The Flight of Swallows Page 10

  She stood up shakily, for it was a while since she had eaten. ‘I’ll be on me way, ma’am,’ she said quietly and was amazed when the lady turned on her indignantly.

  ‘You will do no such thing. I wish to hear your story and see if there is something can be done to help you. Mrs Groves shall cook you something nourishing and then we will see.’

  ‘No, I will not, ma’am, beggin’ your pardon. Let her take her . . . her belly elsewhere.’

  ‘You will do as I say, Mrs Groves, or you can find other employment. I will not have a servant speak thus in my own kitchen. Now then, what have you bubbling on the stove? It smells good. I’d be obliged if you would put a bowl of whatever it is . . . pea and ham soup, thank you, Rosie,’ to the little scullery-maid. ‘Pea and ham soup it is.’

  Watched by them all, including Kizzie who, though she did not approve, was elated that her young mistress had not backed down before the imperious Mrs Groves, the girl tucked in hungrily to the soup and as though by magic a faint colour crept into her cheeks. She ate daintily, and when she had finished she murmured a faint thank you to Mrs Groves.

  ‘Now, tell us your name,’ the mistress of the house, and the situation, asked the girl.

  ‘Jenny, ma’am. Jenny Wainwright.’ She looked humbly down at her empty bowl.

  ‘And where are you from, Jenny?’

  But Jenny just shook her head.

  Charlotte understood. The servants, all of them, even Kizzie, were standing round in an intrigued circle, eager to hear the story of this young girl, who, it was obvious, was in the middle stages of pregnancy. Her skirt was hitched over a plainly visible swelling, pulled up slightly at the front. She wore an old shawl, much patched, which had fallen back as she ate.

  ‘Come with me, Jenny,’ Charlotte told her, ignoring the gasp of horror that came from the maidservants. Surely the mistress was not going to take this bad girl into the house, the front of the house where she and the master lived, perhaps into the drawing room, but she turned and smiled at them all and for some reason that smile smoothed their ruffled feathers somewhat. They did not approve, of course, for women who got themselves with child without a wedding ring on their finger were, once upon a time, driven from a village on a rail to the sound of rough music, as the saying went. This girl had already been turned away when she had asked for work, any work, casual work, at the back door and had the mistress, who was known to be kind-hearted, not come in at that moment, would have been halfway to wherever she was going.

  ‘I shall put Jenny in my bath and see if I have something for her to wear. She shall rest and have a nourishing meal and then we will discuss what is to be done with her. What is to be done for her,’ and with that she led the stunned girl from the kitchen.

  ‘Well, what d’yer mekk o’ that, Mrs Dickinson?’ Mrs Groves asked, reverting to her native dialect in her astonishment.

  ‘Nay, don’t ask me, lass,’ Mrs Dickinson replied, reverting to hers.

  The girl, five months pregnant, she whispered to Charlotte, as she cowered in the bathroom, had been bathed, her hair washed and put in one of Charlotte’s nightgowns. With the grime removed she proved to be very pretty! After eating a hot meal of lamb cutlets, roast potatoes, fresh cabbage and gravy followed by syrup sponge and custard, part of the meal Cook had meant for the servants’ dinner, she was asleep in a spare room.

  They were just sitting down to it before they prepared luncheon – for one – for their young mistress, when they were again thunderstruck as the mistress burst into the kitchen. They stood up as one and she stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Oh, Lord, I’m sorry, I did not think but really, please go on with your meal. I just wanted to ask for the keys to the building on the other side of the gateway at the front of the house. I’ve never been through there and I’m sure you must have them, Mrs Dickinson.’ Mrs Dickinson had a great bunch on a chatelaine fastened to her belt and Charlotte was certain the ones she wanted must be there.

  ‘The building next door?’ the housekeeper said faintly, obviously wondering what the dickens her mistress was up to now. They were all aware that she had put the trollop, as they all called her, into one of the spare beds after feeding her, so what did she want with those particular keys?

  ‘Have you the keys, Mrs Dickinson?’ Charlotte asked patiently.

  ‘To the Dower House? Well, yes, I have but—’

  ‘The Dower House? I see. Is that what it is? Well, may I have them?’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Please, Mrs Dickinson, I haven’t got all day.’

  They had all sat down again at the table but could not bring themselves to resume eating with their mistress present. Hesitantly Mrs Dickinson took several keys from the chatelaine and handed them over to her mistress.

  ‘This one’s for the front door and the—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ll sort them out. Now, when you have eaten would you come to the drawing room, Kizzie.’ Charlotte nodded to them all and left the room.

  Within five minutes Kizzie joined her.

  ‘That was quick. Did you finish your dinner?’

  ‘As much as I wanted. Now then, my lass, what’s all this about? ’Ave tha’ lost tha’ senses, fetchin’ that girl inter’t th’ouse? Tha’ knows she’s ter ’ave a bairn an’ ’er not wed by’t look of ’er.’

  ‘No, she’s not married and yes, she is pregnant but her tale is one that disgusts me and if I can help her I will. She was turned out of her job the minute they found out about the child and do you know how she came by that child? No, well, it was the son of the house who persuaded her . . . seduced her and do you know whose house it was? Park Mansion, the home of Sir Charles and Lady Rosemary Denton with whom my father and my husband are acquainted. They hunt with them, shoot with them, and this – I will not say gentleman – this man with whom she thought she was in love, took her to his bed and got her with child. She was turned out a week ago and since then she has been living rough because her own family have disowned her. All she wants is work and a safe place until her child is born. She does not ask for charity and what would have happened to her when the child came I don’t know but I intend to see that—’

  ‘Lass, lass, listen ter tha’self, will tha’? What’ll master say when ’e ’ears yer’ve took in this stray an’ where’s she ter stay fer none o’ them in’t kitchen’ll work wi’ ’er. They’re not bad, Miss Charlotte, but that’s ’ow they was brung up. There’s standards, tha’ see, an’ this lass, well, what did she think was ter ’appen? That young master’d marry ’er? Tha’ve ter be sharp in some ’ouse’olds where there’s young gentlemen an’ she should’ve known better an’—’

  ‘Yes, yes, Kizzie,’ Charlotte interrupted impatiently, ‘but there is no use going over what can’t be remedied. She is to have her child in four months’ time and in the meanwhile I intend to keep her here and put her to some task within her capabilities. And that building, the Dower House, will do nicely. I don’t wish to outrage the sensibilities of the maidservants so you and I will go to that house and see what can be done. If it is suitable she can stay there until her child is born and . . . well, we will put our heads together.’

  ‘Nay, Miss Charlotte, the master’ll not like it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he will. Men seem to be singularly heartless when it comes to females who are – what is the expression? – done down by other men. Well, I intend to have my way on this.’ She stood up purposefully, jingling the keys Mrs Dickinson had reluctantly given her.

  They went out by the front door and crossed the gravel drive to the arch let into the high wall that separated the Dower House from the main one. The wrought-iron gate was well oiled and made no noise as they opened it. Beyond the wall was a paved courtyard. To the left-hand side of the courtyard was a building whose purpose was not clear, with a clock on top of it, all built in the same lovely honey-coloured stone as the main house. On the right-hand side was the Dower House, built on to the main house but standing back so that it
did not obtrude. It had a porch with four flat windows on the top storey and two on either side of the porch. A pretty little house, which was unlived in.

  ‘Well,’ Charlotte mused, ‘this looks promising.’

  ‘What d’yer mean, lass?’ Kizzie asked. She stared dubiously at the little house then watched her young mistress unlock the front door and step inside. She followed her, entering a pleasant hallway with doors off it and that led to a staircase. To the side of the staircase was another door and when they ventured down the passage found it opened into a large, sunny kitchen. It was all spotlessly clean and it was obvious that the servants had at some time been told to keep it that way. There was a parlour and a dining room, handsomely furnished with pretty curtains and pictures of landscapes on the walls, a laundry and a scullery off the kitchen, all three rooms stocked with the requirements for the work that was done there. Outside the back door they stepped into an enclosed garden where flowers were well tended and beyond that vegetables grew neatly in rows, again all well cared for. Upstairs were four bedrooms furnished comfortably with every requirement a woman of taste might have arranged and there was even a bathroom with running water and a flush lavatory.

  ‘Well,’ Charlotte said again, moving from room to room with Kizzie so close behind her she almost stood on the hem of her skirt. ‘Who would have thought . . . I wonder who lived here?’

  ‘Nay, don’t ask me, Miss Charlotte, and what I want ter know is what’s in tha’ mind. ‘As it owt ter do wi’t pregnant lass ’cos if tha’s thinkin’ of puttin’ ’er in ’ere which I know tha’ mean to, then—’

  ‘I do, Kizzie, and I mean to find her some employment that she can manage and that won’t offend the servants since they seem to be easily offended. She cannot remain in the house. She’s in trouble and—’

  ‘She’ll not be t’first nor will she be t’last. I’ve lost count of ’ow many ’ave bin turned away from not just King’s Meadow but tha’ pa’s place. They come from all over lookin’ fer ’andouts an’ finish up in’t work’ouse, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘Do they, Kizzie?’ Charlotte put her hand on Kizzie’s arm and spun her round to face her.

  ‘Aye, they do that, lass.’

  ‘It’s a crying shame, Kizzie, it really is. These girls are not wholly to blame for their condition but the gentlemen involved get off scot-free.’

  ‘Nay, not all of ’em. Some of these lasses ’ave . . . ’ave bin wi’ chaps ’oo ’ave decency ter marry ’em.’

  ‘But not those who are taken advantage of by so-called gentlemen who take their pleasure of ignorant young girls.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what happens to them, Kizzie?’

  ‘Their bairns’re dumped inter orphanages and they – their mams – tekk ter’t streets or . . . or . . .’

  ‘When you say the streets you mean . . .?’

  ‘Aye, lass,’ Kizzie said sadly. It would never happen to her, for she was a decent, respectable young woman, besides which she was plain and would attract the attention of no man. ‘Prostitution.’

  Charlotte was appalled. She had been gently reared and in ignorance of what went on in the wider world beyond her home, like all girls of her class, but she knew what the word meant. She moved to the window of the bedroom in which they stood and looked out on to the pleasant courtyard. There was a white-painted wrought-iron bench against the far wall, placed in the sun. The courtyard was bordered by beds in which late summer flowers grew and chrysanthemums were coming into their own, yellow and bronze and white. Across the cobbled courtyard was the second building which had a wide double door and large windows along the ground floor. All peacefully dozing in the sunshine. Pigeons called to each other and the dogs began to bark at the back of the main house. She could hear someone singing, a man’s voice, and a woman laughed. It was lovely and she felt the rightness of it flood through her, for surely here was something she could do that was not concerned with entertaining – though she supposed she would be obliged, as Brooke’s wife, to occupy herself with the task. She had been married since June. She had servants to comply with her every wish so that she might, as the wife of a gentleman, be free to pass her days in idle pleasure and she admitted to herself that she was bored. She liked to ride and play tennis but they were hardly worthwhile occupations. She wanted to do something that stretched her mind, an occupation – but what? There was a quality about this girl who slept in her home that had stirred a sense that lay dormant within herself and she felt it might lead to something important. She had, at that particular moment, no idea what it might be but she could feel the excitement rise within her. That, and something else. Compassion, she supposed. The sight of the girl, Jenny, moving hopelessly across the stable yard had touched her and without thought she had instinctively gone to help her.

  She stood for several minutes at the window and Kizzie watched her and waited. At last she spoke.

  ‘If I was to put her in here would you move in with her? I sometimes have the feeling you are not quite settled at King’s Meadow. That there is not a proper . . . that you have not found a place that suits you. You would be in charge, of course, for my husband would not allow me to . . . to be a part of . . . an active part of . . . I don’t even know what I mean to do . . .’ Her voice tapered off.

  ‘I should think not, lass. Tha’ place is wi’ thi’ ’usband and tha’ family. I don’t know what ’e’ll say about all this. ’Appen ’e’ll put a stop to it but yes, I’ll move over t’t Dower ’Ouse if ’e agrees. I want ter be near you, my lass, but I’ve no proper job ’ere except pretend ter be tha’ maid so it’d suit me grand ter ’ave runnin’ o’t place ower t’way.’

  ‘He surely wouldn’t turn Jenny out in her condition, Kizzie. He’s got a good heart, I know. Oh, I also know he is part of the class that causes many an illegitimate child to be brought into the world. Dear God, I’ve seen those children from the orphanage on their way to church on a Sunday. All dressed alike in drab grey and their hair cut short so that you can’t tell the boys from the girls. Subdued and obedient to their cold-hearted supervisors. No, if I can help girls like Jenny I shall. It relieves me to know you’ll stay with her until . . . well, first I must speak to Brooke.’ She remembered his coldness towards her and his decision to sleep in another bed the previous night. Would he return home this evening to dine with her? Would he stay at home and spend the night in her bed? Well, she would soon find out.

  Lifting her head in that defiant way Kizzie knew so well from the days when the master used to beat her and her brothers, Charlotte strode towards the stairs and the open front door. She had done her best not to be defeated by her father’s treatment of her and perhaps it was this that drove her now to try to alleviate the future of Jenny and her child which, when it was born, Jenny would have no choice but to assign helplessly to the orphanage. And if there was this one there would be bound to be others she would drag under her protective wing. Kizzie knew her young mistress and was well aware that her kind heart, if not guided, would lead her into what could only be disaster. The master would not allow it and if Miss Charlotte dug her heels in what chance had they of making their marriage work? Kizzie wanted nothing more than to see her lass happy with perhaps a child of her own. There were already ructions over Master Robbie and his tantrums, so this would put further strain on their relationship.

  The girl was awake when Charlotte quietly opened the door and popped her head round it. She lay in the bed, her face peeping over the covers, anxious but at the same time refreshed after the good meal she had eaten and the sleep into which she had fallen.

  ‘Ah, you’re awake, Jenny,’ Charlotte said, smiling, moving towards the bed. ‘Do you feel better?’

  Jenny tried to sit up but Charlotte gently pushed her back and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘No, stay there. I’ll ring the bell and have one of the maids bring you up something to eat and drink and then you—’

  Jenny freed herself from the bed covers and sat up, appalled. ‘Eeh, no,
ma’am, yer musn’t do that. I’m grand an’ if I can ’ave me clothes I’ll be off. Them lasses in the kitchen think nowt a pound ter me an’ yer can’t blame ’em so I’ll not bother yer no more.’

  She began to push the covers back with the intention of climbing from the bed and the thin nightdress Charlotte had dressed her in revealed the swell of her belly. Jenny put her hand protectively to it and the gesture moved Charlotte immensely. This young girl, in so much trouble, life and death really, still felt the need to safeguard the child that was the cause of her predicament.

  ‘Your clothes have been taken away. Katie, the laundry-maid, will wash them and return them to you. In the meantime I’ll find you something to wear and—’

  ‘Eeh, no, ma’am,’ she said again, clearly distressed that this lovely, kind-hearted lady, no older than herself, it seemed, should be taking so much trouble with Jenny Wainwright who had been foolish enough to fall in love with and give in to young Joel Denton’s demands. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she continued bravely. ‘Me sister lives in Leeds an’ ’appen she’ll tekk me in if she can persuade ’er ’usband. She’s bairns of ’er own an’ . . .’ She faltered, for none knew better than she what her sister’s husband would say.

  ‘Nonsense, Jenny. There is room for you here until—’

  ‘They wouldn’t stand it, ma’am,’ Jenny said simply.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Them lasses in’t kitchen. They’d not work alongside me. I’m best lookin’ fer work . . . well, in Leeds. I’m good for a few months yet and—’

  ‘And then what, Jenny? Even if you could work until your child is born how will you find work and, more to the point, if you find it, how will you manage it with a child? Now, get yourself out of bed and sit by the fire while I go and find something for you to wear.’

  Jenny looked about her at the pleasant room. She had, of course, as a housemaid, been in a room such as this before but only to clean it. Now she noticed the good fire in the grate which Kizzie had replenished while she slept, the comfortable rocking-chair before it, the plain but good furniture, the clean white nets at the window and the soft carpet on the floor. There was even a bowl of roses on the dressing table.