly’s news. My mother never got on with my father’s parents and they drifted apart after his death.
Today we have a new girl starting to replace Polly, not that Polly could ever be replaced in my view – where would we find someone with such pre-Raphaelite beauty and such a sharp tongue? The new girl’s name is Katy and she’ll be sharing with Mrs Derbyshire until next week when she’ll move into Polly’s side of my room. A change is as good as a rest, the housekeeper tells me, but I’m not so sure about that. As I wait in the kitchen for Katy to come down so I can go through her duties with her I feel restless. Things are changing all the time. I have read the headlines of Lord Haverford’s newspapers every day since Andrews first started to introduce me to politics and world affairs. I know what’s going on in America and Germany. I know the war that Andrews mentioned is gathering on the horizon like an encroaching storm, and I know that I am powerless to fend it off, if it heads this way.
With Polly leaving I feel this sense of restlessness even more. Everything is changing and I am being left behind.
*
I am in the library with Katy, the new housemaid, showing her how to dust Lord Haverford’s vast collection of books. It is a delight to be back in my favourite room. I miss it now that I’m a lady’s maid and have no real excuse to spend time here during the day. I still come to the library to borrow books as often as I can, along with Mr Prentice who loves detective novels and Mrs Derbyshire who continues to take out her beloved Austen novels again and again.
‘I don’t know where you all find the time for reading,’ Polly says regularly. In my opinion you make time for the things you love but she has no interest in fiction, or books in general. She hated dusting the library, but lucky for her I was always willing to do it.
‘You have to be careful,’ I say to Katy now. ‘Some of these books are worth a lot of money and can’t be damaged.’
‘How much money?’ she asks, eyes wide.
‘Never you mind how much money,’ I say, taking a breath and trying not to be impatient. I remember how the house overwhelmed me when I was new. I wonder how often it overwhelmed my mother. I sometimes think that nothing could overwhelm her.
‘What does His Lordship do with all these books?’ Katy asks, staring along the shelves.
‘He reads them of course,’ I say with a laugh. ‘He’s generous with them too. He lets the staff read them as long as they log them here.’ I start to show her the ledger but she turns away.
‘I don’t care for all that,’ she says. Another Polly then. I sigh quietly to myself. I’d been hoping that I’d find a like-minded soul in Katy, but I suppose it was too much to ask. Girls who are interested in books don’t become housemaids anymore these days unless they are very unlucky. I try not to wonder about whether my luck will ever change or if, despite my protestations, I will stay here for as long as Mrs Derbyshire. If His Lordship’s money lasts long enough to keep paying me, of course. I shake my head and look around the library again, trying to be grateful for what I do have.
It was in the library that I’d first met Lady Cecily. We were a week away from Christmas. The tree had been cut and erected in the hallway, waiting for the girls to decorate it as they had done when they were children. Lady Prunella had told me so much about her sister and I’d found myself full of anticipation on meeting this enigma of whom so much was spoken.
I was still rather in awe of Lady Cecily and her university studies then. It all sounded marvellously exotic to me, the idea of studying literature, and I saw no reason why women should not have the same advantages as men, no matter what Cook might think.
Since Lady Prunella had often referred to her sister as a bluestocking, I had been expecting Lady Cecily to be very plain. So I had been surprised when she drifted into the library on that bitingly cold December morning. She was plainly dressed, yes, and her hair was drawn back in an unelaborate, unflattering style, but she was beautiful in a way Prunella could never be. Prunella takes after her father – a square jaw and strong nose. But Cecily is beautiful to the point of being ethereal, despite her plain, almost dowdy clothing.
There is a photograph in the nursery of Lady Arabella – the girls’ late mother. It is still part of my duties to clean the nursery each day even though it is barely used. Both girls still like to sit with the dollhouse collection from time to time and so I must keep the room tidy for them. In the photograph Lady Arabella is sitting with all three of her children. Judging by their ages I think it must have been taken during the war, perhaps to send to Lord Haverford in France. You can see that Lady Cecily looks exactly like her mother – dark hair and eyes in contrast to Prunella’s fairness. It’s uncanny in fact. Daniel took after his mother too from what I can see.
Cecily hadn’t noticed me at first, that first time we’d met in the library. She had gone straight to the bookshelves clearly looking for something particular. I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off her. Eventually she’d looked up and I’d turned away, continuing with my dusting.
‘You must be Annie,’ she’d said. I’d turned around and curtsied.
‘Yes, my lady,’ I’d replied.
‘Pru’s told me all about you.’
I hadn’t known what to say to that so I’d bobbed my head and turned back to my dusting.
‘Pru’s missed me I think,’ she’d said after a while. I hadn’t been sure whether or not she was talking to me or herself. ‘She must be so bored rattling around here with only Papa for company.’ She’d paused. ‘It’s such a sad house.’
Once again I hadn’t replied, but I’d understood the sadness she meant. You could feel it everywhere – in the very walls of the house, in the rooms that were kept empty and locked. My mother had never told me how empty Haverford could be, but then I suppose it was a happier house when she was here. And I supposed that she was happier then too. Everybody was happier before the war.
I’d always been used to sad houses because I’d grown up in one too.
‘Is that him do you think?’ Katy asks now interrupting me from my memories. I’m always surprised by how many memories I have of the last five years – Haverford seems so much more like my home these days than the house in Cranmere that I grew up in. I notice Katy peering out of the window, her dusting forgotten.
‘Who?’ I ask.
‘Mr Everard of course!’ Katy says turning towards me, her face filled with delight and excitement. ‘I’ve never met an actor before.’
I hear the sound of an engine and realise that Katy is right. Our much-anticipated guest has arrived. Everyone has been on tenterhooks all day – we don’t have very many guests at Haverford anymore.
‘And you won’t be meeting an actor today either,’ I snap at her. ‘You’ll be in here dusting and then you’ll be helping Cook with the dinner.’ I may have been just a housemaid when I first met Lady Cecily but now I am a lady’s maid to both the girls. And I serve at table when needed. It’s not conventional but it’s a product of the Servant Problem that Mr Prentice is always bemoaning.
Katy pulls a face at me and I suddenly feel sorry for her. She’s only fifteen and probably has much bigger dreams than dusting books. ‘When do I get to meet the important people?’ she asks.
‘Well,’ I reply, trying to soften my voice. ‘You’ll meet them as you go about your duties around the house, no doubt, but you mustn’t disturb them you know.’
‘I know that,’ Katie replies still peering out of the window.
‘And,’ I continue, ‘if you work hard and prove yourself you may be allowed to serve at table.’
Katy nods vigorously and returns to the dusting with gusto.
Thomas Everard is indeed an actor, although I’m not sure he’s as famous as Katy has built him up to be in her head. More importantly though, Thomas Everard’s father is a very wealthy, very influential American financier ‘whatever that is’, to quote Cook. Haverford House doesn’t just have a servant problem, it also has a money problem. As in there isn’t any. Everyone knows it and nobody talks about it, but I’ve seen Mr Prentice sighing over the ledgers. I’ve overheard His Lordship talking to his bankers. I might be invisible but I’m not stupid. Things have only got worse since Mrs Derbyshire first confessed the matter to me last year.
Thomas Everard’s parents will be joining us later in the summer but for now we just have the pleasure of Thomas himself, fresh off the stage in London, so far as I understand it. I wonder which of the girls he is here to be thrown at and then I chastise myself quietly. It isn’t my business who Mr Everard marries. Or doesn’t marry for that matter.
Lady Cecily comes into the library then.
‘He’s here,’ she says. ‘He has one of those little open-top cars.’
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Katy says.
‘Katy,’ I warn quietly. ‘You’re forgetting yourself.’ I don’t like myself when I have to chastise her. Especially when she looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what she has done wrong. Why shouldn’t she express her delight after all. But it is not ‘the done thing’ as Mr Prentice would say and five years here has taken its toll. Those old-fashioned rules have been carved into me. Katy turns back to her dusting and Lady Cecily turns to me.
‘Like Toad of Toad Hall,’ she goes on and I hide my smile behind my hand.
‘Or Bertie Wooster,’ I say quietly and Lady Cecily nods. It was she who introduced me to the Wodehouse stories that even Polly had enjoyed when I’d read them out loud to her at night. Lady Cecily knows how much I love to read and is always recommending new books to me. She is the only person in the house other than Polly who knows how much I love stories. Unlike Polly who dismisses it with wild indifference, Cecily always asks me about what I am going to read next. Not today though, not in front of Katy when there is the excitement of Mr Everard to contend with.
Poor Mr Everard, I think to myself as Lady Cecily goes off to find her sister – who is as excited as Katy at the prospect of a resident actor. I wonder if he knows why he is here – I wonder if he realises how badly the estate needs his father’s money? And I wonder what it must be like for Prunella and Cecily, being duty-bound to marry somebody they might not even like, let alone love.