Elizabeth Elgin - I’ll Bring You Buttercups

‘And?’ prompted Ellen, as the elderly cook lapsed into remembering and Tilda sniffed loudly and dabbed her eyes with her apron.

‘And I was the luckiest lass in the North Riding that day,’ Cook beamed, ‘for didn’t Mrs Stormont’s housekeeper take me? Lady Helen’s mother, Mrs Stormont was, and a real gentlewoman. And I was trained up to under-cook, then came here to Rowangarth with Miss Helen when she married Sir John.’

‘Ar,’ sighed Tilda, who liked happy endings, ‘but what if you’d been placed middle-class? What if some shopkeeper’s wife had taken you for a skivvy?’

‘What if nothing !’ Cook selected another cherry scone. ‘I ended up here, didn’t I, and determined never to wed and have bairns to rear to line Ma Beswick’s pocket; a lesson you’d do well to heed, young Tilda.’

‘Yes, Mrs Shaw,’ agreed the kitchenmaid, though she was only waiting, like the heroines in her love books, to be swept off her feet by the romance of her life. Exactly like Miss Julia had been; snatched from the jaws of death by a young doctor who’d been waiting for a beautiful woman to fall at his feet in a faint. Miss Julia, who was head over heels in love.

Tilda drained her cup, then resumed her peeling and scraping and slicing and podding. Resumed it for the time being, that was. Until he came.

On hands and knees in the great hall where tonight milady would be receiving, Bessie rubbed tea-leaves into the rugs. For the past two days, teapots had been drained and the swollen leaves squeezed and set aside for carpet cleaning. There was nothing like them for taking away the dusty, musty smell and freshening jaded colours, Miss Clitherow insisted.

Bessie brushed the tea-leaves out vigorously, mindful that the under-gardener waited outside with a barrow filled with potted plants and ferns from the planthouse, to arrange in the hall so that tonight it would seem as if the garden had crept inside.

Bessie sighed happily. Tonight, in place of Alice whose face was not yet presentable, she would be on duty in the bedroom set aside for lady guests, on hand to receive cloaks and wraps, offer small gold safety-pins if required, and smelling-salts where necessary, and listen, eyes downcast, to the gossip. And, best of all, she would see the beautiful dinner gowns at first hand instead of being stuck below stairs, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

She didn’t mind the extra work at all, because this sad old house had come alive again, and there would be luncheon parties and dinner parties galore from now on. And there would be at least a shilling in tips left for her on the dressing-table, she shouldn’t wonder.

‘You can come in now,’ she told the young man she had kept waiting for the past ten minutes. ‘I’ll leave the pan and brush so you can sweep up after yourself if you make any mess, for I’m too busy to do it,’ she declared, whisking away so that her skirts swung wide, offering a glimpse of ankle that made him flush with pleasure.

He formed his lips into a long, low whistle, a sound that stopped her in her tracks. She turned to face his slow wink of approval. ‘Cheeky!’ she said airily. ‘And you’d best leave the pan and brush at the kitchen door when you’re done,’ she ordered.

Cheeky he might be, but when he returned the pan and brush, she just might return that wink …

‘Now tell me,’ whispered Ellen, as she laid her best dress and apron on Mary’s bed, ‘if it’s true what I hear – that Miss Julia has an admirer?’

‘It’s true,’ came the unhesitating reply, for Ellen was entirely to be trusted. ‘Met him in London, in Hyde Park. Ever so romantic. She tripped and fell, see, because of her tight old skirt, and he was there like a shot, holding her hand, seeing to her. It was meant to be, if you ask me. And he’s so nice and kindly in his manner. Make a lovely couple …’

‘Then I’ll be back, I shouldn’t wonder, to help out at the wedding.’ Ellen undressed without embarrassment, she and Mary having shared this very room in the old days.

‘Wouldn’t be at all surprised. But I’ll just fill your basin, then you can get washed and changed. And you can use my scented soap, Ellen, and my talcum powder.’

‘Oooh, thanks, love.’ Since she had married, such things were a luxury; though she knew that a parlourmaid, when serving at table and reaching and passing, must never, ever give offence. ‘I’m grateful.’

And oh, wasn’t it going to be just like old times again tonight, and wouldn’t it be grand having five shillings of her own to spend exactly as she pleased?

She plunged her hands into the basin of cold rainwater, made a violet-scented lather on top of it, and sighed with pure pleasure.

‘Are you decent, or in disarray?’ Julia entered Andrew’s bedroom without embarrassment. ‘I’m here to see if you need any help. Sorry we haven’t a valet to help you dress.’

‘ Help me dress? Good grief, woman,’ he gasped, ‘I’ve been dressing myself since I was out of napkins, though I’d like fine for you to see to this tie – I’ve made a bit of a mess of it.’

‘Yes, you have, my darling. But don’t worry. Mama always tied Pa’s for him, and Giles is worse at it than you. You’ve got the studs in all right, I see.’ She glanced with approval at the shirt front, sparkling with diamonds.

‘That much I could manage. Don’t they look grand. Are they real?’

‘They are, so you’re very honoured. Mother bought them for Pa as a silver wedding gift and oh, Andrew, you won’t do anything careless and get yourself killed like he did when we’ve only been married twenty-six years, will you?’

‘I won’t. I promise to grow old with you.’ He cupped her upturned face in his hands. ‘I couldn’t bear to leave you, either. And now will you see to this tie, then help me pin on the rose you sent up for me, though I’d heard that in London fashion it’s usually a carnation a man wears.’

‘London is London; here, we wear what we like, and your lady chose a white rosebud, so –’ She gave a final pull to the bow tie, then reached on tiptoe to place her lips gently against his own. ‘There now, doctor,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be the handsomest man at table and Mrs Mounteagle will faint at your feet. And you’ll remember, when you see her,’ she rushed on, ‘to thank Hawthorn for sponging and pressing your things so beautifully? She’s so pleased you’ve been asked tonight.’

‘I’ll make a special point of it. You care for Hawthorn, don’t you?’ He reached for the smallness of her waist, drawing her closer.

‘Yes, I do.’ She took a step away from his disturbing nearness. ‘She’s fun and she understands about you and me because she’s in love, too. She’s also my friend.’

‘Even though she must call you miss, or Miss Julia, and curtsey to you? Even though you call her Hawthorn, and never Alice?’ he quizzed, eyebrows raised.

‘Even though. It’s the way it is and Hawthorn would be embarrassed to have it differently. It doesn’t change the way she and I trust each other, and anyway, no one here expects to be curtseyed to. This isn’t Pendenys. But let me have another look at you.’ She smiled tenderly, eyes large with love.

‘Will I do, ma’am, in my fine feathers?’

‘You’ll do.’ Dear sweet heaven, but he was good to look at. ‘Tell me, darling,’ she murmured, trying to sound flippant and failing dismally. ‘Why are you twenty-seven, almost, and still unmarried? Because I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay single for so long. Hasn’t there been anyone …?’

‘There has not. I’m a bachelor still, because one thing I’m sure about is that two can’t live as cheaply as one, and because –’ he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose – ‘because you and that hefty constable took so long getting down to fisticuffs in Hyde Park. Heaven help me – there I was, walking in the park day after day. What took you so long?’