Читать книгу Ella’s Journey: The perfect wartime romance to fall in love with this summer - Lynne Francis - Страница 15

Ella followed the other passengers out of York station then hesitated, unsure of which way to turn. She ignored the line of hansom cabs waiting for fares, looking instead to her left and right for someone who might help her with directions. Tucked away at the far corner of the station façade she spotted a vendor selling flowers and made her way towards him. His face brightened at her approach.

‘I wonder, could you help me? I need to get to Knavesmire.’

The man sighed. ‘It’s always directions. Hardly ever a sale. If I had a farthing… Ah well, never mind, I’m happy to help a pretty lass like you, with manners to match.’

He pointed out the route that Ella would need to take, advising her that it was not much over a mile, before he offered her some anemones. Waving away her protests that she couldn’t pay, he pinned a couple of flower heads to her shawl.

‘They’re out of season and I’ve barely enough to sell. It will help brighten up a grey day for you. I wish you luck.’

Ella thanked him for his kindness and set out. Before she turned away from the city, out towards Knavesmire and the countryside beyond, she took a moment to gaze at the high grey-stone walls, set atop great green-carpeted mounds of earth, which surrounded the city. Within, she could make out an imposing church tower and a jumble of roofs while up ahead of her a turreted stone arch, the like of which she had never seen before, linked two sections of the wall over a road that led into the city. Lingering, she wondered whether she had time to step through that arch and discover what lay beyond it. Instead, promising herself that she would return to explore further at the first opportunity, she turned her back on the city and set out, facing into the wind. Before long, the streets of small terraced houses that led off from each side of the road gave way to grander houses set in large plots ranging along one side of the road, facing onto a great swathe of green on the other.

As a chill mist drifted across from Knavesmire, Ella found herself standing before Grange House, a house quite unlike anything she had ever seen. Set back behind a low wall, with a sweep of gravel in front, it had an oddly top-heavy appearance. Two storeys high, with additional windows in the attic, it had a prominent gable at one end, half-timbered at the top only, with this feature repeated around some of the windows and the front door. Perhaps most startling to Ella was the redness of the brick. The houses in Northwaite and Nortonstall were all built of grey stone with grey-slate roofs. This one was set beneath a red-tiled roof, and although the windows had pale sandstone surrounds, the predominant effect, Ella felt, was of a house shouting ‘look at me!’ to anyone who passed by. Her momentary doubt that she had come to the wrong place was quelled by the sight of Mr Ward’s motorcar parked on the immaculately raked gravel in front of a separate brick-built building. Ella, sensing instinctively that she would not be expected to approach the grand front door, looked anxiously around for another way in. She spotted a discreet gate tucked into the side of the wall and, biting her lip in a sudden surge of anxiety and shivering hard in the chill mist that rolled in ever more thickly from across the road, she opened the gate and followed the path round the house.

Her first timid knock at the dark-painted solid door remained unanswered. Steeling herself, she seized the knocker and let it fall once, twice against the wood. Ella was filled with a sense of panic – why had she ever thought it a good idea to leave behind the safety of the hills and valleys where she had spent all her life, where she knew every person, every path, bird and flower, for a place as foreign as this? The thickness of the door blotted out any sounds from within and so Ella, poised to flee, was startled when it opened suddenly, revealing a girl little older than herself in a maid’s uniform. A warmly lit interior was visible behind her.

‘Mrs Sugden, it’s the new girl,’ the maid called over her shoulder, before seizing Ella’s arm and pulling her into the hallway.

‘You’re frozen,’ the girl remarked before an older, larger lady appeared, her dark dress rustling as she moved, grey curls pinned back from a face that appeared stern, but broke into a welcoming smile at the sight of Ella.

‘Thank you, Doris. Please go and attend to the bell, then when you come back you can show – Ella, isn’t it – to her room. Ella, come this way.’

Ella found herself propelled into a small room off the hallway. Set up as a mixture of office and parlour with heavy ledgers piled on a big desk, it had a welcoming fire burning in the grate.

Mrs Sugden pushed Ella gently towards a chair by the hearth.

‘Sit yourself here and get warm. You look done in.’

Ella, gratefully taking the suggested seat, registered the note of concern in the housekeeper’s voice.

‘Have you eaten? You’ve missed lunch but I will ask Cook for a cup of tea, then we can discuss your duties here.’ And with that Mrs Sugden, bustling in the purposeful manner to which Ella would soon become accustomed, left the room. She returned shortly after, bearing a cup of tea in a plain china cup and saucer, setting it on a table beside Ella who, overwhelmed by the strangeness of this long-anticipated situation and the unexpected kindness of the housekeeper, found herself close to tears.

‘Now, when Doris comes back she’ll show you to the room that you’re to share with her so you can freshen up and put your belongings away.’ Mrs Sugden glanced briefly at the bundle Ella clutched on her lap. ‘Then you can meet the rest of the staff at tea. We’ll need to fit you for your uniform.’ Mrs Sugden paused to scrutinise Ella. ‘You’re taller than I expected and a good deal more slender but I daresay we will find something that will do for now. I know little about your experience other than what was in your mother’s letter so I think it best to keep you in the kitchen for the first few days until I’ve seen what you are capable of, and where you’ll best fit. Now, drink up that tea before it goes stone cold.’

The remainder of the day passed in a whirl that left Ella’s head spinning by the time she fell thankfully into bed. Doris, who was in possession of a head of auburn curls and a tidy, well-formed figure, had brought her up to their shared room after her interview with Mrs S, as she had called her, and had sat on the bed watching as Ella unwrapped her belongings.

Horribly conscious of how few things she had, and how shabby they might look to someone else, Ella turned her back on Doris as she shook out a couple of dresses and quickly hung them up. She laid her hairbrush on the top of the chest of drawers, folded a few undergarments into one of the drawers and then turned.

‘There, done,’ she said.

Doris had been watching her without comment. ‘You didn’t bring much with you,’ she remarked.

Ella felt her colour rise. ‘No,’ she replied, and then hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Doris regarded her shrewdly. ‘No matter. You’ll be in uniform most of the day. We’d best go and see what we can find to fit.’

In bed later that night, Ella had relived the embarrassment she had felt in front of Doris and, later, Mrs Sugden. It was already late and she had to be up at five, but her head was buzzing with the effort of taking in so much new information. The room was dark but she could make out the shape of Doris in the next bed, already peacefully asleep. She ran through what she could remember of the other staff: apart from Doris, she had met Rosa who was lady’s maid to Mrs Ward, Mrs Dawson the cook and Mr Stevens the butler. At the tea table, she had learnt of the Wards’ three children: three well-grown daughters, Edith, Ailsa and Grace and a son John, who was only six. She had listened to the gossip as the servants gathered to eat before heading off to fulfil their evening duties. Mrs S had then shepherded Ella to a tall cupboard in the servants’ hallway, unlocking it with one of the keys on a chain kept at her waist. She’d pulled out several dresses and held them up against Ella, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips as she assessed the fit.

‘I think these will do. Try them on in my room for size. This one is for the kitchen, but if you make progress and go above stairs, you’ll need this,’ she said, indicating the darker of the two dresses. ‘Mrs Ward will be pleased if we can make do with what we have here rather than having to order up something new. You are tall, which means you could do very well above stairs, but we must be sure that does not cause your dresses to be too short. Too much ankle will never do.’

Mrs S appeared to be talking to herself as much as Ella as she ushered her back into her parlour and shut the door. Ella had no idea what Mrs S meant by her comments about her height but, in any case, Ella soon forgot them, overcome with shyness at having to strip to her underclothes in front of the housekeeper. Although she had made every effort to keep her things as clean as possible at the Ottershaws’, Mrs Ottershaw had resented the smallest scrap of soap or hot water used for Ella’s personal cleanliness, or for the washing of her clothes. And new garments were out of the question, so everything had to be darned and patched until it was no longer feasible to wear it.

Mrs S tactfully turned her back and busied herself at her desk as Ella slipped hurriedly into the first dress, a rather shapeless affair in heavy cotton, well-worn at the collar and cuffs but clean and serviceable.

Ella cleared her throat and Mrs S turned. She frowned. ‘Hmmm, a little on the large side but the apron should pull it in. I think it will do well enough for the kitchen. Now the other, if you please.’

Ella quickly unbuttoned the first dress, stepped out of it and just as quickly pulled the other one over her head. The fabric was darker in colour but lighter in weight and she immediately felt that the fit was better.

‘Ma’am,’ she ventured.

The housekeeper turned to her. ‘Mrs Sugden,’ she corrected, then stopped, taking in Ella’s appearance. ‘This will do very well,’ she murmured, half to herself. ‘Wait a moment,’ she commanded, then left the room, returning with a white-lace cap, cuffs and apron. She helped Ella with the cuffs, then propelled her to the mirror over the hearth and showed her how to re-pin her hair so that the cap sat well on her head.

Ella, unused to spending any time before a mirror, was quite taken with what she saw. Although there were dark shadows beneath her eyes and the dress was still a little large for her, she had never seen herself looking so smart. To her surprise her eyes filled with tears for the second time in the day.

‘Well now,’ said Mrs S briskly, ‘you’ll be wearing this within the month if you do well helping Cook, Mrs Dawson, in the kitchen. The girl who usually fills that role has left and until she is replaced that will be your job. Doris can explain your duties above stairs. At first, you will be cleaning and laying the fires before the family are up and about but, once I have seen how you get on, and whether what was said in your letter holds true, I see no reason why you shouldn’t make progress. Now, you’ve had a long day. Away with you to bed – tomorrow will be here soon enough.’

Ella turned again in her bed, eyeing her dress for the next day, which was dimly visible hanging against the back of the door. She made a conscious effort to stop the merry-go-round of her thoughts, travelling back instead to the family home in Nortonstall, to imagine Beth sleeping soundly in her bed. Was Sarah awake and worrying how her daughter was faring so far away from home? Or had she, too succumbed to slumber, worn out by the demands of her granddaughter Beth, and of Thomas, Annie and Beattie, the rest of the family still at home? In distant contemplation of the tiny room in Nortonstall, that now served as a bedroom to both Sarah and Beth, Ella finally drifted into sleep; alas, not deep and dreamless but restless and disturbed with anxiety about the unknown day ahead.