Dorcas’s head snapped up from the newspaper she was reading. ‘Don’t you talk to me like that, girl!’ she scolded. ‘Just remember you are the servant here andIpay your wages.’
‘An’youjust remember that I only ’ave one pair of ’ands an’ I can’t be in two places at once,’ Hetty retaliated, at the end of her tether. ‘In case it slipped yer mind I’ve been shoppin’ all mornin’ an’ I come back to find neither o’ you ’ave lifted a finger.’
‘Howdareyou!’ Dorcas blustered.
But Hetty was too angry to heed her warning as she faced her mistress squarely with her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing. ‘Oh, Idare,missus!’ Her voice was ominously quiet. ‘An’ I’ll tell yer somethin’ else, an’ all! If yer don’t alter the way yer treat me I’m gonna be gone. I’m sick of yer talkin’ to me like I’m nowt but a skivvy! I’ve worked every single day from mornin’ till late at night to meet yer demands since we got ’ere an’ I didn’t mind that – I even took a cut in wages – but I’ve ’ad enough now!’
Colour rose in Dorcas’s cheeks as she snatched up her fan and furiously waved it in front of her. Half of her wanted to tell the young hussy to go if that was the way she felt, but then the more sensible side of her baulked at the thought of having to do all the menial tasks herself.
‘Let’s not be hasty,’ she said, although the words almost stuck in her throat. ‘Of course we appreciate what you do .?.?. don’t we, Abigail, dear? It’s just been such a difficult and upsetting time for all of us .?.?.’
Abi, who had been watching the argument avidly, her eyes round as saucers, didn’t reply to her mother, merely waited to see what Hetty would say next.
Hetty’s temper ebbed away as she began to unpack the bags. ‘Right, in that case I’ll make us all some sandwiches for now an’ I’ll cook us a meal this evenin, if that’ll be suitable?’
‘That will be very suitable .?.?. thank you, Hetty,’ Dorcas forced herself to say.
Slightly mollified, Hetty pottered off to fetch the bread and some ham and cheese from the cold shelf in the pantry. A cup of tea to go with the sandwiches wouldn’t go amiss either!
Chapter Twelve
The journey to London was uneventful and as soon as the train arrived at Euston Emmy got into a hackney cab to take her to her aunt’s address. She had been to London so many times in the past that she had already seen many of the famous landmarks and the town held no excitement for her now. So as the cab rattled through the streets, she stared absently out of the window wondering what her Aunt Imogen would be like and trying to ignore the musty smell of the straw on the floor of the carriage. Barnsbury Road where her aunt lived was very close to Barnard Park and Emmy appreciated seeing a bit of green grass amongst all the hustle and bustle of the city. Soon they turned into a road that was lined with rows of three-storey townhouses and the cab stopped outside one of them.
The driver slipped down from his seat to open the door for her. ‘This is it, miss. Do you want me to wait for you?’
‘No, thank you; I don’t know how long I shall be,’ Emmy responded as she paid him and gave him a warm smile.
He touched his cap and hopped back up on to the driver’s seat and as he steered the horse back into the traffic, Emmy turned to look at her aunt’s house. It was surrounded by wrought-iron railings with stone stairs leading down to what she guessed would be the kitchen, and curved steps that led up to a brightly painted blue door with a shiny brass knocker. To either side of the door were long sash-cord windows hung with snow-white lace curtains and suddenly Emmy felt nervous again. Her mother had written back to inform her aunt that she would visit her today, but Emmy wondered if the letter had arrived yet and whether she would be welcome? There was only one way to find out, so after taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirt, she mounted the steps and rapped on the door.
After a few moments she heard footsteps pattering towards her and the door opened to reveal a young maid wearing a starched white apron and mop cap over a navy-blue dress.
‘I’m Miss Winter and I’m here to see Mrs Dubois,’ Emmy told her politely.
The girl nodded and stood aside to allow Emmy into the hall, which she saw at once was almost as large as the whole of their cottage put together.
‘I’ll just let madam know,’ the young maid said in a broad cockney accent. She looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old and had blue eyes, fair hair and a friendly smile. ‘Will yer just wait ’ere, miss?’
As she hurried away Emmy stared around in awe. The place was so opulently furnished that she felt as if she had stepped on to a stage. Heavy gilt mirrors and portraits of a very attractive young woman adorned the walls and an enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling. Beneath it a huge vase of pure-white lilies stood on a highly polished table on the black-and-white tiled floor, their perfume filling the air.
Within minutes the maid was back with another friendly smile to tell her, ‘Madam will see yer now, miss. Would yer like to foller me?’
She walked over to one of the many sets of double doors that led off from the hall and ushered her inside. For a moment Emmy was disorientated. The curtains at the window were firmly drawn and it was so gloomy that she had to stand and let her eyes adjust to the light. And the smell of heavy French perfume and yet more cut flowers almost took her breath away.
‘So .?.?. you came then.’
The voice came from a wing-back chair to one side of an empty fireplace and Emmy’s eyes flew towards it, although it was so dark that she could only just make out the shape of a small person sitting there.
Then suddenly whoever it was lit a match and seconds later an oil lamp on a small table at the side of them began to cast a shadowy glow about the room and Emmy found herself looking at a petite woman who seemed almost lost in the large chair. She was tiny and her hair, which was piled high on her head in intricate curls, was fair but peppered with grey. The low-cut pink silk gown she was wearing was so elaborate that it would have been more suited to a ballroom, and she was covered in jewels that caught and reflected the dim light. Her face was heavily rouged and her lips reddened, giving her the appearance of a china-faced doll Emmy had owned as a child.
‘So, you are Emerald!’ The voice was surprisingly firm for such a delicate frame and she stared at Emmy appraisingly as she bent forward, leaning heavily on an ornately carved ebony-topped silver walking cane. ‘Well, I’ll give our Dorcas credit where it’s due, you’re a good, strong-looking girl. Come over here into the light where I can see you properly. Aggie, who let you in, will be here with some tea for us soon. I dare say you’ll be ready for a drink after your journey.’
Now that Emmy’s eyes had adjusted to the light, they grew wider as she moved forward. The room was covered in ornaments, pictures, mirrors, ornate gilt-legged furniture and frills and furbelows everywhere she looked.
‘Has the cat got your tongue?’ Imogen quipped and Emmy blushed as she took a seat in front of her.
‘Sorry, Aunt.’
‘Now, tell me all about yourself and what’s been happening to my sister,’ Imogen ordered and so tentatively Emmy told her of all that had happened to them recently as Imogen listened intently.
