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

‘Then that’s your choice,’ Ellie had said sharply. Already Dora sounded as if she thought she knew her place and Ellie’s. It stung. She wanted to tell Dora to come down from this height on which she was suddenly finding herself. Instead she’d said huffily, ‘Not much I can do about it, is there?’

She’d turned over, her back to her sister, simmering with anger against her. She had felt Dora slip quietly back down beside her, heard her plaintive whisper, ‘I’m sorry, Ellie, there’s not much I can do about it,’ but made no reply.

As the hours passed she’d lain awake, knowing by little movements that Dora too was awake, and she felt resentment, fear, despair in turn creeping through her, and wondered if Dora felt the same.

It wasn’t Dora’s fault. What girl wouldn’t be flattered by a promotion like that? No, she blamed Mrs Lowe. She knew the woman disliked her. She had done it out of spite, perhaps thinking Dora’s sister, who so reminded her of her dead daughter, might take offence and leave. Whatever it was, it was cruel to separate sisters in this way. Dismissing them both would have been kinder, but Doctor Lowe would have had something to say about that.

There was nothing she could do about Dora, though, and it would be miserable sleeping alone from now on. On the other hand, she didn’t relish sharing with their new kitchen maid. She didn’t much care for the girl, who never seemed to have a clean face and tended to sniff a lot, to Cook’s annoyance.

‘If I’d have known she sniffed that much I wouldn’t of taken her on,’ Mrs Jenkins had said. ‘I thought it was just a cold she had at the time. But if she wants to remain here, she’s going to have to curb the habit.’

Until now the girl had been sleeping in the kitchen – not unusual in quite a few households, her bed little more than a bench, situated at the far end of the kitchen where the staff ate or sometimes sat on their moments off between duties. Rose seemed happy enough with the arrangement, a girl who, prior to coming here, had slept in the damp cellar of another household, so she said. Even so, Ellie was prepared to refuse any suggestion that Rose Holt share her bed.

This morning she and Dora arose at six as always, dressing hurriedly against the chill. Neither spoke.

Florrie, too, dressed quickly. ‘I think we’re a bit late,’ she said as she sluiced her face in the basin of cold water all three shared. Ellie didn’t reply. Nor did Dora.

Dora was the first to leave, no doubt glad to escape the strained silence and get on with whatever new tasks Mrs Lowe was ready to face her with in order to prime her as a lady’s maid.

Ellie’s unenviable first task of the morning was always the clearing-out of ashes and laying and lighting fires in all the grates, her fingers then needing to be washed again to free them of ash and coal dust before she tackled anything else, while Florrie these days took the nicer jobs: dusting and tidying, laying the breakfast table ready for the master and mistress – all this before the girls had their own breakfast.

It was left to Ellie to wash floors, brush and beat carpets and rugs, lately polish brass and do all the dirtier jobs as under-housemaid, while Florrie waited on Sir and Madam at lunch and dinner.

One thing about Florrie: she could have started putting on airs and graces, but she hadn’t. She was still the chubby, friendly, easy-going girl Ellie had first met. As they left their attic room together, Florrie said, ‘Dora told me her good news last night as we met on the back stairs going up to bed. She said Mrs Lowe wants to train her to be a lady’s maid. Lovely.’

‘I suppose so,’ was as much as Ellie could muster before hurrying off to gather up dustpans and brushes.

She needed to be in the doctor’s study in case he popped in on his way down to breakfast. She liked to think that he might often need a bit of solitude to gather himself together in the quietness of this room on the second floor at the back of the house, away from everyone, before going downstairs to face his wife. Talk was that, after the loss of their daughter, Mrs Lowe had removed herself from his bedroom to sleep in another room. That, of course, had been before she and Dora had come to work here; but it suited her cause.

To her delight, he’d thought fit to seek his quiet study this morning. And now he had called her ‘my dear’. She couldn’t help wondering what his wife would have said about that if she’d heard him. But now she needed to take full advantage of his greeting.

She fought to find her voice – not to let it tremble.

Seven

Ellie swallowed hard. ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ she began politely. ‘It’s good news about my sister.’

‘Your sister?’ he echoed. ‘Ah yes, young Miss Jay.’

‘I call her Dora,’ Ellie interrupted before she could stop. She felt angry with herself. The thoughtless remark had probably spoiled what she was trying for. But Doctor Lowe was smiling.

‘Yes, of course. And I shall call her Dora too, to you, my dear, but not outside this room. My wife has seen fit to lay down a few rules.’ Ellie thought she saw a shadow pass briefly across his face, but he brightened instantly.

‘And rightly so, and we should abide by them. You do understand?’

Ellie nodded. The voice had grown abrupt and, standing here with brush and pan in her grubby hands, she felt what she was: the under-housemaid, just once removed from the kitchen maid and not worth a candle.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to embark on her original quest. ‘Beg your pardon, Doctor Lowe,