A Brighter Tomorrow - Maggie Ford (thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

she usually did before his stronger will; but deep inside she felt she would begin to regret it. What if this likeness started to affect her to such an extent that she’d be unable even to look at the girl.

She swallowed her doubts and said, ‘I shall leave it to Cook to tell you what your duties will be, child.’

She turned to the younger girl. ‘You, my dear… I’m sorry, I have forgotten your name for the moment.’

‘Her name’s Dora,’ the sister said firmly.

‘Yes, Dora,’ Mary echoed without looking at the older girl. Already she felt dislike for her – not because she reminded her so of Millicent but because Millicent had been sweet and gentle. This girl was far from being that: hard, forthright rather than compliant and submissive as a domestic should be, especially one being taken on for such a lowly position as scullery maid.

‘Come with me, dear,’ she said quietly to Dora, who meekly followed her from the kitchen. She approved. Young people should know their place. She felt quite taken with her. And there lay the difference between the two.

‘I hope you can sew and do simple mending,’ she said at the door. ‘I have a good outside seamstress for my finer things whom I would rather not burden with small everyday repairs.’

‘I can sew,’ came the ready response as Dora followed her into the hallway and up the broad stairs.

Mary Lowe smiled. The child was uncouth, ill-spoken, but she would set about teaching her as much as she could on how to be ladylike and speak nicely. Such a pretty little girl and not at all like her sister after all.

Left alone, Ellie felt suddenly jealous. Dora given sewing duties while she was left to scrub pots! It wasn’t a nice feeling, jealousy, and she hurriedly turned her mind to the housemaid and the girl’s ample physique.

It seemed everyone in this residence was well padded, from her new employer and his wife down to the housemaid and their cook. She and Dora, being so thin, would stand out like sore thumbs in this house. Everyone here ate so well, judging by the food on the kitchen table at this very moment, it was no wonder they put on flesh. She wondered if, after a while, she and Dora would become as plump.

Came a momentary vision of her mother – thin, wiry, always going without. The memory brought a catch in her throat, which she forced back. She had to make her own way in the world now, she and Dora looking after each other. Giving in to tears would do no one any good. But tears there were, hovering unshed in her heart.

She almost jumped out of her skin as the cook, who’d been busy at the kitchen range, now turned on her.

‘Right now, young lady, my name’s Mrs Jenkins,’ she said in a harsh, piercing voice. ‘But you will call me Cook. Your employer you’ll address as sir, and his wife as madam. Do you understand all that?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie replied, trying not to sound too meek yet not too forthright. ‘And what do I call the housemaid?’

Mrs Jenkins’s face relaxed, making her look almost pleasant but for the strident voice. ‘You call her Florrie like the rest of us. And everyone will call you Ellie. Understand, girl?’

This was a relief. To have to call someone ‘miss’ when she was hardly older than herself would have gone against the grain, thought Ellie as she smiled back at Cook. She was aware that she had a naturally wide smile that revealed good strong teeth, not often seen in the sort of place she’d been brought up in. They were white and even, and the smile seemed to appease Mrs Jenkins, who said in a quieter tone, ‘Very well, Ellie, get out of your things. Hang your hat and coat on a hook behind that cupboard door. Put the apron on you’ll find there. Then you can take these used saucepans over to the sink. Fill it with water from that big kettle and put in a handful of the washing soda you can see on the draining board. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said again, glancing at the several black iron saucepans. They looked huge and heavy.

‘Make sure you scrub ’em absolutely clean. There’s a dishcloth and some wire wool to help you do that. I don’t want nothing found stuck to the insides, you understand? Then let ’em drain a bit before drying ’em. I don’t like wiping-up cloths to end up wringing wet. You understand all that?’

Ellie nodded. It seemed to be Mrs Jenkins’s stock remark – asking if she understood, like she was some foreigner who couldn’t speak English. She had almost taken offence at it, but then realized this was going to be asked of her for the rest of her stay.

Happening to glance at Florrie, she saw the girl give a comical grimace, a brief and significant downturn of her chubby lips with her bottom lip thrust ludicrously outward and downward, the lips instantly returning to normal before Cook could notice. Ellie knew immediately that here was a friend and ally and no longer felt isolated as she quickly divested herself of her outdoor things and donned the apron.

Without a word she hoisted two of the three weighty cooking utensils and with an effort of her thin arms bore them to the sink, depositing the third one on top of them. Having sprinkled a handful of washing soda over them, she poured the boiling water from an equally heavy kettle, needing two hands to do it, and set to work.

Despite hot water and soda a scum soon formed on the surface as the baked grease and food reacted with them, requiring the addition of more soda. At this rate, she thought, as she scrubbed and scraped, her hands would be chafed red. It was as well they were already hard from her old environment or they’d have been well sore by