A Brighter Tomorrow, Maggie Ford [types of ebook readers .TXT] 📗

offended sniff for a reply conveyed exactly where Ellie stood with her as Florrie swept past her and out of the room.

‘Done orright for herself,’ Chambers complained to Mrs Jenkins downstairs. ‘You should see her up there, standing there as if she owns the place while I set everything out for her. No offer of ’elp. Too much of a lady now to offer!’

‘She’s not exactly a servant any more,’ was the reply, Mrs Jenkins being very busy making preparations for mutton stew for the next day, at the same time giving young Rose a sharp look to get on with her business as the girl paused in washing up to listen in.

Of course there was nothing to stop the pair of them swapping tittle-tattle tonight in their room, but not down here, in her presence.

‘Who’d of thought she’d be such a scheming little so-and-so when she first came here?’ Chambers went on, going back to cleaning the silver she had left in order to take supper up to the study for her ladyship. ‘If the poor mistress was here now, she’d have a fit.’

‘But she’s not here,’ said Mrs Jenkins with sudden venom. ‘And there’s nothing any of us can do about it, so don’t go airing your views too loudly.’

‘Well, I think it’s a crying shame how she’s using the master and he can’t even see it.’

‘What the master does is his business,’ came the abrupt reminder. ‘And you’d be well advised to mind yours.’

But Florrie wasn’t finished. ‘I’d say he’s got ideas on her other than fatherly ones. Ideas that, if you ask me—’

‘I am not asking you!’ Nora Jenkins cut in almost savagely. ‘So just you keep your mind on your work, girl!’

‘All I’m saying is, she’s got him round her little finger and I wouldn’t bet he fancies her a bit more than making up for him losing his daughter.’

‘Florrie!’ The way Cook rounded on her made her start. ‘That’s quite enough out of you! Mind yourself. Get on with what you’re doing and keep your thoughts to yourself or you might find yourself without employment.’

Florrie chose to show defiance – not too much, being tinged with alarm. ‘Who’s going to sack me? Her?’

‘He will. And don’t put it past him,’ came the rebuke. ‘Parlourmaids are two a penny these days and don’t you forget it.’ Modifying her tone, she went on, ‘You’ve a good place here, and you’re a nice girl – a good worker, after a style – and I wouldn’t want to lose you.’

She grew busy again, turning away though still addressing the girl. ‘The last thing I want in this messed-up household is to have to train someone else. Don’t worry, that one will blot her copybook sooner or later and she’ll be gone. Now finish what you’re doing and off up to bed with you – you too, Rose. Be good now and mind what you say in this madhouse.’ Heeding the veiled warning, Florrie said no more, but it didn’t stop her watching avidly for events to unfold as Cook was predicting. They all guessed what Ellie Jay was up to, wheedling her way into poor Doctor Lowe’s heart and his purse. Day by day, no longer endeared to her one-time friend and workmate, she kept watch on every move Ellie was making, willing it to turn against the scheming little cat.

Ellie was coming to be aware of it. Things were not turning out the way she’d expected. Isolated from the rest of the staff, she found herself ostracized. Florrie, with whom there had been a time when the two of them had hardly stopped chatting together, would now drop what looked like a scornful curtsey without returning Ellie’s efforts at a friendly smile but merely following her with her eyes as she passed.

Mrs Jenkins too seemed exceptionally haughty and correct in her presence, leaving her longing for the days when she would scold her for some little mistake.

Rose she hardly knew, so she didn’t matter; but she missed the old warmth of below stairs. Nor did she feel at ease with Doctor Lowe. Instead of dulling the memory of his exploration in terminating her pregnancy, time seemed to be sharpening it.

It wasn’t only being aware that he knew parts of her more than she herself did; since his wife had left he was beginning to see her as the centre of his world. It was in little things he said, the way he’d take her hand – she’d shrink inwardly from the soft, podgy feel, even though it was always offered in a fatherly way – the little things he’d buy for her – the small box of chocolates, the pretty little trinket, the somewhat expensive lace handkerchief and even a pair of lightweight summer gloves. He’d also arranged a small allowance.

‘For you to buy yourself more personal items,’ he’d said, telling her it was her right, that she was practically becoming his adopted daughter. ‘At least in my eyes,’ he’d said fondly.

It was so ironic. She had worked hard towards exactly this goal, but in fact she had never felt so lonely. Not even Dora to unload her doubts on, talk to about things. Not a soul in the whole world she could count on, except perhaps her tutor.

Maybe it was that Michael Deel was impartial, an outsider. They’d sit in Doctor Lowe’s study, just the two of them, while he taught her how to speak well, doing his best to get her to lose those flat Cockney vowels of hers. He’d see the funny side of it when she put an aitch in the wrong place when she began to talk fast, as Cockneys do: ‘It hain’t ’alf good.’

They’d dissolve into peals of laughter, something that never happened with Doctor Lowe, his regard for her being far too intense. And when Michael put a hand on her arm to recover his composure, it felt so different from when Doctor Lowe did it. His touch was far