October 1912
Kate Truscott closed the gate of the only home she’d known for fifteen years and waved goodbye to her parents, her brothers and her sister. She was leaving the tiny village of Micklewell to become nursemaid to five children she’d never met, the offspring of the wealthy James Winton Esq and his lady wife. This was the first time Kate had travelled such a long way from the village and on her own too. It was going to be a long walk to the crossroads where she would be able to pick up the carter’s wagon on its daily route to the railway station. For this reason, she’d been careful with her packing and only allowed herself one treasure, a book that her teacher, Miss Clarence, had given her for helping the younger children with their reading. Her bag was light and so was her heart. She told herself that the flutter in the pit of her stomach was more excitement than nerves.
She paused at Wellhouse Farm and looked at the image of the Soldier on the Wall. She was going away but he would remain, standing to attention in his black bearskin, larger than life! Someone had painted him in his scarlet and blue during the time of the Crimean War. Kate had grown up with him and she nodded to him as she made her way down the village street.
She glanced at the field where she’d picked and bagged potatoes. No more dirt under the nails, she thought, and no more muddied skirts. Life in the town was going to be so different. She hummed to herself and strode out towards the crossroads where she would meet the cart. It might be months before she would see Micklewell and her family again. That seemed strange now, but she had made up her mind, she was ready for something new.
On reaching the crossroads she knew that she’d allowed herself plenty of time but even so, she couldn’t help continually glancing up the road. She breathed in the cool morning air and listened to the trilling of a blackbird in the hedgerow. Would there be birdsong in the town? She hoped so, for it always lifted her spirits.
The clip-clopping and trundling in the distance made her stomach flutter. She was on her way. No going back now!
‘Morning, Miss,’ called the carter as he reined in the horses, ‘you’ll be wanting a ride. How far are you going this morning?’
‘The station please,’ she replied. ‘I’m starting a new position today, in Andover.’
‘Ooo! Andover, is it? Watch out for them town folk with their hoity-toity ways,’ one young man with a mud-spattered jacket and rough, chapped hands teased.
‘Move over, then,’ the carter called to the other travellers. ‘Let the young lady on and make sure none of you spoil her nice clean clothes with your dirty boots. We can’t have her arrive covered in countryside muck now, can we?’ He smiled, winking at her.
Kate was not offended by the banter, for she felt pleased with her appearance. She’d wanted to make a good impression with her new employers and so had taken special care in her preparations. She’d brushed the cat hairs off her coat and darned the holes in her woollen stockings. As the wagon joggled along, Kate recalled the wetness in her mother’s eyes as she’d let down the hem of her best green dress with its high neck and buttoned bodice.
‘It suits you well,‘ her mother had said, ‘but perhaps a little too short now for a young woman about to go into service.’ She’d brushed Kate’s thick, light-brown hair with an extra thirty strokes that last evening to make it shine and told her to pull back her shoulders and be proud of herself.
Kate had become a little self-conscious of her breasts since her courses had started. She was aware of the changes in her body and knew that they drew the attention of the local boys. Her friend, Maisie Harwood, often said that she wished she was tall and elegant with blue eyes like Kate, not short and dumpy with plain old brown eyes. What Maisie lacked in good looks, however, she made up for in good sense. She gave Kate all sorts of advice about the train journey and Kate followed her instructions precisely.
‘Make sure you ask at the ticket office how many stops to Andover and be sure to sit near some other lady travellers. Count the stations and ask someone before you get off to make sure that it’s the right place.’ Kate kept all this in mind.
The arrival of the train at the platform was noisier than she’d expected, but she resisted the temptation to put her hands over her ears. The squeal of the brakes and the rush of steam escaping from the engine startled her, but as soon as she got on board, she enjoyed the sensation of moving along at a speed far greater than even the fastest horse and cart could achieve. She settled to looking out of the window at the passing countryside and listening to the conversations around her.
At the first stop, she retrieved a letter from her coat pocket. It was her letter of acceptance for a trial period with the Winton family and instructions on how to reach The Crescent and Woodland House. She read it over to herself. It was really happening! She was not only travelling many miles from home, she was going to live in a big house in a town. She was starting a new life and she would make a success of it. She would make sure they liked her. She would work hard.
In Andover, the streets were full of people and she had to take care to watch out for carriages when crossing the road. She wasn’t used to such hustle and bustle. She passed some fine shops, milliners with such hats on display as she had never seenbefore. Feathers and finery! She paused while crates of wines were unloaded from a cart and asked if she was going the right way for The Crescent. Her feet were beginning to ache as her best shoes were old and had a thin sole and, as she looked down, she noticed mud on the uppers. She stopped beside a wall and, when no one was coming, took out her handkerchief and spat on it to remove the marks.
When she finally arrived at her destination, she stood for a while before the three-storey house and counted the windows. She had never seen so many, not even on the manor house in her village. She tilted her head back and looked right up to the attic windows where she supposed the servants’ rooms would be. Her legs wobbled and her head swam. Lowering her gaze, her eyes settled on the biggest window downstairs fringed with heavy curtains, behind which glowed a warm light. That must be the sitting room. She wondered if her employers were, at this moment, sitting beside the fire, taking tea. Her letter of appointment had directed her to enter through the small gate to the right of the main entrance and take the path which led around to the back of the house. She should report to Mrs Bowden, the cook and housekeeper.
Kate felt an inclination to turn and run but she gave herself a stern talking to. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? A different life, more than just lifting and bagging potatoes.Come on, Kate, she whispered to herself. She gripped her bags and proceeded to follow instructions when a voice behind her called, ‘Can I help you?’
A short girl wearing a buttoned-up coat that looked two sizes too small for her was struggling with a huge crate of groceries. Her hat had fallen over one eye and the other peered over the top of the overflowing cabbages and leeks. She blew out of the corner of her mouth and then complained loudly, ‘Blasted delivery boy forgot nearly half of what we ordered, ’scuse my language. So, Igot the job of retrieving the rest. General dogsbody, I am. Looks like you’ve come to stay. You must be the new nursemaid then. Follow me,’ she said, nudging her head and walking in front.
Once they were inside the girl placed the box on the table and sighed. She turned towards Kate, rubbing her arms and saying, ‘Blooming heavy, that is, me arms are nearly dropping off. What’s your name then?’ she asked, examining Kate as if she was a joint of meat. Kate was astounded at the array of pots and cooking vessels around the kitchen and the open pantry door revealed more bottles and jars than she had seen before in her life.
‘I’m Kate,’ she said, managing a nervous smile. ‘I was told to report to Mrs Bowden, the housekeeper.’
‘I’m Eliza-Jane, kitchen maid, glad to make your acquaintance, I’m sure,’ Eliza said, wiping her hands on her coat and extending one towards Kate.
‘You can call her plain Eliza,’ a voice said from inside the pantry. ‘Now, young lady, step down off that high horse and don’t be getting above yourself,’ the older woman added as she entered the room. ‘Thinks if she speaks like them she’ll become like them, but it takes more than fancy talking to make a lady. Get yourself down to the cellar, Eliza, and bring me up two bottles of brown ale. Steak and ale pie tonight and we’d better get busy or it won’t be baked in time for dinner. I’m Mrs Bowden, cook and housekeeper. You can call me Mrs B, pleased to meet you.’
‘Pleased to meet you, too,’ Kate replied.
‘About time we had a new nursemaid. Those twins have been running riot and giving the mistress all sorts of headaches. They need to be more occupied. I’m sure you can manage them though, a strong girl like you,’ Mrs B said with a smile.
Although she displayed plenty of bluster, Kate believed that beneath that stern exterior, the housekeeper probably had a softheart. The folds in her arms, that squeezed beneath her rolled-up sleeves, looked as though they had comforted many a lost soul. The way she tucked in her double chins and smoothed her reddened hands over her apron made Kate feel that she had a secure hold over all that went on below stairs, and probably above stairs too.
‘Now, let’s get you settled and you can tell me a bit about yourself,’ continued Mrs B. ‘Just leave your bags there. Eliza will show you to your room later. You look tired. Let’s get you a nice warm cuppa.’
Mrs Bowden moved to the range that dominated the vast kitchen and slid the lightly steaming kettle onto the hot plate to bring it to the boil. The red glow of the coals, behind the huge metal bars of the grate, spread their warmth throughout the room and made Kate feel immediately at home. But this kitchen was very different to the one she had left behind. Their little kitchen at two, Mead Cottages would fit into one small corner of this one. The wooden-armed chair beside the range reminded her of the one her mother sat in to feed her baby brother Henry, and the soft cushion, the same dark blue that showed all of Jimmy the cat’s white hairs. She could almost hear his purrs.
Everything in this room was multiplied four times bigger than anything she had ever known. The vast array of pans, hanging beside the blackened monster of a range, lay ready and waiting for the next boiling and steaming and the oven door, on heavy metal hinges, held back a blast of heat that could produce a roast dinner for an army. The dresser that stretched along most of one wall was much longer than the one in the kitchen of Wellhouse Farm, the biggest house she had ever been inside in Micklewell. Blue-and-white patterned plates stood in rows reaching up almost to the ceiling and beneath them an array of serving bowls with lids. Cups dangled on hooks and neat piles of saucers and tea plates were stacked on the lowest shelf.
