A Man of Honour, page 29
‘How many Fairleys live there?’ Blackie asked, his curiosity aroused more than ever.
‘The Squire, Mrs Fairley, Master Edwin, the heir, his brother Gerald, and sometimes Mrs Olivia Wainright comes to stay. She lives in London, and she’s Mrs Fairley’s sister. She’s nice,’ she acknowledged.
‘I’m wondering what the sons are like?’ Blackie looked at Emma and raised a brow questioningly.
She answered swiftly. ‘Master Gerald’s a bossy lad, allus shouting and teasing Master Edwin, who keeps away from him when he can. I like Master Edwin; he is polite. The other boy is nasty.’
‘And what about the others there? Surely there is a housekeeper, a cook and a butler?’ Blackie was well aware of the need the rich had for servants, having spent so much time at Bolton Manor in Yorkshire and Lassiter Hall in Ireland. A big house, like the one they were now approaching, would require the same number of people to clean it and run it – probably more, in fact.
‘Cook is Mrs Turner, and the butler is Mr Murgatroyd. The housekeeper, Mrs Hargreaves, is in Ilkley. She’s gone ter look after her sister who’s poorly,’ Emma explained.
‘No other maids like ye?’ Blackie asked, surprised at the answer Emma had just given. To be so low on staff seemed odd to him.
‘Just Polly, but she’s got a bad cold. She’s in bed. I have ter do her work.’ Emma grimaced. ‘Well, we’re there … welcome to Fairley Hall,’ she announced in a scathing tone.
‘The Monstrosity,’ Blackie muttered, and looked at Emma, then put his arm around her shoulder. ‘What is it, mavourneen? Ye’ve got such a strange look on your face.’
‘I’m frightened of this place,’ she murmured. ‘Like when I have ter walk past the cemetery at night.’
‘Don’t be afraid, Emma. It’s just a lot of bricks and mortar. The house can’t hurt ye.’ As he spoke, he suddenly thought, but those who occupy it can. He shivered inside at the idea of the Fairleys or their servants hurting this lovely young girl.
The warmth of the kitchen, the sight of a roaring fire in the huge hearth, and the delicious smells of bacon frying and chicken broth bubbling, changed Blackie’s dour mood immediately, his spirits lifting.
Following Emma into the large kitchen filled with sparkling copper pots and utensils, bunches of herbs, onions and sausages hanging on a big rack dangling from the ceiling, gave him an unexpected feeling of well-being.
Standing next to a huge black pot, holding a wooden spoon, was a little plump dumpling of a woman. She had apple-rosy cheeks and a bunch of greying hair piled on top of her head; she wore a dark blue dress covered with a huge blue-and-white pinafore.
‘Late again, Lady Emma, I see,’ the cook said. ‘Best hurry and change, pet, afore Murgatroyd sees yer.’
‘Right now, Mrs Turner,’ Emma answered and dashed over to a large cupboard.
‘And what’s this the cat’s dragged in?’ Mrs Turner asked, her beady black eyes settling on Blackie, hovering near the doorway.
‘He’s the navvy come ter do the repairs,’ Emma shouted from behind the cupboard door. ‘I met him on the moors. He was lost.’
‘Got a name have yer, lad?’ Cook asked, still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.
‘I do indeed, Mrs Turner. Shane O’Neill’s me name, but the whole world calls me Blackie. And I’m pleased to meet ye, Cook.’
‘So don’t stand there gawping like a sucking duck in a storm. Take yer coat and cap off, and come ter the fireplace. Nay, lad, yer looks right nithered. A cup of hot broth is what yer need. And yer, too, Emma. Come on yer ladyship, get a move on.’
‘I’m dressed, just about,’ Emma called, and a moment later emerged from the big cupboard.
Blackie stood gaping at her, totally surprised by the change in her appearance. She now wore a navy-blue dress like Cook’s, a starched white pinafore, and a white cap perched on top of her head. Her hair had been covered in a scarf until a moment ago, and now its gorgeous vivid auburn colour, shot through with gold, was visible. Her hairline came to a widow’s peak in the middle of her broad forehead. Her hair was wound into a bun at the back. The effect, in general, was elegant. Her emerald-green eyes shone in the morning light.
Why, she’s already a beauty, Blackie thought to himself, filled with amazement. Rousing himself, he went to the cupboard, hung up his jacket, scarf and cap, and joined Emma at the hearth.
Cook brought them both mugs of chicken broth, and they sat down to drink it, whilst warming themselves in front of the flames.
‘Is Mrs Wainright coming today?’ Emma asked, looking across at Cook, her expression eager.
‘Aye, she is, and I’m right thankful for that, I can tell yer. She allus restores order here and gets things on an even keel, keeps things shipshape,’ Mrs Turner said, more of an explanation for Blackie than anything else.
Emma looked pleased on hearing this, and then said to Blackie, ‘Mrs Turner’s husband was in the Royal Navy, and now so is her son. That’s why she uses a sailor’s words.’
Blackie grinned. ‘I like ’em though. Shipshape is my favourite, because I like everything to be neat and tidy.’
Cook nodded in agreement, and then asked Blackie if he would like a bacon buttie before going outside into the cold weather to work.
He exclaimed, ‘Faith, and that would be a treat, Cook. I thank ye. ’Tis generous ye are.’
Smiling, Mrs Turner went to the table in the middle of the kitchen and cut slices of freshly baked bread, asking Emma if she wanted a sandwich also. She slathered butter on the slices and added thick strips of bacon.
‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry, Cook,’ Emma said. ‘I’d better get me cleaning stuff together before Murgatroyd comes in looking for me.’
‘Aye, do that, lass, he’s a bit on the warpath this morning. Got out of bed the wrong side, I ’spect.’
Emma knelt down in front of another cupboard, taking out different products, black lead, small brushes, and dusters, piling them in a bucket.
Mrs Turner said, ‘It’ll be a bit hard for yer today, luv, what with Polly sick and Mrs Wainright coming. You don’t have ter blacklead the grates this morning, but set the fire in the morning room, and dust it too; run the carpet sweeper over the rug. Set the breakfast table like Polly showed you, then come back here to help me with the breakfast. Yer’ll have the dining room, the library and Mrs Fairley’s upstairs parlour to do after—’ Cook broke off when the door burst open, and the butler came rushing in, a grim look on his face.
‘Why aren’t ye making the fires already?’ he shouted at Emma, moving across the room, tripping over her bucket in his haste. After steadying himself against the table, he leaned over her and slapped her face. ‘Yer never on time and yer never do owt right.’
Cook instantly put a restraining hand on Blackie’s arm, as he jumped up and looked ready to punch Murgatroyd in the face.
Addressing the butler, she said in an icy voice, ‘Stop that right now, Mister Murgatroyd! And just listen ter me. If I ever see ye so much as breathe on yon lass, I’ll have yer guts for garters. And I’ll be having a word about yer treatment of her ter somebody who’ll make mincemeat out of ye. Not Squire Fairley, but her father. And I don’t think yer’d like ter tangle with Big Jack Harte – yer might not be able ter walk ever again when he’s finished with yer. Mark my words, Murgatroyd, and don’t touch her ever again. And remember, the kitchen is my territory, not yours. So don’t start being bossy in here.’
Murgatroyd snarled something at her which she didn’t quite catch, and then looked at Blackie, his eyes cold and hard. ‘You must be O’Neill, the navvy,’ he snapped.
‘That’s me all right,’ Blackie responded, walking over to the butler, his expression now neutral. He said, ‘Squire Fairley gave me a list of jobs to do, and I have my sack of tools in yon cupboard.’
‘Fifteen shillings for the job,’ Murgatroyd said. ‘Five days’ work.’
‘Five days, true. But the price is one guinea, Mister Murgatroyd,’ Blackie replied.
‘Fifteen shillings, not a penny more, O’Neill.’
Blackie chuckled as he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a letter. Opening it, he read, ‘One guinea for five days’ work, plus board and lodgings at Fairley Hall. This letter is signed by Adam Fairley, the Squire here. If ye don’t believe me, go and talk to your boss.’ He waved the letter in front of Murgatroyd.
Murgatroyd grunted, and swung around, saying, ‘Get yer tools and follow me. The yardman’s in the stables. He’ll show ye what needs doing and yer room above the stables, where yer’ll be sleeping.’
Blackie put on his coat, cap and scarf, and picked up his sack. Turning around, he grinned at Emma and Cook, saluted them and followed Murgatroyd out of the kitchen.
Once they were alone, Emma said, ‘He tried ter cheat Blackie.’
‘Aye, he did that!’ Cook answered in a worried voice. ‘Murgatroyd’s in a bad mood this morning. Stay out of his way, Emma. And just so yer knows, I shall tell Mrs Wainright that Polly should be sent home. Otherwise, we’ll all be getting sick. She’s got a really bad cold.’
‘I think yer should say summat,’ Emma agreed, and picked up her bucket. ‘Ta-ta, Mrs Turner. See yer later.’
Mrs Turner nodded and watched her go, sighing under her breath. The girl was clever, intelligent beyond her years, and she was no longer the starveling creature of the moors as she had been three years ago. She had filled out a bit, and her beauty was flowering.
All those years ago, she thought, a long-ago image flickering in her mind. Oh my God, I hope it’s not happening again. No, I couldn’t bear it. But she’d seen them, whispering in corners, running out in the fields together …
There was a knock on the door. Mrs Turner jumped slightly, startled. ‘Come in,’ she said swiftly, moving towards the door.
A moment later, the door opened and Master Edwin stood there, smiling at her. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Come in, Master Edwin,’ Cook responded at once, and instantly realized the table needed setting for breakfast. ‘I will have yer breakfast in the dining room in a few minutes, sir.’
‘Oh, that’s perfectly fine, Cook. I just came to tell you Papa thinks that Polly should be transported to her family in the village. She’s not well.’
‘I agree, Master Edwin. I will arrange it after breakfast. Now I’ll make sure Emma’s set the table—’
‘Oh, but Emma has set it already, Mrs Turner,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I saw her doing it after she had started the fire.’ He gave her a faint smile and added, ‘I’m the first down this morning. So you do have plenty of time. Also, Papa asked me to tell you Mrs Wainright will arrive in time for tea.’
‘Thank ye, Master Edwin. Now is there anything I can make especially for yer breakfast? I’ve got sausages, bacon, eggs, kidneys, grilled tomatoes … oh, and porridge.’
‘A wonderful selection as usual, Mrs Turner. I think I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon. Thank you very much.’
‘Will ye be waiting for the Squire and Master Gerald, sir?’
‘Oh no. Papa told me to start, and I must admit I’m hungry.’ He gave her a small smile and left the room.
Mrs Turner watched him leave, always admiring of him, his manners, his politeness, the way he addressed everyone the same way. A perfect gentleman, just like his father. More than she could say about his brother.
Gerald Fairley was a bully, bossy, an ignoramus, and uncouth too. None of the staff liked him, and neither did she. He didn’t seem to fit in the family.
As she went out, across the corridor and into the morning room, she smiled with pleasure.
The fire was burning brightly in the grate, and the table was perfectly set. That Emma was a treasure. How she had managed to get all this done so quickly, Cook had no idea. But she did appreciate her help. She’s a good girl, God bless, Cook thought, and hurried back to the kitchen.
Her task now was to get the food onto the sideboard as fast as possible. Master Edwin was waiting.
FIFTY-TWO
It took Blackie only a day or two to understand how Fairley Hall was run and also to figure out the people who lived there. It was the longest he’d ever spent in such a grand house.
His favourite by a long shot was Mrs Olivia Wainright. Her sister, Adele Fairley, was married to the Squire.
Mrs Wainright was a widow, personable, pleasant to deal with, down-to-earth and practical. As soon as she arrived, she took control of the household immediately without seeming to do so. There was a sudden sense of ease, and certainly a feeling of tranquillity in the air. The Squire, Adam Fairley, seemed a little distracted in general, but he appeared to appreciate the arrival of his sister-in-law. He worked hard running the Fairley mill and the brickyard, and other interests. He appeared kindly enough to Blackie, and Blackie wondered why Emma hated him so.
Mrs Fairley, thin, dark-haired and haunted-looking, was an alcoholic. Not that Blackie had ever seen her drinking, but he had smelled her breath. She reeked of liquor when she came downstairs, even at noon. Later, in the evening, she seemed wobbly on her feet.
Their two sons were as different as chalk and cheese. Edwin, the eldest, was a gentleman like his father. He was good-looking and proper in his dress. He was always polite with everyone, including the staff, who loved him.
Blackie had taken a genuine dislike to Gerald, the younger son, instantly. He had wanted to punch him when Gerald was nasty to Emma. He was a bully, and most likely a coward, as all bullies usually were. He had a tendency to be bossy, and he lost his temper a lot, shouting at everyone. It was obvious to Blackie that he was universally disliked in the Hall and in the village as well.
The butler, Murgatroyd, was also a difficult man. He had grown too comfortable in his job, no doubt, and lax in his duties. He had a grumpy expression and a cold voice, and could become enraged about nothing much.
But Blackie did like Cook. Mrs Turner was the salt of the earth and a mine of information. She was easy-going to a certain extent, and always smiling. But he’d seen her put her foot down with Murgatroyd and knew she ruled her territory with an iron hand. Her kitchen was her domain, and everyone was made to realize that. This aside, she was a splendid cook, and that was one good thing about Fairley Hall. He got the impression that the Squire was inclined to neglect household matters – and certainly his wife was incapable of involving herself in running the place; but ever since Mrs Wainright had arrived, her keen interest in all aspects of the Hall’s management had had a profound effect. Cook was now buying the best of produce from the local suppliers, and her meals were delicious as a result.
The other thing Blackie admired about Cook was the way she looked after a little boy from the village. He had been recently orphaned, had no surviving family, and Cook had asked her married daughter, Delphinium, to take him in. During the week, he worked at the Hall as the boot boy. He was ten, and bright as a new penny. And of course, Cook made sure Kip, for that was his name, had the best of meals every day.
Very importantly to Blackie, Mrs Turner had confided in him about earlier years at Fairley Hall, and it had intrigued him no end. And so they were friends already.
Over these last few days, he had got on with the work outside and had just this morning been asked by Squire Fairley to stay for a few days longer. The Squire wanted Blackie to look at all the mahogany doors in the interior, because he thought they needed repolishing, new locks and new knobs. Blackie was pleased about this request because the Squire had said he would double the fee if Blackie stayed another five days. Not only that, he would be working inside in the warmth, protected from the cold weather. He could also get to know Emma a bit more. The girl intrigued him. He’d never met anyone quite like her – she was driven, for sure. Perhaps even more than him. She worked like a demon and returned to her home across the moors whenever she could. Mrs Turner said her mother was right poorly.
‘Do yer want another mug of tea?’ Mrs Turner asked, cutting into Blackie’s thoughts.
‘Thanks, I don’t mind if I do,’ he answered. ‘Whatever time does Emma finish upstairs?’ he now asked, sounding puzzled and frowning. ‘I can’t believe she’s the only maid at the moment. It’s brutal the way Murgatroyd makes her work.’
‘Aye it is, lad. He’s nasty. If I had my way, he’d be sacked. But at least Emma will get a bit more help from now on.’
‘Oh yes, how’s that?’ Blackie asked, an eager expression on his face.
‘Mrs Wainright has hired another girl, Annie Stead, from the village. She told the Squire it was ridiculous to expect Emma to do everything. Annie’s being trained as an in-between maid.’ She chuckled. ‘It was me daughter, Delphinium, who recommended her, through me. And I’m right glad.’
‘So am I.’ He went and took the fresh mug of tea from her, and continued, ‘Emma is a good young woman, a hard worker, dutiful, who never complains, sure she is. But she’s also very clever, at least so I’ve noticed, and given half a chance she could go far.’
‘I knows that; she took a plan she’d made to Mrs Wainright,’ Cook explained. ‘I suppose I should call it a schedule – it were a “timetable”, she called it, for doing the housework in a better way. Mrs Wainright was right impressed, so Emma told me. It was then that Mrs W. found out about Polly being sick.’
‘That must be her plan with a capital P, as she called it when she spoke to me.’
Mrs Turner chuckled. ‘Aye, it was. She’s a right one, that Emma.’
Murgatroyd arrived in the kitchen ten minutes later, carrying the empty dessert plates on a large tray. He took it to the sink, looked at Cook and asked, ‘Where’s the girl? She can wash these.’
His manner infuriated Mrs Turner.
‘Nobody gives orders in my domain, Mister Murgatroyd,’ Cook said in a stern voice. ‘Emma is still finishing upstairs and it’s almost two o’clock. She will sit down and eat summat when she finishes the bedrooms. And that’s that. It’s none of your business.’
