The Secret Orphan. Glynis Peters
Victoria.’
‘Morning. Your aunt will be ready in half an hour.’ She placed the tray onto the dressing table and wiped her hands down her pale blue pinafore.
‘The bathroom is free. There is plenty of hot water.’
‘Thank you.’
Grateful for the warmth from the teacup on her hands, Elenor sipped it with speed. She ventured to the bathroom across the hall. Another cold room where her breath puffed into clouds. The large mirror steamed over the moment she ran the hot tap. A large bar of Pears soap sat on the pretty scalloped edged sink, so delicate compared to the stone affair of the farmhouse. The chilly air prevented her from lingering and she promised herself a treat of an uninterrupted bath another time.
Back in her room Elenor pulled out her fresh dress from the wardrobe. Realising the dress would not protect her fully from the chill of the day she wore her brown cardigan with a mismatched button at the bottom, which had seen better days but kept her warm. She pulled on thick brown stockings, darned at the heel and toe within an inch of their life and hooked them onto a thin, well-worn suspender belt. With a sigh, she slipped her feet into a lace-up pair of scuffed but polished, brown brogues, stuffed with the obligatory scraps of cloth to prevent slipping. Once upon a time they were her mother’s pride and joy. Sadly, Elenor could not look upon the shoes with the same enthusiasm as her mother had; to Elenor they smacked of poverty and hardship.
She released her shoulder-length hair from its night scarf and brushed life back into her red-brown curls and scooped them into a soft drop ponytail. There was no time to spend pinning them into a crown of curls as she had seen on the front page of Nash’s Pall Mall.
Once satisfied she could do no more to make herself presentable, she left the room and descended the large staircase. The house was quiet. Elenor pushed open the dining room door and was grateful for the small amount of sunshine glistening outside the large window adding a dash of colour to yet another dark and dreary room. The cow barn at the farm had more warmth and colour than her aunt’s home. At the head of the table Elenor saw the formidable figure of her aunt, who appeared deep in thought.
‘Good morning, Aunt.’
‘Sit down girl. I am in no mood for small talk and the morning has proved to be far from good. Eat. We have business with my solicitor at ten o’clock precisely.’
Her aunt made no move to look up from whatever it was on her plate holding her attention and slurped a mouthful of tea from her cup. Her puffy face reminded Elenor of the farm pigs at feeding time.
Elenor lifted the lid from a small serving dish and helped herself to a generous portion of creamy porridge. She noticed her aunt sipped at her tea and ate nothing.
‘Would you like me to serve you porridge, Aunt Maude? Or have you already eaten?’
Her aunt shook her head and pulled a face.
‘I cannot stomach food. Doctor Menzies has prescribed me stomach powders to aid my digestion, but they are useless. Sipping warm tea is all that eases the stomach pains I endure. Eat your meal. And please do so in silence, my head pain threatens to ruin my day.’
For the next twenty minutes Elenor endured the requested silence aside from the odd slurping sounds from her aunt. She gave a smile and a small sigh of relief when Victoria entered the room and began removing the dirty dishes. Elenor stood to assist her.
‘Sit down girl. Mrs Sherbourne is paid to clear the table. Go fetch my coat, hat and gloves, and dress yourself for the outdoors. We will take a short walk to Mr Andrews’ office after which we will continue on with a small list of shopping I have prepared. Ah, all done?’
Elenor did as she was told, and Victoria lifted the last of the dishes from the table.
‘Yes, Aunt.’
Elenor envied her aunt. Her black fur-collared coat was of good quality, a heavy wool. Her shoes of stout leather, also black, were smart and well-polished and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her aunt that Elenor’s own shoes were well-worn.
‘We really must address your wardrobe. You are a walking disgrace. Victoria!’
Silence fell around them as they waited for Victoria to enter the room.
‘What size shoe do you take? Anything suitable for my niece? Find her something decent to wear from your wardrobe.’
A stunned Victoria looked from her employer to Elenor. The difference in size between them was obvious.
‘But El … Miss Cardew and I are different sizes, Mrs Matthews. Look how much taller she is to me. It won’t be easy finding her something comfortable to wear from my wardrobe. I …’
‘Very well. We will attend this meeting and I will withdraw an allowance for a new outfit. This really is inconvenient. Come along girl, before my body decides to give out on me with the worries you have brought to my door.’
Elenor gave a puzzled glance at her aunt and then looked across at Victoria who edged her way out of the room.
Brought worries to her door? She called for me!
Despite the tease of the sun, Elenor’s thin coat barely fought off the chilly breeze. It felt like late September, and had she been walking alone she would have moved faster to warm her limbs.
Her aunt leaned heavily on her stick and took her time over each step, stopping at intervals to catch her breath. Elenor’s legs ached with taking small narrow strides. She was also impatient for another reason. She was keen to see the town properly; she’d only rushed through a few streets from the station to her aunt’s the previous day. She couldn’t remember ever going into town with her parents.
Just the thought of time to browse the shops and purchase new clothes sent her mind into a spin.
One part of Elenor knew she made her aunt ashamed with her appearance, but rather than hide her niece away, she chose to help, to notice and do something about the situation.
Did her aunt understand her excitement? If she did she did not show it. She walked in silence hunched over her walking stick. It took a while for Elenor to realise the further they walked, the weaker her aunt became, and guilt overcame her for wishing the old lady would walk faster. In her haste to buy clothes for herself she’d forgotten her aunt was unwell; after all, that was the reason Elenor was called away from the farm in the first place.
‘We still have some way to go and I fear you are tired,’ Elenor said, adding a sympathetic tone to her voice. ‘Do you need a taxi-cab?’
‘Pah. Lazy legs. It is not much farther. The young today, you have no stamina.’
With a flick of her walking stick Maude Matthews took a few more paces away from her bemused niece before stopping.
‘Look around you. Get your bearings. Now I have you to run errands, my time can be best spent elsewhere.’
Elenor gave a quick glance around and by the time she had turned back to speak to her aunt, the woman had walked away and headed for the end of the road.
On the other side of the road they headed for a tall redbrick building amongst a row of grey shops and canopied stalls. A brass plaque attached to the outer wall stated it was the office of N. M. Andrews: LLB.
‘I have papers to sign. I am tired and therefore will ask Mr Andrews to assist with my transport home. Goodness knows his fee is great enough. Take this letter to Owen’s department store over there.’ Maude pointed to the corner of the opposite street. ‘Ask for Mrs Green and she will help you. No fripperies. Sensible clothing. You understand?’
Elenor took the letter and clutched it tight against the rising wind. It was too precious to lose.
‘Thank you, Aunt