Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [42]
Perhaps, she thought as the great doors closed, she had imagined it . . .
x
On Sunday, as she’d planned, Grace made the walk across the park to Kensington and knocked at the back door of the Unwins’ home. She had spent some time wondering about her outfit, for although she’d been issued with new black boots and clothing suitable for a mute (the cost, of course, to be deducted from her wages), people might have stared to see her dressed in veils and mourning bonnet in the street. However, Rose had kindly given her an old brown velvet jacket and bonnet and these, worn with a dark bodice and black crêpe skirt, did not look too funereal.
‘The mistress doesn’t allow visitors below stairs,’ Mrs Beaman said, standing four-square across the tradesmen’s entrance, arms folded. ‘Not without permission.’
‘But please could you ask?’ Grace pleaded.
‘I can’t do that. All the family are out visiting.’
‘But I’m Lily’s sister.’ Grace looked at Mrs Beaman beseechingly, the way she’d once looked when starving and trying to sell watercress. ‘Please may I come in for just one moment to reassure myself that she’s all right? She and I have never been parted before and I’d be so grateful to you.’
Mrs Beaman looked at Grace’s solemnly beautiful face (‘Like one of them angels on a monument,’ she told Blossom later) and relented. ‘Just for ten minutes, then,’ she said, moving away from the doorway to allow her inside.
Grace was not really surprised to be shown into a freezing cold scullery instead of the servants’ parlour, where a lady’s maid might normally have been found on a Sunday afternoon. Here she found Lily cleaning knives, rubbing their blades with abrasive paper and emery powder rather fiercely, for she’d already done them twice, and twice they’d been rejected by Mrs Beaman.
On seeing Grace, Lily ran to her, clasped her around the neck and began to cry so heartily that Grace feared her ten minutes would be up before they’d even exchanged a word.
‘Sshhh . . . sshh . . . Is it really so bad?’ Grace asked, brushing emery powder from her shoulders. ‘Do tell me that you’re all right.’
Lily choked out several more big sobs and then fell to sniffing. ‘I am all right.’ She heaved a great sigh. ‘But I do miss you!’
‘What’s it like here? Are you being trained?’
Lily nodded. ‘I’m allowed to clean boots and do the knives. Although Mrs Beaman usually says they’re not good enough.’
Grace looked down at Lily’s hands, which were red and raw. It was just as she’d known really, deep down: Lily was not the sort of girl to make a lady’s maid and Mr Unwin had only pretended she was in order to help the situation. How curious the world was! To think that someone like Mr Unwin – penny-pinching, seemingly cold-hearted and insensitive – had not only been kind enough to employ Lily, but had been especially thoughtful about the way he’d done it.
She asked, ‘But are they good to you?’
‘They feed me well enough,’ Lily said, wiping her face on her sleeve. ‘We have meat every day.’
‘And have the other servants made you welcome?’ her sister continued, for this point had been particularly troubling her: that Lily might be an outcast. ‘Do they include you in their conversations and so on?’
‘Oh, the servants don’t!’ said Lily. ‘Blossom and Lizzie are too high and mighty for that. But Ella speaks to me sometimes – and the young lady of the house is very kind.’
‘Miss Charlotte?’ Grace asked, most surprised. She hadn’t met the