If You Were the Only Girl. Anne Bennett
she was a child, only fourteen, and yet her size made her seem even younger than that. ‘It might not come true anyway,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Master Clive, I know that,’ she said. ‘But I must give it every chance.’
‘That’s important, is it?’
But before Lucy was able to answer this, Cook broke in, ‘Master Clive, leave the girl alone. You are embarrassing her, can’t you see?’
He could see and he gave a rueful smile. ‘Apologies, Lucy Cassidy.’
There it was again – her full name.
Cook said, ‘Are you going to give this pudding a stir or aren’t you, now I have got it out especially?’
‘Of course,’ Clive said. ‘That’s one of the main reasons I came.’
‘Really?’ said Cook. ‘I thought the main reason was to harass and tease my kitchen staff.’
‘Oh, Ada, you are very harsh …’
Lucy listened to them sparring with each other with only half an ear because Clive’s question about her wish had brought her family to the forefront of her mind and suddenly she so longed to be there with them all. A pang of homesickness hit her so sharply she gave a slight gasp.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
Lucy realised they were all looking at her in a concerned way and it was Clara who had spoken. ‘Nothing,’ Lucy said. ‘Just a sudden pain in my stomach.’
‘Hunger, I expect,’ Clara said.
‘Hunger?’ Clive asked.
‘Well, the girls will have eaten nothing since their dinner as they will be taking Communion at midnight Mass.’
‘Why can’t they eat anything?’
‘I don’t know why, Master Clive. That’s just the way it is,’ Clara said. ‘And I really think now that you should return to your guests.’
‘Are you dismissing me, Mrs O’Leary?’
‘No, sir,’ Clara countered, ‘I am making a suggestion. I don’t want Lady Heatherington to complain to me in the morning.’
‘Nor I, especially on Christmas morning,’ Clive said. ‘I will see you all in the morning anyway, but I will say it regardless. Happy Christmas to all of you.’
‘Happy Christmas, Master Clive.’
Clive, leaving, almost collided with Norah coming through the door at the same moment. Once in the kitchen, she collapsed into a chair. ‘Golly,’ she said, ‘they’re an untidy lot. I thought our ladyship bad enough but she doesn’t hold a candle to these Mattersons and Farrandykes.’
Norah’s job was to help the ladies dress for dinner and do their hair, and then, while they were at dinner, tidy up all the mess in the bedrooms, leave out their nightwear and, this time of year, put the pottery hot-water bottles in the beds to warm the sheets.
‘Point is,’ she said, ‘they can’t decide what to wear and so they pull one outfit after another out of the wardrobe, and all the accessories that go with them, and then just drop them on the floor.’
Lucy nodded sympathetically, along with the others, for she could just imagine the scene.
Norah went on, ‘And do you know what Mrs Matterson said to me while I was doing her hair this evening?’ Without waiting for a reply, she continued, ‘She has her own personal maid, and I should imagine Mrs Farrandyke does, too, and when they knew they were coming here for Christmas and all, she gave her maid leave so that she could have Christmas with her family. I ask you! I mean, wouldn’t we all like that?’
Everyone agreed with Norah but no one said anything because at that moment Mr Carlisle, with Jerry, came through to the kitchen. Mr Carlisle disliked anyone criticising the Family in any way, and Lucy supposed he would view criticising guests to their home in the same way. She had actually heard him say that it was not seemly for lower orders to find fault with their betters. Lucy hadn’t been at all sure that she had wanted to be known as ‘lower orders’. It didn’t sound a very nice thing to be, and what made the General and Lady Heatherington better than her? They might have more money and influence, but did that automatically mean that they were better people?
She had mentioned these concerns to Clara, but she said she wasn’t to worry about it. Mr Carlisle had been with the family since he had been a boy and he was very old-fashioned in his viewpoint. Lucy supposed she was right, for Mr Carlisle was very old, his face was lined and his hair sparse, and she could never imagine him ever being a boy.
Cook was quite concerned about Lucy, Clodagh and Evie, who would be going out that raw night without even a hot drink inside them. When they returned from re-laying the table, she said, ‘I have plenty of that pea and ham soup left over and some of the beef joint, and fresh bread and pickles, so make sure you make a meal for yourselves when you come in.’
‘Oh, thank you, Cook,’ Lucy said. ‘And we will all appreciate it, I’m sure.’
‘Oh, I’ll say,’ Clodagh said. ‘I’m as hungry as a hunter already.’
‘So am I,’ Lucy agreed. ‘So just think how righteous we will feel when we are up at the rails.’
‘Aye,’ Cook said with a wry smile. ‘And maybe you can say a prayer for the rest of the sinners while you about it. The Good Lord may listen to saints like yourselves.’
Evie gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Hardly saints, Cook.’ The girls knew that Cook had been brought up a Catholic, but she had lapsed mainly because of the Great War, which robbed the Heatheringtons of three sons. ‘And they weren’t the only ones, by any means,’ Cook had told Clodagh and Lucy when they asked why she never went to Mass. ‘That war was dreadful, thousands and thousands of young men killed, like the one I was sweet on myself. I want no truck with any God who allows that sort of thing to go on.’
But now she said to the girls, ‘Don’t think I’m laying this food out for you because I am going soft in my old age. It’s just that I want plenty of work out of you tomorrow, and you’ll need stoking up before bed. You’ll hardly sleep well on an empty stomach.’
Lucy and Clodagh exchanged glances, but were wise enough not to say anything. Cook was very kind-hearted but she didn’t always want to let that side of her show.
Lucy had never been to midnight Mass, and was looking forward to it, though the frost was so thick it was like snow on the hedgerows and lanes, and biting winds buffeted the three girls. They shivered as they scurried as quickly as they could, their scarves wrapped around their mouths because the air was so cold that it burnt in their throats. The church was only slightly warmer, yet they were glad to reach it and be out of the wind, and they sighed with relief as they stepped into the porch.
‘Golly, it’s cold,’ Evie said, unwrapping her scarf. ‘Cold enough to freeze a penguin’s chuff, as my father was fond of saying.’
‘So what’s a penguin’s chuff when it’s at home?’ Clodagh asked.
‘Not sure,’ Evie admitted. ‘But I can guess, can’t you?’
‘Yeah, I can, and it’s probably not a thing to talk about in the porch of the church,’ Clodagh said.
‘Maybe not,’ Evie said, totally unabashed. With a large grin, she went on, ‘It’s certainly not the sort of thing I would say to a priest’. As they made their way down the aisle, she whispered, ‘Jerry said that it’s only this cold because the skies are clear of cloud and in the morning, when it’s properly light and the mist clears, it could be a nice day.’
‘Oh, Jerry,’ Lucy said contemptuously. ‘What does he know about anything?’
‘Not a lot, I grant you.’
‘He