Читать книгу Yes, Mama - Helen Forrester - Страница 18

Fanny found her when she came to rake the cinders out of the fireplace before going to bed.

With a frightened squeak, she dropped her coal hod and knelt down to turn her mistress over. When she saw the swollen lips and tear-stained cheeks, she knew what had happened; she had seen the same thing so often in her aunt’s home.

‘Oh, Missus! Can you sit up, Missus? Look, I’ll turn yez on your back and give you a heave up.’

Elizabeth moaned as she managed to turn and raise herself sufficiently to lean her head against the little skivvy’s shoulder. Fanny swallowed, and looked desperately around. ‘Is anythin’ broke, d’yer think?’ she asked.

Elizabeth shuddered, then whispered, ‘I don’t think so.’ She began to cry.

Well, let’s try and get you on that low chair there, and then I’ll run and get Maisie to help you up to your bed.’

‘Not Maisie,’ Elizabeth murmured. ‘Or the others.’ She paused, her breath coming slowly and heavily. ‘Ask Polly – she’ll mind her own business.’

She cried out in pain as Fanny slowly sat her upright while she brought the small chair closer, and moaned again as she was eased up on to it.

‘There, Ma’am. Lean your head against the high back, and I’ll be back with Polly in half a mo’.’

As she flew to the door, Elizabeth halted her by saying hoarsely, ‘Not a word of this – from either Polly or you – to the other servants.’

Fanny had been thrilled at the idea of telling everyone about the drama on which she had stumbled. But, as Elizabeth spoke, she realized that to her mistress it was a terrible humiliation. She warmed with pity and said reassuringly, as she went out, ‘Of course, Missus. Don’t worry, Missus.’

Once Elizabeth had been laid gently on her bed, Polly sent Fanny back to the kitchen, where Mrs Tibbs promptly scolded her for being so long in doing her raking out, and sent her off to bed.

Elizabeth said stiffly, ‘I shall be all right now, Polly.’ She lay on her side, legs curled up, arms crossed over her injured face.

‘I’ll help you undress, Ma’am. Fanny said she thought your back was hurt. Let me have a look, Ma’am. If you’ve got any arnica, I could paint it on the bruises. First, will I get some brandy from the Master’s study?’

‘No!’

‘Don’t worry, Ma’am. He’s out. He won’t miss a small glass, Ma’am.’

With one hand, Elizabeth gestured to indicate reluctant agreement.

In the hope that it would ease her mistress’s pain, Polly brought a generous glass of Humphrey’s brandy, and, after Elizabeth had swallowed it, she allowed Polly to unbutton her dress.

‘Jaysus!’ Polly exclaimed, when she saw Elizabeth’s back. Weals ran across it from the hairline to just below the waist. Where her corset had softened some of the blows, the marks were scarlet; above that, they were purple. ‘It’s a miracle if nothin’s broken, Ma’am. We should get the doctor.’

‘We can’t, Polly.’ She looked up at the other woman, tears beginning to course again down her ravaged face. She had given no explanation of her situation, because it was obvious that both Polly and Fanny had guessed what had happened; wife-beating was common enough amongst the lower classes, though it might have surprised them how often it occurred amongst their so-called betters.

‘No, Ma’am. I do understand, Ma’am. I’ll get the arnica from your medicine chest and maybe that’ll do the trick.’

While she carefully sponged the bruised back with cold water and then applied the arnica, she was thinking fast. ‘Would it be best, Ma’am, if you went to stay with someone? ’ave you got a sister or anybody? Till things blow over, like?’

Her mistress winced, as Polly dabbed on the tincture, and replied frankly, ‘Last time he beat me, I went to my sister in West Kirby. She told me it was my fault and I shouldn’t provoke him. She’s unmarried and doesn’t understand,’ she finished brokenly.

Polly sighed. ‘What about Miss Florence’s?’

‘She has a difficult life herself – and her baby is due any moment.’ Elizabeth’s voice strengthened. ‘I don’t want anyone to know, Polly. The disgrace would be more than I can bear. That’s why I sent for you instead of Rosie or Maisie. You seem to keep to yourself.’

‘Aye, you was right. I’ll keep me mouth shut.’ She eased her mistress’s nightgown over her head, and then she blurted out, ‘It were that Maisie wot is the root of the trouble. She told ’im every time, accordin’ to Rosie.’

Elizabeth’s eyes opened slowly. ‘Told him what?’

‘Told ’im when Mr Crossing called – and ’ow long ’e stayed.’

‘Good Heavens!’

‘He give ’er a shillin’ every time.’

‘Ach!’ Elizabeth was sickened. ‘Are you sure, Polly?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’

Never in her life before had Elizabeth spoken so frankly to a servant. But never before had she needed an understanding friend more. Now she said grimly, ‘I’ll dismiss her. And I’ll make sure she’s gone before Humphrey finds out.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Polly was putting her mistress’s clothes away. Now she examined the back of the gown Elizabeth had been wearing. ‘I think your dress is ruined, Ma’am.’ She held it up for Elizabeth to see and lifted the candle closer to it.

Elizabeth heaved, and Polly hastily dropped the dress and picked up the bowl holding the water she had used to bathe the bruises. ‘Take a big breath, Ma’am,’ she ordered the sickened woman.

The nausea subsided, only to rise again each time she remembered what Humphrey had done. ‘Oh, Polly,’ she moaned, ‘how could he?’

‘Better outside than inside, Ma’am,’ replied Polly with a quick quirk of humour. ‘You can do without another baby.’ Elizabeth heaved and brought up the brandy and what little dinner she had eaten. Afterwards, she said, ‘Wrap up the dress and put it in the midden – bury it under some of the rubbish.’

‘Oh, aye, Ma’am. Don’t you worry about it.’

Polly put it about that Elizabeth had tripped over her gown and had fallen, hitting her face on the doorknob of her room. ‘Made a couple o’ rotten bruises on her cheeks and mouth,’ she told Mrs Tibbs.

Mrs Tibbs had heard similar excuses several times before and simply shrugged slightly and went on with her cooking.

While Humphrey went on with his life as if nothing had happened, Elizabeth stayed in bed for three days. When she was ready to descend, she put on a black silk dress with a high neck edged with white frilling and dressed her hair low on her neck, to disguise the terrible bruise now yellowing there. A heavy dusting of rice flour helped the marks on her face. She sat silently in her favourite chair in the morning-room, her sewing untouched on her lap, and hoped Florence would not call for a few days more.

At dinner, she sat at her usual place at the foot of the table. She never raised her eyes, except to order Maisie to serve or to clear the table. Humphrey smiled at her – it was not a pleasant smile and it filled her with dread; in the months that followed she rarely spoke to him.

For several months, she cancelled her At Homes and invited no one to dinner, neither did she accept any invitations; she gave as the reason that Alicia’s birth had been difficult. As time went by and Andrew Crossing did not communicate with her, she felt physically and mentally ill.

She waited patiently until Humphrey went to Manchester to stay with his brother, Harold, for a few days. Then she gave Maisie a week’s pay in lieu of notice and told her to pack her bags. When Maisie protested, Elizabeth told her that they had decided to reduce staff.

‘I want to speak to the Master,’ retorted Maisie mutinously.

‘Don’t be insolent,’ ordered Elizabeth coldly. ‘I decide who works in this house. And it is I who will write references for you. Do you want to be turned off without a reference?’

At this deadly threat, Maisie caved in. Rosie was promoted to wait at table. When Humphrey noticed that Maisie was missing, he was forced to ask his wife where she was. She told him frigidly, between clenched teeth, that she was not going to be spied upon by a servant and that Rosie was quite satisfactory as parlourmaid. To get even with her, Humphrey told her that she would have to manage without a replacement girl.

Rosie came into the room, bringing another bottle of wine for which Humphrey had sent her, so Elizabeth sat stonily eating her dessert and did not reply.

Rosie and Fanny had to carry the work of a housemaid between them, and Rosie remarked thankfully that she would be married to the milkman by the end of the year. Fanny, who to her joy had had her wages quietly raised by a shilling a week, said nothing. She was learning to be a housemaid and that was real promotion for her.