A Place Called Home Read online

  Bedwin scooped Peckham up in his arms. ‘Do as the master says, miss.’

  ‘He’s going upstairs. Is he going to bed?’

  ‘The drawing room is on the first floor, miss.’ Bedwin marched off with the dog tucked underneath his arm. Lucy hesitated; it was like playing the game, only this time it was real. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the carpet as she made her way up the wide staircase, and her fingers slid along the highly polished balustrade as if it were made of glass. The richly-papered walls were lined with gilt-framed oil paintings, mainly landscapes, but amongst them were portraits of prim-faced people wearing old-fashioned clothes. Their disdainful gaze seemed to follow her, and she took the remainder of the stairs two at a time.

  The drawing room was furnished with more attention to style and elegance than comfort. The matching sofas were upholstered in gold damask and spindly chairs were set around equally fragile-looking tables, on which were silver-framed daguerreotypes and dainty porcelain figurines. Gold velvet curtains and swags framed the tall windows and the air was fragrant with the scent emanating from cut crystal vases filled with spring flowers. A fire blazed up the chimney even though it was relatively warm for the time of year. She stood in the doorway, gazing round in awe and feeling suddenly very small and in as much need of a bath as poor Peckham. She did not belong in a grand house like this and she was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness. Sir William stood with his back to the fire, staring at her with a frown wrinkling his brow. ‘Mrs Hodges will look after you,’ he said lamely. ‘And we need to do something about those rags you’re wearing.’

  Lucy said nothing. He was talking at her rather than to her and she felt disorientated and strange, as if her body was present but her mind and heart were still in Hairbrine Court with Granny.

  ‘Sit down, do.’ Sir William’s edgy voice sliced through her thoughts. Moving like an automaton she went to sit on the nearest chair. It was very hard and extremely slippery, and it took all her concentration to keep from sliding to the floor. Sir William paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. He glanced at her once or twice but she sat very still, waiting for him to speak. He came to a halt at the sound of someone knocking on the door. ‘Enter.’

  A woman, plainly dressed in black bombazine with a white lace cap on her head and a chatelaine hanging from her waist, glided into the room with a swish of starched petticoats. She folded her hands in front of her and bobbed a curtsey.

  ‘Mrs Hodges, this is my granddaughter, Lucy Pocket. She will be living with us from now on and I want you to make up a room for her.’

  If the housekeeper was shocked or surprised she was too self-disciplined to let it show. She flicked a glance in Lucy’s direction. ‘Very well, Sir William. I’ll see to it at once.’

  ‘And she’ll need clothes,’ Sir William said vaguely. ‘She will require a whole new wardrobe, and I want you to advertise for a governess who is available to start immediately.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to select the woman you deem most capable, Mrs Hodges. I know little about such things.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

  Lucy was intent on their conversation and for a moment she lost concentration and found herself sliding onto the floor, where she landed in a heap at Mrs Hodges’ feet. ‘Sorry, missis.’

  ‘Get up, child,’ Mrs Hodges hissed. ‘That’s no way to behave.’

  ‘I have business to attend to, Mrs Hodges,’ Sir William said with an impatient edge to his voice. ‘I’ll leave Lucy in your capable hands.’

  Mrs Hodges inclined her head. ‘Of course, sir. Come along, Miss Lucy.’ She seized her by the arm, dragging her to her feet. She sniffed and her nostrils dilated. ‘It seems that we are in need of a bath.’

  Lucy stared at her in surprise. ‘You smell all right to me, missis.’

  Mrs Hodges propelled her from the room, stopping outside to close the double doors. She turned on Lucy, her thin lips folded back to expose yellowed and stained teeth. Lucy tried not to stare, but she found herself wondering if the housekeeper chewed tobacco or perhaps she drank copious amounts of strong tea. She came back to the present with a start as Mrs Hodges pinched her arm. ‘I suppose you think you’re clever, but let me tell you that good manners cost nothing. You’ve got a lot to learn, you little guttersnipe.’

  ‘You can’t speak to me like that,’ Lucy protested. ‘That gent in there is my grandpa, or so he says. He wants me to grow up to be a lady.’

  ‘And this is where we’ll start.’ Mrs Hodges grabbed her by the hand and marched her up to the fourth floor, pausing to catch her breath on each landing before continuing with what seemed to Lucy like climbing a mountain. ‘This is the nursery suite,’ Mrs Hodges said, flinging a door open. ‘Master Julius spent his early years here with his nanny, who slept in the adjoining room.’

  ‘If his nanny had that room I don’t see why my granny can’t come and stay here as well.’

  ‘Don’t you know anything, child?’ Mrs Hodges snapped. ‘A nanny looks after babies and small children. Your granny, I assume, is your maternal grandmother.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lucy said doubtfully. She was not sure what that meant, but she did not want to admit her ignorance.

  Mrs Hodges moved around the room, snatching Holland covers off the furniture. ‘I’ll send a maid up to light a fire and make up the bed. You’re causing me a lot of extra work, young lady.’ She cast a critical eye over Lucy, shaking her head and tut-tutting. ‘A good scrub in hot water is what you need most, and your clothes are filthy and probably vermin-ridden. Take them off.’

  ‘What?’ Lucy wrapped her arms around her thin body. ‘I can’t take me clothes off. I’ll catch me death of cold.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, child. Take everything off and wrap yourself in this.’ Mrs Hodges stripped the coverlet from the bed and tossed it to Lucy. ‘Undress now. Or do you want me to do it for you?’

  Lucy could tell by the set of Mrs Hodges’ jaw and the determined expression on her face that to argue would be useless, and she stripped off her clothes. The coverlet was cold against her warm skin and felt damp. She stood by the empty grate, shivering and biting back tears. Mrs Hodges bundled up her clothing with a look of distaste. ‘Stay there and don’t touch anything,’ she said sternly. ‘Someone will be with you shortly.’

  ‘I want me dog,’ Lucy said defiantly. ‘The gent said I could keep him here.’

  ‘Sir William is your grandfather. You don’t refer to him as the gent. You address him as Grandpapa and you only speak when you are spoken to. You have much to learn, but I fear it will be an uphill task and nigh impossible.’ Mrs Hodges flounced out of the room.

  Lucy was left alone with the echoes of the past. The greyness of the sky outside was reflected in the clinically white walls. What little furniture there was remained covered with dustsheets that looked suspiciously like shrouds. It was as if all the colour had been drained from the room, leaving it austere and comfortless.

  She sank down on the coir mat in front of the empty grate and huddled up in the coverlet, closing her eyes and attempting to play the game, but this time things were different. She was back in the attic room in Hairbrine Court waiting for Granny to come home from Rosemary Lane with enough money to buy supper and maybe breakfast next day. There would be cuddles and laughter, which made everything feel right, but the vision was growing misty. She could not hold onto her dream and it faded away. Tears oozed between her tightly shut eyelids despite her efforts to hold them back. She missed Granny more than she would have thought possible and the ache in her heart refused to go away. Sir William said he was her grandfather, but she knew instinctively that he had no affection for her. Mrs Hodges positively disliked her and Bedwin had treated her with barely concealed contempt. She would not stay here a moment longer than was necessary. She would find Peckham and they would run away.

  She opened her eyes, struggling back from the brink of sleep, and a cry of fright escaped her lips when
she saw a spectral grey shape moving silently towards her.

  Chapter Four

  ‘WHAT’S UP WITH you? Anyone would think you’d seen a ghost.’ The housemaid set the coal scuttle down, groaning as she straightened up. ‘Five flights of stairs I’ve had to climb with this bloody thing,’ she grumbled. ‘And when I’ve got the fire going I’m to fetch buckets of hot water for your bath.’ She stared at Lucy with an impatient toss of her head. ‘I dunno what you’ve got to cry about. It’s me what’s got the work to do.’

  ‘I ain’t crying,’ Lucy said angrily. ‘I never asked you to wait on me.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have to run round after the likes of you,’ the girl said, dropping a bundle of kindling and a roll of newspaper onto the hearth. ‘You’ll have to shift yourself. I can’t light the fire with you sitting there like a lump of cold porridge.’

  Lucy scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I never asked to come here, and I’ll be leaving as soon as I get me duds back. What has she done with ’em?’

  ‘Mrs Hodges told Martha to wash them. She said they was probably running with fleas and lice.’ She shot her a sideways glance. ‘And I daresay your hair is full of nits.’

  ‘I haven’t got nits, and I don’t have fleas and lice neither.’ She met the girl’s scornful gaze with an unblinking stare. ‘I dunno who you think you are, but you’re supposed to be looking after me.’

  ‘My name is Susan.’

  ‘And you light fires. What else do you do?’

  A flicker of something like respect lit Susan’s green eyes for a moment, but then she slid her gaze away. ‘I’m the tweeny.’ She went down on her knees in front of the grate. ‘That means I do all the jobs that no one else wants to do. I help Cook and I help the housemaids, but being a tweeny is one up from being a slavey.’

  ‘What’s a slavey?’

  ‘Don’t you know nothing? Martha is a slavey, which is another name for a scullery maid, because they’re at everyone’s beck and call. They do all the washing up and mopping floors and cleaning out bins and such. I started out that way.’

  Lucy flopped down on a low chair close to the fireplace. ‘I don’t belong here. I want to go home.’

  Susan paused with a twist of newspaper clutched in her grimy hand, staring at Lucy in amazement. ‘Are you mad? You landed on your feet. I dunno what your home was like, but by the look of you it weren’t much. You should think yourself lucky to be taken in by a rich toff. They’re saying below stairs that you’re his long lost granddaughter. Is that true?’

  ‘I suppose so. It’s what I was told.’

  ‘Then you should make the most of it.’ Susan arranged the paper and kindling and struck a vesta. Flames took hold and soon the fire was roaring up the chimney. She stood up, shaking the dust from her apron onto the hearth. ‘I suppose I’d best start bringing up the hot water, Miss . . .’ She put her head on one side, eyeing Lucy curiously. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Lucy Pocket and I’m ten, nearly eleven. How old are you, Susan?’

  ‘I’m twelve, going on thirteen, if you must know.’ Susan straightened her mobcap, which was on the large side and had fallen over one eye as she worked. ‘Watch the fire, and don’t let it go out or I’ll be for it.’ She stuck her mean little face close to Lucy’s. ‘And if I gets it in the neck I’ll make you sorry you was born. I’ll be back in a while.’ She sauntered out of the room, leaving Lucy alone once again in the echoing silence of the fourth floor, with only the occasional hiss and spit of gas escaping from the coal for company. She curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, glancing nervously into the dark corners of the room, but gradually as the warmth seeped into her chilled bones she began to relax and the shadows seemed less menacing. Mindful of Susan’s threats, Lucy kept adding coal to the fire, nugget by nugget. She was wary of the young tweeny, and she was taking no chances. Life on the streets had taught her how to stand up for herself, but she knew nothing of this strange world, seemingly dominated by servants. Eventually the sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Susan and another girl who, in answer to Lucy’s question, said she was Martha the scullery maid.

  ‘You shouldn’t speak to us,’ Susan said with a sly grin. ‘You got to learn the ways of the gentry and treat us like dirt.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Lucy demanded.

  ‘Because we’re the lowest form of life.’ Susan’s cat-like eyes sparkled with malice. ‘We aren’t even supposed to look at you if you happen to come across us going about our work. We’re supposed to be invisible.’

  ‘Where do they keep the bath?’ Martha asked plaintively. ‘I ain’t never been up here afore.’

  ‘Look for it then, stupid.’ Susan pointed to two doors on the far side of the nursery. ‘Use your loaf, girl, and have a look.’ She sighed and shook her head, leaning towards Lucy and lowering her voice. ‘She’s a bit soft in the head. They say her dad used to bang her head against the wall to stop her crying when she was a baby and it addled her brains. That’s if she had any in the first place.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Have you found it yet, Martha?’

  ‘It’s a bit dark in here, Sukey.’ Martha’s voice wavered and broke on a sob. ‘Will you bring a candle? I’m afraid of bogeymen.’

  Susan rolled her eyes and sighed, but she lit a candle and went to Martha’s aid. ‘You can’t see for looking, you daft cow. What’s that in the corner?’

  ‘I can’t see that far, Sukey.’

  ‘You’re blind as a bat, girl. You need specs. Give us a hand and let’s get this done; then we can go downstairs and get a bite to eat. I’m bloody famished.’

  Eventually, after several trips downstairs to fetch hot water, the zinc bath was filled and Lucy had to suffer the indignity of being bathed under the watchful eye of Mrs Hodges, who bustled into the room bringing a pile of clean towels. Susan was not the gentlest of souls, and she seemed to take pleasure in scrubbing Lucy from head to foot with unnecessary vigour. She was overly generous with the soap, and when Lucy complained that it stung her eyes Susan poured rapidly cooling water over her head, half drowning her.

  The final insult was when Mrs Hodges raked a fine-toothed comb through Lucy’s mop of curls. Her eyes watered but she was determined not to disgrace herself by crying. She eased the torment by imagining herself bathed in warm sunshine, floating on a fluffy pink cloud in a celestial blue sky.

  ‘There, that’s done.’ Mrs Hodges rose to her feet. ‘You’ll have to wait for your clothes to dry, Miss Lucy. Susan will bring you your luncheon when she’s finished emptying the bathtub.’

  ‘Can’t I come downstairs, missis?’ Lucy asked in desperation. She had seen the look that Susan gave her as she scooped the scummy water into a large enamel pitcher. ‘I don’t mind eating in the kitchen, and can I have my dog back, please.’

  Mrs Hodges stared at her as if she had just sprouted two heads. ‘No, you may not on both counts. I never heard of such a thing. You’ve got a lot to learn, Miss Lucy. You’ll remain here until you’re fit to be seen or until Sir William sends for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes, missis.’

  ‘You address me as Mrs Hodges.’ She rounded on Susan, who had barely stifled a chuckle. ‘Get on with your work. I want that bath taken downstairs and scoured clean, and when you’ve done that you can make up Miss Lucy’s bed.’

  Lucy knew from the look on Susan’s face that she had made an enemy.

  Susan said nothing when she eventually brought a tray of food to the nursery, but her tight-lipped silence held more menace than a tirade of words. Lucy thanked her politely, but the soup was cold and there was barely a slick of butter on the slices of bread. She found a spider floating in the water jug and there was a sprinkling of salt on the slice of apple pie instead of sugar. She sighed and fished the spider out of the water. She was too hungry to be fussy and the soup was tasty, although she suspected that it would have been even more delicious had it been hot. She was used
to eating dry bread and the smear of butter was a treat in itself, as was the apple pie, even with the addition of salt. She cleared the plates and now that her belly was full she felt more optimistic, and began to formulate a plan. When her clothes were returned she would creep downstairs and look for Peckham, and when the house slept she would make her escape and go home. It was as simple as that.

  But first she had to endure Susan’s sly taunts while she made up the bed and attended to the fire. ‘You won’t last a week here,’ was her parting shot. ‘The master will see you for what you are, guttersnipe. You’ll end up back where you belong and I’ll say good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  Lucy had bitten back a sharp retort, and she had so far managed to remain dry-eyed, but now her eyes were moist and she might have given way to tears had she not heard Mrs Hodges’ stentorian tones and the softer replies of another woman. The door had barely closed on Susan when it opened again. Mrs Hodges breezed in, followed by a small lady who was carrying an overly large carpet bag.

  ‘Miss Appleby has come to measure you for some new clothes,’ Mrs Hodges announced with a finality that did not invite argument.

  Miss Appleby smiled nervously. ‘I took the liberty of bringing some garments that I had ready made, Mrs Hodges.’ She opened the bag and took out a petticoat trimmed with lace, two pairs of drawers and a tartan merino dress. ‘These were made for a child of ten who succumbed to scarlatina before the order was complete.’

  Mrs Hodges recoiled, staring at the garments in horror. ‘They should be incinerated, Miss Appleby. We don’t want disease brought into the house.’

  ‘No, no, Mrs Hodges. They were never worn by the poor girl. She sickened after the order was almost complete, but was too ill to have a final fitting.’

  Lucy looked from one to the other. Neither of them had spoken directly to her and she was beginning to feel that she must be invisible.

  ‘Stand up, Miss Lucy.’ Mrs Hodges moved aside. ‘Try them on for size.’