The Coffin Maker's Daughters: Blind Bargain

By Bunny Mitchell

The Coffin Maker's Daughters were all named after flowers: Lily, Violet, Daisy, May Rose and Marigold. This is Lily's story.
When Lily Spencer, naive and vulnerable, marries Charles Nightingale they strike a Blind Bargain for neither knows much about the other. but Lily discovers a dark secret that Charles has kept hidden.
Blind Bargain tells of her struggle to rise above the pain of delusion and cope with a life devoid of physical love and of how she pours her passion into her art to become an accomplished portrait painter.
Set in late Victorian England, Blind Bargain takes its characters from village life on the Downs to the society of London. It is a story of intrigue, misunderstandings, love, hate and revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bunny Mitchell
• Release date: Aug 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301724376

Bunny Mitchell

Bunny Mitchell was a dancer before becoming a mother and later had a career as a cook. She made her home in Spain and America for several years before returning to England in 1998. She now lives in Sussex where she has grown to love the South Downs and the history of its people. Her novels encompass the folklores of the region and the colourful Sussex sayings that are in danger of dying out. She has three published novels (The Farthing Mark and A Magpie Mourning and Blind Bargain)and her fourth,Sweet Thunder, is soon to be released For many years Bunny Mitchell has encouraged and helped many to write their autobiographies. She founded the Bexhill Writers’ Forum in 2002 which she still runs.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

‘No man wants to buy damaged goods,’ Lily’s ma told her before she went into service. She tried to drum it into Lily that she should keep herself to herself and never let a man take advantage.

‘There’s time enough for that sort of thing when you’ve got a wedding band on your finger. Let him give you his name first,’ she said, ‘because if you let a man take liberties, he’ll think you’re cheap and lose interest.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lily asked.

Her question was only met with mutterings that told her nothing. Lily found the conversation vaguely uncomfortable so when her ma asked her if she understood she said yes although she didn’t really.

And that’s why Lily was unprepared when Edward Boyd-Taylor slipped quietly into her room that night.

She had been lying on her back in the narrow, lumpy bed, gazing up through the little fanlight in the roof at a few pale stars, while she relived every moment of the day. She couldn’t remember when she had ever felt so happy. It was as much as she could do not to jump out of bed and light the candle stub again so that she could take another peek at the beautiful hat and bury her nose in the delicate bunch of violets. But it was almost midnight, she must be up at six and she was already beginning to feel sleepy.

She had almost dropped off when she sensed there was someone in the room and even before she opened her eyes she could tell it was him by the distinctive fragrance of his expensive cologne.

‘Are you awake, Lily?’ he whispered.

She blinked at the flickering light of a candle held a few feet from her nose and saw Edward, shadows leaping and fluttering over his handsome face, as he looked down on her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.

‘I wanted to see you. We had such a lovely day that I didn’t want it to end.’

For a moment she was hardly able to speak for the shock of seeing him there. ‘But... but I shall get into trouble if they catch you in here.’

His face spread into a wide grin. ‘Then we shall have to make sure that they don’t, won’t we?’

Smothering a laugh, he turned and placed the candle on top of the battered chest of drawers. He peered curiously about the room, such a narrow cramped space, so small that there was hardly room for the bed and chest, and his eyes alighted on two sketches that Lily had pinned up on the wall.

‘Did you do those?’ he asked.

Lily sat up in bed and pushed the hair from her eyes. She drew her legs up and hugging her knees, found herself answering him. ‘Yes. That one’s my parents’ house in Pimberton and the other is my brother, Josh, only I didn’t get his nose quite right.’

‘You draw remarkably well.’

It was all very well for him, she thought, standing there making ordinary conversation, as if he was in the drawing room downstairs instead of here in her room, but her mind was whirling at the thought of what would happen if they were discovered. It wouldn’t be him that would be for the high jump, not the master’s son. No, it would be her. She’d be sent packing and no mistake.

At that moment, to add to her torment, she heard hurrying footsteps on the bare floorboards of the passage outside. Edward heard it too and frowned. Lily froze, holding her breath, straining to hear until she heard the click of a door shutting.

‘You really shouldn’t be here,’ she persisted. Half of her, the sensible half, wanted him to leave and the other half, the half that was terribly in love with him, wanted him to stay.

Ignoring her remark, he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Where did you learn to draw like that?’

‘Nowhere. They’re just scribblings. I’ve always done it.’

There was an awkward silence. Lily watched him while he studied her drawings, thinking how handsome he was; especially when he smiled. She liked the way his fair hair curled at the back of his neck. She even liked the walrus moustache, now she was getting used to it, although it did make him look older than his nineteen years.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

She wasn’t sure what he was talking about until he nodded his head towards the red and white hat box.

‘Oh yes, yes. And the violets. I cadged an old fish paste jar from Cook for them. Aren’t they lovely?’ She reached out for the little arrangement and taking them up, buried her nose in the delicate flowers. ‘There!’ she said, holding them out to him.

He took them from her, replaced them on the chest and started to stroke her arm. ‘You know, Lily, hardly a minute goes by when I’m not thinking of you.’

She sat, breathless, hardly able to believe her ears. She could tell, by the way he looked at her, how sincere he was.

‘How pretty you look with your hair loose about your face like that. The loveliest girl I have ever seen!’

Lily opened her eyes wide. No one had ever told her that before.

‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m telling you the simple truth. You do know, Lily, that I’m dreadfully in love with you?’

He took her hand and she watched, fascinated, as he turned it over, uncurled her fingers and kissed her open palm. The moustache tickled, making her smile.

‘You do believe me, don’t you? You don’t think I’m leading you on?’

‘Oh, no Edward. I’ve never thought that!

****

CHAPTER ONE

‘Don’t care was made to care!’

Lily, hearing Nanny’s harsh voice through the open door, looked up towards the ceiling and sighed. She didn’t need to be there to guess what would happen next; a stinging slap to the back of the legs, no doubt, and three year old James would be made to sit on a chair for the next hour. Poor little mite.

And this one too, Lily thought, pausing to stroke his sister’s blonde hair. They both must feel abandoned, what with their ma and pa going off to America and their grandpa and uncle, Edward, leaving only this week for Europe. It had to be unsettling for them and it didn’t help that she was going herself this morning as well. Only for two weeks, granted, but what was time to children?

‘How long will you be gone Spencer?’

Lily glanced down to the doll-like face looking solemnly up at her. ‘Only two weeks, Miss Emily, and then I’ll be back.’

Emily stuck out her lower lip and Lily, seeing that the child was about to cry, bent down so that their faces were level. ‘Now, now, you wouldn’t want me to miss my summer fortnight, would you? I haven’t seen my ma and pa for a long time. But you know, Miss Emily, I reckon I’ll be back before you could count to a hundred.’

‘I don’t think I can do that.’

‘Yes. Yes, you can.’

‘James didn’t mean to spill his milk down my dress. He’s only little. I don’t like Nanny.’ Emily’s face puckered and the threatened tears fell slowly down her cheeks.

Lily snatched up a doll from the toy shelf and thrust it into the child’s hands. ‘Here, play with Matilda like a good girl, because I’ve got things to do.’

It was a delicate china doll with blue glass eyes and a rosebud mouth, rigged out in red velvet and white lace. It had a dress, coat, a matching bonnet with red satin strings and, as if that weren’t enough, little black leather shoes that fastened with real pearl buttons. Emily’s Uncle Edward had brought it back from Germany. Lily wondered what her little sisters would make of it. They had to be content with the rag dolls her mother had made. Even so, they thought more of them than Emily did of hers.

‘I don’t want to,’ Emily said, pushing the doll away.

‘Well what do you want?’

‘Dobbin.’

‘Come on then.’

Taking Emily’s hand, Lily led her across the room to the grey rocking horse and lifted her, with practised ease, onto the leather saddle. Emily gripped the flaxen mane while Lily set the horse in motion.

‘I’m going to pay a visit to Mamma and Papa. Don’t you think they’ll be surprised, Spencer?’ Easily distracted, Emily’s eyes now shone with excitement.

‘They most surely will!’

Lily, scarcely listening, caught sight of the soiled dress still on the chair. ‘Now I really must get on. You enjoy your ride Miss Emily.’

She felt sorry for the children, but today she was going home. She sighed just to think of it. Two weeks of fresh air and a bit of fun. Two weeks when she wasn’t at Nanny’s beck and call and she wasn’t mopping up spills or trying to cover up for the children when they got into mischief.

And wasn’t it lucky how it worked out that she would be away at the same time as Edward? Four weeks he’d be away with his father. They had gone to see some old tunnel in Europe. Edward had told her it was the longest tunnel in the world and that it had been driven through the heart of a mountain. It was built for the railway that ran from Switzerland all the way to a place in Italy. Milan. That was the place. It had been started in seventy-two and only opened last year, and Edward said the man who built it had died of a heart attack, actually in the tunnel, shortly before the opening ceremony. Lily marvelled at the tricks fate played. Just when you think everything is going your way, something comes along to say it’s not.

Edward hadn’t wanted to go but his father had insisted. Old Mr Boyd-Taylor could be a tartar at times, but it was only natural that he should turn to Edward to follow him into the business, especially now that the eldest son, the children’s father, had decided to go and make his fortune in America.

And his second son had been a disappointment, too, going off to India with that new wife of his. Edward said that Henry had done well for himself. Being in the Indian Civil Service was not a job to be sneezed at but Mr Boyd-Taylor believed the railway was the only thing worth concern. No wonder he was pinning his hopes on Edward.

Lily dropped Emily’s dress in the laundry basket and smiled as she thought of the Boyd-Taylor’s youngest son. It would be four weeks until he returned and then, my word, wouldn’t the cat be out of the bag.

Nanny rustled into the room. ‘Have you finished yet Spencer?’

‘Yes, Nanny,’ Lily dutifully replied.

Nanny cast critical eyes about the nursery. They rested on the little square table under which the two rush-seated chairs had been neatly tucked, moved on to the shelf of toys and turned to the fire grate laid with sticks and small coal but unlit on this warm day.

‘Good.’ She gave a satisfied nod and treated Lily to a wintry smile. ‘Now you’ve done here, the mistress wants to see you. She is in the morning room and has sent word that you are to come as soon as you are finished.’

'The mistress?' Lily stared at Nanny in amazement.

‘There’s no need to repeat my words. And don’t stand there gaping like that. You have heard me correctly.’ She flapped her hand at Lily. ‘Now off you go. It won’t do to keep Mrs Boyd-Taylor waiting.’

Lily scrambled to the door.

‘And Spencer?’ Another wintry smile. ‘Have a good holiday.’

Lily grinned before bounding down the narrow stairs. At the bottom she slowed her pace and proceeded along the wide first floor landing in a more sedate manner.

It was not often that she had reason to be in this part of the house – she could count on the fingers of one hand the occasions over the past four years – but whenever she found herself here she was struck by the luxury of the furnishings, comparing it with the simplicity of the nursery and the starkness of her own little room up in the attic.

Here, brown velvet curtains hung from beneath gold-tasselled pelmets, swagged and secured by matching gold cords. The dark mahogany of side tables and straight-backed chairs gleamed, bathed as they were in the early June sunshine that streamed through the high windows and burnished the brass planters and finger plates of doors.

The carpet was thick under her feet, the air perfumed by the blood-red roses sent up from the gardens, and the smell of beeswax told Lily of her friend, Molly’s, early ministrations.

She would have liked to linger, to gaze out over the gravel drive with its marble statuary and tall elms, but there was no time to admire the view; not if she was going to catch that train.

As if to echo the thought, a grandfather clock struck the quarter. Lily glanced up at it. Nine fifteen. She hoped that whatever it was that Mrs Boyd-Taylor found so necessary to speak of on the morning of her leave wouldn’t take long.

At the end of the landing, she stopped at a heavy, oak door and nervously attempted to straighten the starched cap that never seemed to sit comfortably or neatly on her mass of russet-brown hair. She smoothed her apron, squared her shoulders and knocked.

‘Come on, come on!’ she muttered. It seemed an age before she heard the command to enter. Lily pushed open the door and closed it quietly behind her.

By the huge bay window, at a circular table, Mrs Boyd-Taylor sat encased in a beige morning gown. She was attending to the day’s post that had been brought to her on a silver salver, slitting each envelope with a silver paper knife and casting a fleeting eye over the contents before going on to the next.

Lily stood by the door, her hands clasped in front of her, watching the mistress. Mrs Boyd-Taylor was an angular woman, middle-aged, with greying hair severely parted in the middle and drawn back into a tight little bun at the back of her neck. A pair of thick-lensed spectacles perched on her bony nose and from her neck hung a heavy gold locket. A gold ring set with diamonds and sapphires caught the sunlight as she shuffled the papers.

She had given no indication that she was aware of Lily’s presence. Perhaps she has forgotten I’m here, Lily thought, and wondered whether she dare say something. Molly had told her that she had once been kept waiting for fifteen minutes. Of course, Molly could have been exaggerating. She hoped so because if she was going to catch her train she couldn’t afford to waste time.

Lily shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Should she say something or wait? After a moment, she compromised and coughed. It was a small cough; not so much a cough as a clearing of the throat; only enough to establish herself.

Mrs Boyd-Taylor laid down the letter she had been reading and picked up another. Leisurely, she slit it open and began to read.

The old cow, Lily thought. She’s not reading them. She’s just keeping me waiting out of sheer cussedness.

‘Do you really think that I am unaware of your presence, Spencer?’ Mrs Boyd-Taylor imperiously asked without looking up.

‘No…no, ma’am.’

‘Then please be still and refrain from fidgeting like that. I will deal with you when I am ready.’

Deal with me! My word, some of them could put on airs. Well, haven’t you got a shock coming to you! Wait till Edward gets back and then you’ll change your tune. Oh, come on, come on, get on with it. I want to go home.

But no matter how anxious Lily was to get away, she couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to look about her. Her eyes roamed over the large room. It was much larger than their parlour at home; in fact, you could fit their whole house inside and still have room left over. And, although it was a fussy room, she didn’t consider that it looked lived in. Every little table, covered by a fringed cloth, held a multitude of knick knacks; little figurines, photographs in silver and brass frames, workboxes, albums, a potpourri bowl, tulip-shaped silver vases, and sweet baskets with flowers on their handles. So much that she felt sorry for Molly who had to dust them all. Come on, get on with it. I want to go home!

Mrs Boyd-Taylor, as if she could read Lily’s thoughts, collected her correspondence together, replaced it on the salver and fastened her gaze on Lily. For some seconds she sat in silence, then said at last, ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Come over here. I have no intention to shout.’

The girl picked her way through the obstacle course of tables and stood in front of her but although Mrs Boyd-Taylor had turned her attention to Spencer she was in no hurry to proceed. She tapped a bony finger on the polished surface of the table and studied Spencer. Her lips pursed and the tapping continued.

Mrs Boyd-Taylor was curious. So this was the girl. Spencer had been in her employ for four years, and yet, when this unfortunate matter had been brought to her attention, she hadn’t been able to put a face to the name. She’d had her share of childrearing and these days had no need, and certainly no inclination, to visit the nursery.

She looked into the girl’s face and was a little surprised at what she saw. There wasn’t the coarseness of features she associated with the servant class. Granted, she was no beauty. Her features were too irregular for that; the mouth a little too wide, the nose too long, and all that bouncing hair! But it was the astonishing almond-shaped eyes, gazing steadily back at her, that gave the girl an outstanding quality that, she grudgingly admitted to herself, was attractive. For a moment, and it was only for a moment, she could understand how a young man like Edward could be tempted.

Heaven’s above! She’s a mere chit of a girl. She can’t stand more than five feet even though she holds herself well. The quicker she got this distasteful business over, the better.

The girl was beginning to wilt, under her silent scrutiny, when Mrs Boyd-Taylor asked suddenly; ‘How old are you, Spencer?’

‘I’m seventeen ma’am.’

Mrs Boyd-Taylor resumed her tapping on the table. It was a habit of hers, something that always made her servants uncomfortable. Spencer plucked at her apron and shifted from one foot to the other.

At last Mrs Boyd-Taylor spoke. ‘Spencer, you are dismissed. Your services are no longer required.’

All thoughts of trains fell from Lily’s mind. It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping. She managed to, but her eyes, that Edward said were the colour of hazel nuts, widened in surprise.

‘It has come to my notice that my son…that Master Edward has been so foolish…has been associating with you. Such a situation cannot continue. It cannot be known that a man in Master Edward’s position is consorting with a servant. I have no alternative but to dismiss you.’

Lily received this news with apparent calm but, inside, was filled with conflicting emotions; feelings of elation, a surge of excitement jostling with a nervous fear. Dread. Dear Heavens, she didn’t know how she felt.

We must be prepared for opposition, he had said. We must wait; bide our time. I will speak to my parents when the time is right. Well, he must have spoken to them before he left. She wished he had warned her first though. If he had, she would have been the better prepared. Of course she must be dismissed.

Dignity. She must behave with dignity. Nanny was always saying that dignity was everything in a lady. How she reacted now would be all important.

‘I am so glad that Edward has spoken to you, Mrs Boyd-Taylor. I realise that it must have come as quite a surprise, but I want to assure you that I will do my very best to make Edward a good wife.’ Lily had been practising that little speech for three weeks.

‘Wife? Wife! Have you gone mad?’ Mrs Boyd- Taylor exclaimed. She rose from her chair and came to stand in front of Lily. ‘You foolish, foolish girl! How could you imagine for one moment that Master Edward, someone who comes from a good family such as ours, could ever consider marrying a…a servant?’ She glared contemptuously at Lily. ‘It’s beyond my comprehension. Look at yourself. Do you honestly believe you are a fit person?’ The question hung on the air and Mrs Boyd-Taylor sighed. ‘I must say, Spencer, that I am disappointed in you. Four years you have been in my employ. We have housed and fed you and treated you well and this is how you repay us. I took you on against my better judgement but as a favour to Cook. Had I known that I was introducing into my household someone of such… such low moral character, I would never have done so.’

She shook her head in despair. ‘Your behaviour is unpardonable. I have no alternative but to dismiss you. You do realise, of course, the impossibility of my furnishing you with a reference? Nothing, I say nothing, would induce me to be the cause of inflicting someone of such base nature on another unsuspecting family. Collect the pay that is due to you from Mrs Wilkes but only when you have returned your caps and aprons. You may keep the rest of your uniform.’ Her disdainful expression clearly showed that she considered the pale lilac dress to be tainted by its contact with Lily’s person.

Lily had expected opposition; Edward had told her to be prepared for it. But, now, seeds of uncertainty were growing. How could Edward have been so stupid as to speak to his parents just before he left for Europe and then leave her to cope with the situation on her own? How much had he told them? Had he made it clear that if they opposed the marriage, if they could not find it in their hearts to welcome her into the family, he intended to set up his own establishment and make his own way in the world?

She couldn’t bear the thought of having to wait until Edward returned to find out and her frustration at not knowing the answers gave her the courage to stand her ground and ask. ‘Did Edward explain to you that— ?’

Bristling with indignation, Mrs Boyd-Taylor allowed her no chance to finish. ‘Be quiet, Spencer. Such insolence! Master Edward wants nothing more to do with you. Nothing, do you hear? It is his express wish that you be removed from this house. You have become an encumbrance; an embarrassment from which he wishes to extricate himself.’

Lily didn’t immediately grasp what the woman was saying. When she did, she could only stare in amazement.

Mrs Boyd-Taylor had not yet finished but, with a humourless smile, continued. ‘And I might add, Spencer, that should you be foolish enough to hang about the house in hopes of accosting Master Edward when he returns, I shall have you removed. Forcibly if necessary. By the constabulary!’

*

Lily sat on the bed in her little attic room, all thought of catching the eleven o’clock train forgotten. She wouldn’t have time to get it now, not if she wanted to pack all her belongings, few as they were, before she left. Mrs Wilkes had looked up the times in Bradshaw’s Railway Guide. There was only one other train she could catch. It left at three fifteen, so when she didn’t arrive on the morning train, they would know to meet her later.

For weeks she had counted off the days until she could go home for her summer fortnight. She had woken this morning full of excitement and anticipation and the first thing she had seen, when she had opened her eyes, was the hat. It sat on the oak chest and the dawn light, filtering through the skylight, had caressed the pink flowers and made them look real. She picked up the fine hat now, and her fingers plucked absently at the three silk roses, stroked the satin band that finished in a bow at the back, as she remembered the day Edward had bought it.

I shall buy you a hat, Lily, he had said, brushing her lips with his own. A splendid hat that will do justice to your beauty.

And so, on her day off, he had met her from the trolley bus at the corner of Hamilton Avenue and taken her to a little milliner in a side street off the Ashbury Road. Penelope’s it had over the shop window. Not Penelope’s Hat Shop or Penelope’s Milliners. Only Penelope’s." And in the window, in front of a green velvet curtain, was a single hat. All that window for just one hat!

The assistants gave each other knowing glances and she knew what they were thinking. Edward was so much the gentleman with his top hat and frocked coat and the way he smelled of cologne. He sat on a gilded chair, perfectly at ease. And there she was in her best dress; a beautiful blue, with a flounce round the skirt and a row of buttons that marched down the front of the bodice. With it, she wore the tippet that her mother had sent her for Christmas. She had felt confident and pleased with her appearance when she had got dressed, but, in those posh surroundings, all the gilt mirrors told her she looked exactly what she was; a servant girl in her Sunday clothes.

She tried on so many hats while Edward watched her with interest, smiling and nodding or shaking his head at each one. After a while she forgot her diffidence. She was having such fun that she didn’t care what the assistants thought. She knew that what she and Edward shared was something special. It was so special that she wasn’t going to allow the opinion of a few shop girls to take away the happiness of her day.

He bought her the flowered hat because he said it made her look even more beautiful although, he added, he had not thought it could be possible. The hat was wrapped in tissue paper, packed in a red and white striped box with the name of the shop on the side and tied with a red ribbon. She had never had a hat box before. The hats that were bought in the village shop, back home, were wrapped in brown paper.

They walked in the park where the last rays of the spring sunshine shone through the chestnut trees and dappled the grass. Everywhere the new green foliage gave movement to a crisp breeze. Was it the breeze that had pinked her cheeks and sparkled her eyes?

Edward swung the hat box carelessly by his side and, seeing her delight, had laughed and told her that he would buy her a hundred hats. She was so proud to be walking beside this wonderful man.

Outside the gates of the park an old woman, selling violets from a basket slung over her arm, called out, ‘Buy the lady some violets, sir?’

Edward tossed her a coin and took a bunch. It made the woman grin so much that her eyes wreathed in wrinkles.

He presented it to Lily with a flourish, merriment in his eyes, and she buried her nose in the sweet smelling, fragile flowers. Looking up at him, her eyes brimmed with tears and she thought she would cry. She had never imagined you could cry from happiness.

He put her on the trolley bus to return to the house and later that night.... Oh no. Dear Heavens, no, she mustn’t think of that! She must put the memory from her mind.

Looking down at the hat on her lap, Lily found it difficult to reconcile the memory of that day with the monstrous things Mrs Boyd-Taylor had said a few moments earlier. An encumbrance, and An embarrassment. She couldn’t believe Edward had said those things. If he had had a change of heart, wouldn’t he have told her it was all over himself? Wouldn’t he have told her it was a harmless flirtation instead of going through his mother? If she was an embarrassment to him, surely he would have wanted to bring an end to their friendship without the family ever finding out.

Or was it that he didn’t have the courage? That he had waited until he was about to leave for Europe so he wouldn’t have to face her? No, that was ridiculous. Edward wasn’t like that. He was kind and gentle. She knew he would never want to hurt her. She shook her head at the idea. No. Not Edward.

Then a thought occurred to her that lifted her spirits. Mrs Boyd-Taylor must have found out somehow and waited until Edward was away to get rid of her. Edward hadn’t spoken at all. Hadn’t he said that he didn’t want to go and would miss her? I will miss you every moment we are apart, he had said.

He doesn’t know! He will come back and find her gone and they’ll tell him lies. They’ll say she had simply left, handed in her notice and left, or been dismissed for some wrong doing. She would have to put him straight, write to him when he returned, and then when he got the letter he’d come down and find her. Nobody was going to keep them apart, not if she could help it. Yes, that’s what she would do. She’d write to him.

Having reassured herself, she prepared to leave. She bent down and hauled her wooden trunk from under the narrow bed. It was a handsome box. Her father had given it to her when she had first started in service. He had made it, himself, from good oak. It had a lock and key, two strong carrying handles, and engraved on the lid, in bold square letters, were her initials. L.A.S. which stood for Lily Ann Spencer.

Her father said it was made to last a lifetime. He had sanded the wood until it was as smooth as a baby’s skin under her fingers. The box was better than any that the other servants owned and she was very proud of it. It had caused comments when she first arrived but her father was a carpenter, a real craftsman who couldn’t have made a lesser article if he had tried. Everything he made, he made with loving care. She had seen her father stroke a piece of planed wood in the same way as a man might stroke a woman. In the same way as Edward....

Thrusting the thought from her, she opened the bottom drawer of the plain wooden chest and took out her two cambric night-gowns and all her under things; six pairs of drawers, three camisoles and two petticoats. She took down her second best dress from the hook behind the door and carefully folded it. Then, from the top drawer of the chest, she took her hairbrush, her handkerchiefs, the paper she kept for writing home, her precious drawing pad and pencils, her bible and the book Josh had given her for Christmas. It was Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll, and inside, between the pages, she had pressed the delicate flower heads of five violets.

She put them all in the box and looked about her to see if she had left anything behind. This room, that had been her refuge since she had first come here, didn’t have a single ornament or comfort, and yet she could honestly say that she had drawn comfort from it. At the end of the day, bone-weary from the unending hard work and long hours, she had been glad to shut the door and fall into bed. Lumpy though the mattress was, she had often been sorry to leave it in the early hours of a winter’s morning. How she wished she could have stayed there, snug in its warmth, instead of hurriedly washing in icy water before scrambling into her uniform to start another day.

All that was over. Everything was packed. All she had to do now was change into her best dress and return the aprons and caps to the housekeeper. She stepped out of her working clothes and put on her Sunday blue dress, carefully doing up the row of buttons before draping her black tippet round her shoulders.

She picked up the discarded dress and stared at it for a moment. You may keep the uniform, Mrs Boyd-Taylor had said. For an instant, Lily was tempted to leave it in a heap on the floor to show what she thought of the hideous garment and all it stood for. But then she thought of her ma and what she would be able to make from it. Her ma was a wonder with a sewing needle. She could make anything out of nothing, and there certainly was a need.

Lily had seven brothers and sisters, and all still at home. Dresses and trousers and shirts were all handed down, patched and darned to get the most out of them. Her ma never wasted anything. She would turn sheets side to middle when the centres grew thin and eventually cut them up for pillow cases and use the worst parts for dishcloths. No, she couldn’t leave the dress behind. Ma would make use of it.

She crammed it into the box and then looked at her new hat. What would they say if she walked through the servants’ hall wearing such a confection? It would certainly cause a stir. More so than this scruffy thing. She picked up her old hat, such an everyday hat it was; a plain straw with a narrow blue band and much more suitable with the rest of her outfit. But as she was about to ram it onto her head, she hesitated a moment, and in that moment something stirred in Lily that she didn’t know existed before. It was a defiant determination to put on a brave front. She was going to wear her hat, the one with pink roses, and to hell with them all.

So thinking, she put her plain little hat in the fancy big hat box, locked her wooden box and carefully placed the key in her drawstring bag. Then she fixed the hat, the beautiful hat that Edward had bought her, firmly on her glossy dark hair and with a sharp lifting of her chin and her mouth set in a determined line, left the room.

Lily Spencer was going home.

****

CHAPTER TWO

The train, whistling loudly and belching out thick smoke and a shower of sparks, steamed along the platform before grinding to a screeching halt. Lily was the only passenger to alight at the station, Walmsley being only a country stop. Her brother, Josh, was there to meet her.

He had been leaning against a wall talking to the station master but was by her side in an instant, hefting her box onto his broad shoulder and grinning his big foolish grin.

‘We was expectin’ you on the morning train.’

‘Yes, I know. I was delayed.’

‘Not to worry. You’re here now. How are you?’

The excitement of coming home, mixing with her churned up feelings about the morning’s events, left her not knowing whether to laugh or cry so she didn’t answer his question.

‘When are you going to stop growing?’ she asked instead. ‘You must be nearly six feet tall.’ She could never understand why Josh was so tall while she remained so short.

Josh ran a hand through his thatch of untidy dark hair and grinned again. ‘Six foot and one inch, actually. Freddy’s put a spurt on this year an’ all. You’ll hardly recognise him. He’s going to be tall too, but unless he fills out he’ll be like a beanpole and that’s a fact.’

He clumped down the wooden platform, waved cheerily to the station master and led the way through the gates to the waiting cart. Lily, carrying the red and white hat box, hurried to keep up with him.

‘I must say, that’s some ’at you’re a-wearing, Lily. You must be doing well.’

Lily lifted her hand self-consciously to her head. Perhaps it had been a mistake to wear it. It didn’t really go with her clothes and she had noticed a few sideways looks and whispered words on the train.

‘Do you like it?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Well… it’s a bit fancy for these parts,’ he said, tossing the comment back over his shoulder, ‘but you’ll be the envy of every woman in the parish if you wear it to church on Sunday.’

She wondered if she would have the nerve.

Josh stowed her box in the back of the cart amongst the clutter; a sash window minus its glass, planks of oak, a work basket of tools with a saw sticking out of it, brown paper packages of nails, hinges and other odds and ends. It smelled of wood shavings and linseed oil so Lily decided to have the hat box next to her where she would sit. Josh helped her climb over the front and up to the plank seat beside him. Then, with a jingle of the harness and the mare’s hooves ringing on the cobbles, they were on their way.

Walmsley was quiet at five o’clock in the afternoon. Apart from the occasional carriage and a few spring carts there was little traffic on the road. They passed a church with a tall spire, a doctor’s house with its red lamp outside. They traversed the square, where the weekly market would be held, and travelled the length of Powell Street and Nelson Road, with their neat little houses built in pairs, before either of them spoke.

‘How is everyone at home?’ Lily asked.

‘Oh, just ’bout the same. Pa works all the hours God sends. Jack’s been working with us since he left school last year. He’s not cut out for it though. Doesn’t know a hawk from a herneshaw. Always got his head stuck in a book when he’s not in the workshop. It took him all day to fit the spokes for the taper holes of a ladder pole the other day and I don’t think we’ll ever get him to saw upright and square. I keep a-telling him, if he’s got a trade in his hands he’ll always be sure of a good living, but I don’t know what he’s a-thinking half the time.’ He laughed good naturedly. ‘Violet’s waiting for a place. Ma’ll miss her when she’s gone. Mrs Pritchard said she may be able to get her in at the vicarage, here in Walmsley, later this year. It’ll be a start for her until something else turns up…. May’s doing well at school. She writes a good hand, a clever one, if you ask me. Sharp as vinegar… and Freddie? He’s as comical as ever. Ought to be on the stage.’

‘And Ma, Josh? What about Ma?’

Josh glanced sideways at her, his lips curling into a rueful smile. ‘She’s expectin’ another.’

Lily repeated the word on a groan. ‘Another!’

‘Rose won’t be more’n a year when this one’s born. I can see us building another room on the house. If we’re not careful, me and Jack will have to move in with Priscilla!’ He laughed at his own joke. Priscilla was Granny’s pig.

‘If we’re not careful! It’s them that wants to be careful,’ she answered, tartly, thinking that the house must be bursting at the seams. Her ma had produced eight children, not counting the one that was stillborn and the two that were buried in St. Peter’s churchyard, and every year she looked more tired and older than her years.

‘Lily!’ Josh exclaimed in mock horror. ‘I didn’t expect you to come out with a remark like that. Every year, when you come home, you seem more ladylike, speaking so la-di-da that it puts us to shame.’ He stuck his tongue in his cheek and his eyes had laughter in them. ‘And then you come out with somethin’ like that and I know you’re the same old Lily Spencer.’

Lily forced a smile but said nothing. She wondered, as she had been wondering all afternoon, how Ma and Pa were going to take the news of her dismissal. She wouldn’t need to tell them today but they would have to know sooner or later. And what should she tell them? She had never lied to them in her life, but could she tell them the truth? Her fortnight would be up before Edward returned from his trip and could come for her.

In spite of these thoughts, she couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the mellow afternoon sunshine that warmed her face and the changing scenery, as they left Walmsley behind, was a welcome distraction. Lily loved the area where she had grown up and each landmark was like renewing the acquaintance of an old friend.

Strung out along the wayside were cottages, trim and neatly painted, in gardens bursting with colour; the gold of marigolds, gaudy in the sunshine, the various hues of blue in the delphiniums, tall lupins and low-lying forget-me-nots. The sweet smells of lavender and rosemary wafted on the breeze and in almost every garden the roses bloomed; pink and red and white.

A little old man with long white hair and a well-scrubbed look waved to her from the open doorway of a small stone cottage and she waved back to him. After that, they were in the open countryside where the road rose and fell for miles, each crest offering panoramic views of fields stretching away to distant lines of trees set in the hedgerows. There were wide spaced woods and, beyond, the sweep of