‘You amaze me, Miss Pym. To my mind we have endured a day which would make most sober people doubt the existence of their Maker.’
‘But they have not been starved for adventure, as I,’ said Hannah.
They fell into a companionable silence. Lord Harley felt he knew why Sir George, a high stickler if ever there was one, had decided to take the housekeeper to Gunter’s. There was something childlike about this Miss Pym, an innocence that was strangely endearing. He thought of Emily Freemantle and his face hardened. What a fool he had been to settle for an arranged marriage. It was not that he did not believe in love. Several of his friends had been fortunate to find it. But he himself never had and was sure now he never would. All he wanted was to settle down with some amiable female and bring up a family. But the next time, he would go about it all the time-honoured way and court and get to know the lady first.
He drained his coffee and thanked Hannah and stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Then he exclaimed, ‘I forgot about Mr Fletcher’s bath, and there is no one to take it down.’
‘I shall help you,’ said Hannah.
And so it was. While Mr Fletcher slept curled up in the large bed, Hannah and Lord Harley, on Hannah’s instructions, opened the bedroom window, which was fortunately on the leeward side of the inn, and poured out jugs of dirty bath water into the snow. And then Lord Harley lugged the empty bath down to the kitchen, where he left it propped against the back door.
Hannah went to her own room, washed in now cold water, changed into a voluminous night-gown, tied her nightcap under her chin, and crept into bed beside Emily.
Lord Harley was right, she thought sleepily, there was no need to interfere. But Emily was so beautiful and he was so handsome and Emily’s parents would be overjoyed if they were to marry after all and that silly Miss Cudlipp would be confounded.
And, still making plans in her head, Hannah fell asleep.
4
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter,
Long ago.
Christina Rossetti
Hannah awoke at six o’clock, climbed out of bed and drew back the curtains. She could see nothing but a sort of raging white wilderness. She washed and dressed and then raked out the fire and lighted it. If Emily wanted hot water to wash herself, then she would need to fetch it from the kitchen. Hannah was sure none of the servants would be able to manage to get to work that day.
She went down to the kitchen. Mrs Silvers was sitting at the table wearing a night-gown, a wrapper, and a huge red nightcap. Her nose was red and her eyes watery.
‘Oh, Miss Pym,’ she said. ‘I do feel mortal bad.’
‘Then you must go to bed,’ said Hannah briskly. ‘Where is your husband?’
‘Out at the stables, rousing the post-boys. They sleeps over the stables.’
‘Good,’ said Hannah, relieved to find that there was some help. She looked around her. The soiled linen lay piled up in a basket in the corner, but the fire was blazing brightly. ‘Please do go to bed, Mrs Silvers,’ she urged, ‘or we shall all catch your cold. We can all make shift for ourselves.’ Her eyes gleamed green with excitement. ‘It is an adventure for me.’
Mrs Silvers went reluctantly and Hannah set to work, filling a huge copper with water from the scullery pump and hanging it on a hook over the fire. She found a bar of washing soap and began to shave flakes off it for the wash. There was a container of chicken dung in the scullery, so useful for whitening yellow linen, but Hannah did not think she could bear the smell of it so early in the day. After she had put the clothes on to boil, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, drank it and then ran up the stairs and roused Emily.
‘It is still darkness,’ moaned Emily. ‘What’s to do?’
‘The servants went home last night and are not able to return this day because of the ferocity of the storm. You must rouse yourself and help me prepare breakfast.’
‘I!’ said Emily aghast. ‘I, work in a common inn kitchen? No, I thank you. I would rather starve.’ She pulled the blankets over her head.
‘In that case you will starve!’ said Hannah. ‘If you are not prepared to work, then you will not be allowed to eat.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Lord Harley heard the indomitable Hannah rousing Mrs Bradley and Mrs Bisley. He heard her tell them that there were no servants and that she was in need of help. He picked up his watch and looked at it by the light of the rushlight beside his bed. Seven o’clock. He groaned. But she had the right of it. Everyone must help. He swung his long legs out of bed and then twisted around and looked at the sleeping Mr Fletcher. The lawyer lay calmly asleep. His face looked younger with the lines smoothed away. Lord Harley decided to leave him. Wouldn’t be of much help anyway, he thought.
Emily did not go back to sleep. At first she felt tearful. Here she was in a strange inn with that monster somewhere about and she was expected to work like a common servant. It was too bad.
Then she heard Mrs Bradley’s voice from the corridor. ‘Right you are, Miss Pym, m’dear. Just get my duds on and I’ll be with you in a trice.’ And then the sleepy voice of Mrs Bisley: ‘I shall be there, too, Miss Pym. Give me but twenty minutes.’
The beginnings of an awakening conscience stabbed at Emily. She got out of bed and studied the little amount of cold water left in the cans on the toilet table. She rang the bell and waited. Back down in the kitchen, Hannah looked up at the swinging bell and tightened her lips. Miss Freemantle would soon find there was no one to wait on her.
Emily washed herself as best she could and brushed her short hair till it shone. She noticed all her clothes had been hung away but assumed the servants had done it while she was asleep. She lifted out a blue kerseymere wool gown. It was high-waisted with a high neck and long sleeves. She put on two petticoats and woollen stockings and half-boots before putting the dress on.
Emily pushed open the door and went into the dining-room. It was cold and dark. She went through to the coffee room. A fire was blazing brightly. She shivered and went to stand in front of it.
The door of the coffee room opened. Lord Ranger Harley came in and stood for a moment watching Emily.
She was standing looking into the flames, one little booted foot on the fender. Then, as if conscious of his gaze, she slowly turned and looked at him, her eyes widening with fear.
‘Miss Freemantle,’ he said coldly, ‘before you start to scream or indulge in any further stupid behaviour, let me make one thing very plain: having met you, I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth.’
The fear left her eyes and she looked at him in ludicrous amazement. ‘You are … you are sure?’
‘Of course, you widgeon. What man of any sophistication and breeding would want a silly little schoolgirl?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I am out of the schoolroom this age, sir!’
‘But your behaviour is not. Where is the excellent Miss Pym?’
‘I believe she is in the kitchen.’
‘And in need of help?’
‘So I believe. But I do not see why—’
‘Then shall we join her?’
Emily had been about to say she did not see why she, a lady, should be expected to work in an inn kitchen, but something told her that Lord Harley would despise her further for that remark. Never in her short life had anyone ever despised or disliked Emily. She had been cosseted and feted and petted from the day she was born.
‘I do not know where the kitchen is,’ she said.