Mourning Doves. Helen Forrester
to find new situations, they should start now. Although there was a demand for good domestic help, the big mansions in the country were being closed down in favour of London apartments, and their domestic staffs dismissed; in consequence, a lot of competition faced a middle-aged house-parlourmaid like herself. And it was always difficult to find a considerate employer. She sighed. She had not felt that Timothy and Louise were particularly considerate, but she had become accustomed to them. Ethel, the maid-of-all-work, was young enough to try for a factory job, but she herself was in her forties – getting really old – and Winnie must be nearing fifty – it would be hard for her to get another job of any kind.
She took fresh lumps of coal from the fireside coal hod and laid them on top of those she had brought up. She ensured that they had caught and that the fire was beginning to blaze and then swept the hearth. Then she got slowly to her feet, and picked up the shovel.
As she contemplated her future, she began to feel sick. She berated herself that she had not saved some of the good wages she had earned in an ordnance factory during the war years. She had spent like a king until the factory closed down at the end of the war, and then she had come to work as a house-parlourmaid for the Gilmores, because domestic work was all she was skilled at.
She turned from the fireplace and paused to stare at the scene before her.
Seated on the side of the bed beside her mother, Celia held a small glass of brandy to Louise’s lips and encouraged her to sip it between sobs. Winnie had folded back the bedclothes ready for the sufferer to lie down.
Nice woman, Miss Celia – but that useless, you’d never believe it. No spirit. Never had any fun, the Master being so difficult to please, especially so, Winnie said, since he lost his son with that Lord Kitchener, and then Mr Tom in France, poor lad.
Her own father had been a bit of a cross, she remembered, and not past beating her if she did something he didn’t like – but when he had work, even if he was fair wore out by the end of the day, he could make the family laugh and they’d have a neighbour or two in and do some singing, with a drop of ale to drink by the fire. Old Gilmore had done nothing but complain, complain – and order you around as if you were muck.
She wondered if Celia’s sister, Edna, was like her. She had never seen her, but she had heard she was a real beauty, and at least, it seemed, she had had enough sense to get out from under her old man by getting married.
Winnie impatiently glanced back over her shoulder and said, ‘Get downstairs, Dot, and look to the soup for me. Give it a stir. I’ll be down in a minute.’
Dorothy nodded, and went sulkily down to the basement kitchen, carrying her shovel carefully so that she did not drop a bit of ash on the stair carpet, which, every morning, she had to brush, from cellar to attic.
Louise finally cried herself to sleep, and an exhausted Celia was persuaded by Winnie to put her feet up on the old chaise longue in the breakfast room at the back of the house, while the cook put together a dinner tray for her.
‘The Mistress didn’t tell me what to make for dinner, so I made this nice thick soup, but I’ve got some cold beef, if you feel like something more. And the bread come out of the oven only a couple of hours ago.’
Celia nodded wearily, and said that the soup sounded lovely. When it was brought to her, she drank it slowly while Winnie stood and watched her anxiously.
When Celia’s bowl was finally empty, Winnie removed it, and then hesitantly inquired if Celia could tell her what was going to happen to them all. ‘Seeing the For Sale sign was a proper shock, Miss,’ she explained. ‘And Dorothy and Ethel is all upset. They’re asking me what they should do.’
‘You should all start looking for new situations,’ Celia answered her frankly, though she did her best to hide her own sense of despair. ‘I know Mother will be glad to keep all of you on for a week or two, while we sort out the house, and decide what to take with us – we are going to live in a cottage in Meols, which Mother owns.’ She paused, and then said rather helplessly, ‘We have no choice but to sell this place quickly, Winnie. And we shan’t be able to afford servants.’ She looked up at the shocked elder woman. ‘I shall, personally, miss you terribly, Winnie, after all the years you’ve been with us, especially through the war.’
Winnie took a big breath, as she tried to control her own sense of panic. She inquired, ‘Things must be very bad, Miss?’
‘In a way they are, Winnie, though not as bad as they might be. Mother’s lucky that my Aunt Felicity left her this cottage by the sea.’ She sighed and fiddled with the fringe of the woollen shawl that Winnie had put across her legs to keep them warm. Then she said in explanation, ‘Father had heavy business debts. We can’t afford a servant – I’m hoping that we shall be able to have a daily cleaning woman – because I don’t think I shall be very good at keeping house!’
She smiled faintly at the stricken cook, who, despite her own sense of despair, noted that poor Miss Celia was taking it for granted that she would have to run the house – and she probably would have to. And she so small and sickly-looking.
‘How long do you think we’ve got, Miss?’
‘Well, I haven’t consulted Mother yet. Mr Albert Gilmore, who was here for the funeral, told us that the estate agent felt he would have no trouble selling this house. When it is sold, I suppose that we shall have to set a final date when we have to leave it – to suit the new owner. But we will have to let you go very soon.’ She looked up imploringly at her old friend, as if to ask forgiveness.
Winnie’s stout chest heaved, but she replied woodenly, ‘I understand, Miss.’
‘The other house has to have a few essential repairs done – and we have to get it cleaned – it’s filthy at present.’ She bit her lower lip, and then added quickly, ‘I think that Mother can pay you all for this week – and, I hope, for another week. Tomorrow I’ll talk to her, and we’ll try to make a timetable of some sort, to help you.’
‘It’s good of you to be so honest with me, Miss. Can I tell the others?’
‘Of course. There is so little time. You should all start looking for other situations immediately.’ She stopped to consider the appalling upheaval facing her, and then added heavily, ‘I’ll ask Mother to write references for you tomorrow – and if one of you wants to go for an interview on a day other than your half-day, will you arrange it as best you can between yourselves?’
‘We will, Miss. Thank you, Miss.’
Winnie bent and picked up the tray.
To Celia, her perceptions heightened by her own fears, the cook looked suddenly old as she turned slowly and went out of the room. She watched Winnie quietly close the door after her, and then she began to shake helplessly.
She clasped her arms tightly round her breast, and rolled herself over, so that her face was buried in the feather cushions which had propped her up. She began to sweat and her teeth chattered uncontrollably, as her fear of the scary world she was having to face and her sense of having betrayed an old friend overwhelmed her.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered in desperation. ‘What’s going to happen to us? Heaven help us.’
She rolled again, to curl herself up in sheer terror into a tight foetal ball.
With what was left of her sanity she begged to die.
But she knew from experience of these attacks of panic that death did not oblige so easily. So in the unnatural silence of the home she was about to lose, she lay as still as she could, and prayed incoherently for release from the blind fear that engulfed her.
After a little while, her breathing became more normal, and she began to mutter very slowly, as she always did, ‘ “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.”’ She hoped that, if she could concentrate well enough to recite the psalm right through to the end and was comforted by King David’s immortal words, the seizure would ease.
It had always worked before