A Mother's Shame Page 8

  ‘First of all we will let you put your things into your room,’ she said, nodding towards Maria’s meagre bundle. ‘And then we will supply you with a uniform. It would not do for you to wait on Miss Isabelle in those clothes, young lady. Start to put your things away whilst I go and get it for you.’

  As Maria entered her room, she was fuming. What on earth did the woman mean? She was wearing her Sundaybest dress! But then she forgot all about that as she looked around. Her room was nowhere near as luxuriously furnished as the apartment next door, but all the same, it was more comfortable than any room she had ever slept in before. There were no carpets here, but there were curtains at the window and a single brass bed with what looked like a comfortable feather mattress on it, equipped with two neatly folded woollen blankets and a fluffy feather pillow. It was bitterly cold in there and Maria briefly thought how strange it would be without Emma’s little body to cuddle up to at night, but she quickly pushed the thought away. It would not do to start crying now before she had even begun her new job. There was a wooden wash-stand with a china jug and bowl standing on it and a pewter candlestick with a whole candle in it on a small chest of drawers at the side of the bed. The modest-sized window gave a view of the gardens, and there was a hard-backed wooden chair and a small table where she could sit and read.

  Mrs Bradshaw pointed to a bell suspended from the wall. ‘That connects to Miss Isabelle’s room. Should she need you during the night she will ring for you and you will go to her immediately.’ She then waved her hand in the direction of an oak tallboy. ‘Put your clothes in there and wait for me here.’ With that she was gone, closing the door firmly behind her.

  By the time she came back Maria had done as she was told and was patiently sitting on the side of the bed.

  Mrs Bradshaw laid two dresses across the end of it then added some soft house shoes, stockings, petticoats and a selection of fine woollen underwear to the pile.

  ‘The last maid who wore these was slightly taller than you, but you may alter them to fit in your own time if they are too long. That is, if you can sew?’

  ‘I can,’ Maria assured her as the woman looked at her closely. She had to admit, Miss Belle had been right about the girl. She was very articulate and looked as clean as a new pin, even if her clothes were somewhat shabby. Her hair was shining with no headlice apparent, which made a nice change from the last maid they had employed. She had lasted barely a week and Mrs Bradshaw had been relieved to see the back of her.

  ‘Your door will remain unlocked,’ she told Maria now. ‘I will give you the key to Miss Isabelle’s suite, but you must always remember to keep that one locked at all times whenever you enter or leave the room. Your meals will be brought up to you and you will eat in here when you have seen to Miss Isabelle’s. Should she by any chance ever manage to get past you, she will not be able to escape as the door at the entrance to this wing is also locked. Are there any questions you would like to ask?’

  Maria shook her head and now the woman told her, ‘In that case I will give you ten minutes to get changed then I will take you to meet Miss Isabelle.’

  That sounds like something to look forward to, Maria thought wryly as she began to strip off her damp clothes.

  Just as the older woman had told her, the dress she put on was slightly long and trailed along the floor, but even so Maria felt like a queen in it. It was a pleasant dove-grey colour, nipped in tight at the waist and with a full skirt. There was a tiny lace collar and little pearl buttons all the way up the front, and once it was on, Maria tried to look at herself in the small mirror that hung above the wash-stand. The material was a soft wool blend and she marvelled at the feel of the petticoats beneath it and the fine woollen underwear against her skin. She slid her feet into the supple leather shoes – another luxury she had never experienced before – then she quickly took up her hairbrush and brushed her hair before tying it neatly at the nape of her neck with the only ribbon she possessed.

  When Mrs Bradshaw reappeared she stared at her approvingly although she made no comment about her appearance. It would never do to give maids ideas above their station. She simply said, ‘Are you ready then, Maria?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said with what courage she could muster. She suddenly felt very nervous.

  ‘Very well then.’ Mrs Bradshaw ushered her out of the room and within seconds was unlocking the door to Isabelle’s suite.

  There was still no sign of her new mistress and so now Mrs Bradshaw told her, ‘The coal will be delivered to the room each morning, and it is your job to make sure that the fires are kept lit. When the maid brings the meals up she will knock at the door to be admitted. You must see to Miss Isabelle’s needs before taking your meals in your own room.’

  Maria nodded and then jumped as the sound of a crash from the adjoining room made both their heads turn in that direction.

  Mrs Bradshaw tutted. ‘I shall leave you to introduce yourself then,’ she said. She passed Maria a key and without another word, turned and left the room.

  Maria stuffed the key down into the deep pocket of her dress, then, drawing herself up to her full height, she cautiously approached the door where the noise had come from. As she inched it open and stepped inside she found herself in a very comfortable sitting room. She stood there for a moment admiring it, at the same time becoming aware of stifled sobs coming from a large wing-backed chair placed to one side of the fireplace.

  ‘Hello.’ The word had barely left her lips when a young woman with a shock of wild dark hair leaped out of the chair, her fine linen and lace nightshirt billowing about her.

  ‘And who the hell are you?’ she screeched as her small hands bunched into fists.

  Maria felt sorry for her; she had obviously been crying and her eyes were red and swollen. ‘I am your new maid,’ she told her quietly. ‘My name is Maria.’

  The girl’s lips drew back from her teeth. ‘New maid indeed!’ she said scornfully. ‘I’ve no doubt you are one of the lunatics that are locked away here. I want Polly, my own maid!’

  ‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible,’ Maria told her as she bent to right a small table that had been overturned. ‘But I promise I shall do my best for you, miss. Now is there anything I can get for you?’

  ‘Not unless you can get me out of this godforsaken place,’ Isabelle snarled as she began to pace agitatedly up and down.

  Ignoring the comment, Maria quietly continued putting the room to rights. There were books flung everywhere and a number of broken ornaments scattered across the carpet. As she lifted the fragments into a wastepaper basket, Isabelle’s temper deteriorated even further.

  ‘Look at me!’ she shouted. ‘How dare you ignore me!’

  ‘I wasn’t ignoring you, miss.’ Maria’s voice was calm and level. ‘I am merely picking up these broken things because I don’t wish you to stand on them and cut your foot. Would you like me to help you get dressed?’

  ‘No, I would not! What’s the point of getting dressed?’ Isabelle said peevishly. ‘There will be no one but you to see me. I am being kept a prisoner here!’

  ‘As you wish.’ Maria sailed through the door into the next room and once there she drew a long shuddering breath. Just as Mrs Bradshaw had warned, it appeared that she was going to earn every penny of her wages working for that spoiled little madam!

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Sunday afternoon arrived, Maria’s nerves were as taut as piano wires. Isabelle was still flatly refusing to eat or get dressed, and on many occasions Maria had been forced to duck the things that the other girl threw at her. Throughout all the tantrums, Maria had managed to keep her calm – although at times she had felt like screaming back at the girl. After all, she wasn’t the only one in a pickle, was she? But Maria couldn’t tell her that, of course, much as she would have liked to.

  Her mood was glum when she went to her room to put her boots on. Mrs Bradshaw had given her permission to wear her uniform to go home in, and Maria was looking forward t
o showing her family how fine it was. But most of all she was longing to see them – all except her father. It had felt like a release, to be away from him. She had missed the others more than she could have imagined, and felt as if she hadn’t seen them for months, not just a few days. And of course, there was always the chance that Lennie would have seen the error of his ways by now and come back for her. He might even be at the cottage right now.

  She came out of her room to find Mrs Bradshaw the Matron waiting for her with her first week’s wages.

  ‘Here you are – and I must say you have earned them,’ she said in a kindlier voice than Maria had heard her use before. ‘Enjoy your afternoon with your family, but be back here for five o’clock sharp. I shall stay with Miss Isabelle until then. And here.’ To Maria’s great surprise she held out a thick cloth cloak with a hood on it. ‘You may borrow this. I noticed that you only have a shawl, and although the snow has stopped it is still bitterly cold out there.’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ Maria uttered, taking the cloak with some surprise. Perhaps the woman had a heart, after all.

  The Matron unlocked the door at the end of the corridor where Kitty, the skivvy who delivered the meals and the coal to Miss Isabelle’s room each day, was waiting to show Maria to the front door. It was just as well, for she would surely have lost her way without some guidance. The place was enormous, and she had no wish to wander into the asylum part of it where the poor unfortunates were kept. Sometimes she had glimpsed them from Miss Isabelle’s window as they took their exercise in the gardens with the staff watching them closely. It was hard to distinguish the men from the women, for they all wore shapeless grey shifts that reached to their ankles, and they had all had their hair shorn. It almost broke Maria’s heart just to watch them as they shuffled along. They didn’t even seem to know where they were, and the same vacant expression was in all their eyes. Sometimes when she lay in bed at night, their screams would echo along the corridor and turn her blood to ice. But today she was determined to enjoy every single second of her freedom, so when her escort eventually bade her goodbye at the servants’ entrance, she set off with her head held high along the lengthy drive.

  She would give her wages to her mother, she decided, and she could well imagine how pleased Martha would be, knowing that she could feed the family well for the rest of the following week. After the stuffy atmosphere of the rooms she had been confined in, the cold air on her face was welcome and she breathed in deeply, as if she was trying to store it up to last until the next time she was allowed out. Her spirits lifted further as she jangled the coins in her pocket. Thankfully her morning sickness seemed to have passed now but she was still no further forward in knowing what lay ahead. As yet, her stomach was still flat, but what would happen when the child began to show? She supposed that Mrs Bradshaw would throw her out in disgrace – and then where would she go? She already knew that she would not be able to go home, her father would see to that. Still, for now she would try to think of happier things so she pushed it as best she could to the back of her mind and hurried on.

  Once she reached the gates, the old watchman let her out with a nod as he sucked on his pipe, and soon after the cottages in Chapel End came into view. The hoarfrost on the roofs made them sparkle, and the girl thought how pretty everywhere looked although she was glad of Mrs Bradshaw’s cloak, for the cold was enough to slice a being in two.

  At last she reached her home, and the second she opened the kitchen door, Emma, who had been watching for her from the window all day, almost threw herself at her.

  ‘Eeh, Maria, I’ve missed you,’ she cried as she wrapped her skinny arms about her big sister’s waist. ‘And by, you don’t half look posh. Is that a new cloak you’re wearing?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t really mine,’ Maria confessed as she slid it from around her shoulders and hung it on a nail on the back of the door. ‘Mrs Bradshaw said I may borrow it. But never mind about that for now. How are you all?’

  Martha had her in a fierce hug now, and as their eyes met, she asked, ‘How has it been, lass?’ The girl certainly looked smart, that was a fact. She could almost have been taken for gentry, looking like that.

  ‘Oh, not too bad.’ Maria lied rather than worry her. ‘Though the young woman I am waiting on has a terrible temper on her.’ She grinned as she thought of Isabelle’s many tantrums.

  ‘You are not in any danger from her, are you?’ Martha’s face was creased with concern now.

  ‘Not so long as I can duck to avoid anything she cares to throw at me,’ Maria chuckled, then, ‘Where are Father and Henry?’

  ‘Oh, Henry is off on some jaunt or another with his friends and your father is still at chapel. But Henry says he’ll be sure to be back to see you before you go,’ Martha responded as she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Emma had drifted away by then, and glad of the chance for them to catch a few minutes alone, the woman said, ‘Is there any change, pet? In your condition, I mean.’

  ‘No, but let’s not spoil what little time we have worrying about that,’ Maria said as she drew her wages from the pocket of her skirt and pushed the money across the table.

  Her mother gawped at it for a moment before asking, ‘And what’s all this?’

  ‘It’s my wages, of course.’

  ‘Well, I’m not taking all that off you, that’s for sure.’ Martha swiftly pushed half of the money back towards her daughter.

  ‘But why not? And what will Father say?’

  ‘Your father doesn’t know how much you’re earning and you’ll no doubt have need of some of this in times ahead,’ Martha said gravely.

  Seeing the sense in what her mother said, Maria reluctantly dropped the money back into her pocket, although she didn’t really think she would need it. When Lennie came back for her he would look after everything, wouldn’t he?

  Martha bustled away to pour the boiling water over the tealeaves she had measured into the brown teapot, then, taking a seat again, she began cautiously, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, pet, so I may as well get it out of the way now as later.’

  Maria’s heart began to race as she stared at her mother, who seemed to be trying to choose her words carefully.

  ‘The thing is . . . I went into the village the other day and I bumped into Lennie Glover’s mother. In a right old tizzy she was. You see, she’d had word that Lennie had been in a fight at the docks just before he boarded his ship to sail. It seems he got drunk and . . .’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And . . . some sailors found him slumped in an alleyway a while later. He’d been stabbed through the heart. One of them travelled here to break the news to Mrs Glover. Lennie is dead. I’m so sorry, Maria.’

  ‘Where have they buried him?’ Maria asked in a choked voice.

  Her mother shrugged. ‘I have no idea, pet. Happen the sailors would have seen to it. But you know . . . Lennie was a bad lad. I always feared something like this would happen to him one day. He had a lot of enemies.’

  Maria felt as if the room was shifting around her. Deep down she had been certain that soon, Lennie would realise that he loved her and would come back to make an honest woman of her. But he would never be able to do that now, would he? So what was to become of her? She didn’t even know where he had been laid to rest. At that thought, she fell into a kind of faint.

  Martha was chafing her hands and her voice seemed to be coming from a long way away . . . but eventually Maria’s head cleared and the room swam back into focus. Her mother pressed a mug of water into her shaking hands and Maria gulped at it greedily just as her father appeared through the door.

  ‘Ah, so you’re back then.’

  He stared at her without warmth, taking in her expensive attire.

  ‘Doesn’t she look fine, Edward?’ Martha said nervously.

  ‘Vanity is a sin,’ he stated coldly. ‘And have you handed your wages over to your mother?’

  ‘Yes, she has,’ Martha told him before Maria had a chance to a
nswer. ‘And right hard she has had to work for it as well.’

  ‘Hard work never hurt anyone,’ he rapped and Martha had to bite her tongue. This from the man who had never done a real day’s work in his life.

  Although Maria had been back home for less than half an hour, she suddenly knew that she must get away to think. Rising, she took Mrs Bradshaw’s cloak from the back of the door and slipped it on.

  ‘Ah, but you’re never going already, pet?’ Martha chewed on her lip in consternation as she bunched her apron in her hands.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to this time,’ Maria lied, doing her utmost to keep her voice light. ‘But I shall be able to stay longer next week. Tell Henry I’m sorry I missed him, won’t you?’

  The goodbyes were hastily said and then Maria escaped as quickly as she could. Once outside, she paused. There were still over three hours to go until she was due back at Hatter’s Hall, so she headed for the Hayes in Hartshill, hoping to find a quiet corner where she could put her thoughts into some sort of order. It was a good stiff walk that took the best part of half an hour, and when she finally got there she headed for the shelter of the trees and sat down on the frozen ground to stare out at the panoramic view spread before her. This was one of her favourite places, but today it held no pleasure for her even though she could see clear across two whole counties. In the distance, the winding canal sparkled beneath its layer of ice and the barren trees looked as if they had been painted with diamond dust, but she just sat there staring sightlessly ahead. Lennie was dead. She would never see him again and she did not know how she was going to bear it. He had been so young, so handsome, so full of life with plans and dreams – but now none of them would ever come true.

  She sat on as the watery sun moved across the sky, numb with grief until eventually she stood up and, shaking out her skirts, set off in the direction of Hatter’s Hall. She had no idea if she was going to be late and just then she didn’t much care, but she arrived with minutes to spare to find Kitty anxiously looking out for her.