Amber followed him back to the kitchen where she found the old woman still sitting where she had left her.
‘I’ve decided to stay in the loft. So where can I get the cleanin’ things I’ll need to clear it out?’
‘Mop an’ buckets over there an’ there’s rags an’ a bowl under the sink,’ Mrs Barstow told her as she started to pack the bowl of a clay pipe with tobacco. She was clearly in no rush to begin the housework, although the kitchen looked barely cleaner than Amber thought the pig sties would.
‘Reet, I’ll go an’ get changed an’ then I’ll get crackin’,’ Amber told her and once again she toted Charlotte up the ladder, thinking that by the time she’d got them somewhere at least clean to sleep she’d be worn out.
As Amber quickly changed her dress for her oldest blouse and skirt, Charlotte sat rubbing at her eyes and whinging again, which was quite unlike her because she was usually such a sunny-natured child. But Amber supposed it was to be expected and she felt guilty. She had taken her away from everyone and everything that was familiar so it was no wonder that the poor little mite was so miserable.
Once she’d carried her back downstairs, she placed her on the grubby hearthrug in front of the fire, grateful that there was a steel fireguard about it, and after heating some water in the sooty-bottomed kettle on the fire she filled the bucket.
‘Will she be all right there just while I get the loft clean?’ she questioned the old lady.
Mrs Barstow snorted. ‘Aye, as long as yer don’t expect me to pander to ’er. I ain’t her nanny yer know!’
With some trepidation, Amber glanced at the baby who was playing with her rag doll, the only toy Amber had brought for her, and then she hefted the heavy bucket up into the loft before coming back down for a broom and some cleaning rags.
As she busily swept and mopped, she constantly kept going to the loft hatch to check on Charlotte, who was grizzling again now. She felt torn in two. Half of her wanted to get downstairs to her baby but the other half knew that the loft had to be cleaned to make it anywhere near habitable.
‘I shall need some clean straw for the mattress,’ she informed Mrs Barstow when she came down to fill the bucket with clean water for the third time. By then she was filthy, her hair was full of dust and cobwebs and her hands, which were unused to manual work now, were red and sore.
‘So fetch some from the barn,’ Mrs Barstow said unhelpfully. ‘I ain’t took you on to work fer you!’
After three trips to the barn, Amber had managed to restuff the mattress with clean straw, although she had a horrible feeling it wasn’t going to be any too comfortable to sleep on. Still, she consoled herself, at least it was clean. Every time she appeared, Charlotte cried harder to be picked up and it was breaking Amber’s heart but there was nothing she could do about it.
By mid-morning she had made the loft as clean as she could and after carrying the cleaning things back down the stairs she told her new mistress, ‘I need to give Charlotte some pobs now. Could you tell me where to find the bread and milk?’
The old woman was still sitting in the same place and she waved an arm towards a bucket on the draining board. ‘You’ll find fresh milk in there. The old man brings us a fresh bucketful in every mornin’. Bread’s in the pantry but you’ll need to bake a fresh batch this afternoon. It’s time yer were thinkin’ o’ gettin’ the dinner on an’ all. There’s a shin o’ beef and plenty o’ fresh vegetables so yer can make a stew. I take it yer can cook?’
‘I can as long as yer don’t expect anythin’ fancy,’ Amber retorted as she heated up some milk in a pan on the range cooker. That too needed a good scrub and the wooden draining board next to the deep stone sink was piled high with dirty pots and pans. Once she’d made the baby’s meal, she tried to feed her, but Charlotte slapped the food away every time she offered her a spoonful. Her little eyes were red from crying and Amber felt like crying too as she thought of the cosy nursery back at Greenacres. But it was too late for regrets now. She was just going to have to make the best of things and hope that Charlotte got used to her new way of life.
‘Leave ’er be,’ the old woman scolded after twenty minutes when Amber was still trying unsuccessfully to get Charlotte to eat something. ‘Strikes me that one ’as been spoilt! She’ll eat when she’s ’ungry enough.’ She narrowed her eyes then and commented, ‘Them’s mighty fine clothes the little ’un is wearin’. Were yer husband a rich man?’
Avoiding having to answer Amber rose and fetched a grubby cushion from an old sofa to one side of the fireplace. Charlotte was rubbing her eyes now and clearly ready for her morning nap and once Amber had laid her down, she drifted off to sleep.
‘So what would you like me to do first?’
The old woman snorted as she took a sip of what Amber suspected was gin from an old cracked mug. ‘Use yer eyes, lass! I can’t do a lot what wi’ me rheumatics. I’m a slave to ’em. That’s why you’re ’ere.’
Amber boiled some water and washed the pile of filthy pots in the sink first, which was no easy task as they had stood so long that the grime was caked to them. She then set to and prepared a large dish of stew and once it was simmering gently, she tackled the tiny lead-paned windows. The room looked so much lighter once she could see through them again and she rightly guessed that they hadn’t been cleaned for years. The only trouble was that now it was so much easier to see how filthy everything else in the room was.
Next to be tackled was the floor and after the second mopping Amber was shocked to discover that there were quarry tiles on it. The curtains that hung at the windows were so filthy that it was impossible to see what colour they might be so she hooked them all down and left them to soak in a boiler in the outside laundry room – she would wash them tonight and hang them out to dry in the yard when Charlotte was safely asleep that night.
The men appeared from working in the fields three hours later and without taking their boots off, they trampled all over the clean floor and sat down at the table without even bothering to wash their filthy hands.
‘You could at least have taken your boots off; I’ve scrubbed the floor,’ Amber told them angrily and they laughed.
‘Ooh, ’ark at ’er ladyship,’ Harold, the older of the sons mocked with a wink at his brother, Melvin. ‘Yer’d think we were in some fancy ’otel!’
Amber slapped a bowl of stew in front of each of them and a loaf of bread and they fell on the food like animals as she went to fetch the pot of tea she’d made. It was then that Charlotte woke up and instantly started to grizzle, and after a moment the old farmer placed his hands over his ears and pulled a face. ‘Can’t yer shut that brat up?’ he shouted to make himself heard above the baby’s cries. ‘That racket is enough to deafen yer!’
‘It’s because everything is strange to her,’ Amber said defensively as she lifted Charlotte into her arms and began to rock her. She felt quite hot and Amber prayed that it was only because she was teething and not because she had caught some terrible disease in this filthy hovel. With the baby on her hip she spooned a small amount of stew into a bowl and after mashing it down she tried to feed her again but once more Charlotte turned her head away and refused to take so much as a bite.
‘Oh, just give ’er a crust spread wi’ some butter to chew on,’ Mrs Barstow snapped eventually. ‘If she’s teethin’ it’ll ’elp ’er gums.’
But once again, Charlotte slapped the food away, and Amber blinked back tears.
Once the men had eaten their fill they left again for their afternoon’s work and Amber set to as well.
