Before Ettie could reply, Mary hurried off along the grubby, cobwebby passage. ‘Not exactly the Ritz,’ she cackled as Ettie stepped into the interior of a small room with a sloping roof. ‘That’s where you’ll sleep.’ She pointed to a truckle bed on the floor. ’Put your clothes on the chair.’
Ettie gazed around the sparsely furnished attic. An extinguished candle stood on a wooden stool with three legs. The bare window above was splattered with pigeons’ droppings. Ettie remembered with a pang, her bedroom in Silver Street where the flowered curtains had hung so prettily.
‘This is my bed,’ said Mary threateningly. An iron bedstead with brass fittings was covered with a crocheted quilt. An ancient marble-top washstand with a pitcher and china bowl stood beside it. ‘You keep to your side of the room and I’ll keep to mine. I hope you ain’t a snorer. If you are, I’ll chuck cold water over you, just like I did to the other girl who slept here. Not that she lasted long.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘Mrs Powell didn’t like the look of her. Now, I’m off to the kitchen.’
‘Where do I find Nanny?’ Ettie was sure she would get lost in this huge house full of dark passages.
‘The nursery, you dumb cluck!’
Left alone, Ettie stood in the silence of the dirty, damp-smelling room where the green mould was eating into the walls. She went to the window and stood on tiptoe. Between the pigeon droppings and smears, she could see all the rear entrances of the elegant houses in Poplar Park Row. All were neatly spaced, with pretty gardens. Ettie wondered if those beautiful homes had rooms of green mould tucked away in their attics, just like this one.
Ettie remembered the door with the cracked wood that led to the nursery. She tapped several times, but there was no answer. With her heart in her mouth, she entered a kind of vestibule where interior doors led off to the right and left. The polished wooden floor in front of her gleamed. A table with carved legs stood under an ornate oval mirror. One large window let in a shaft of daylight. Its heavy curtains were tied back with cords and the view was breathtaking. In the far distance she could see spires reaching high above Docklands. She pressed her nose against the glass and saw the house fronts, their black-painted railings and flights of steps up to the impressive front doors. A pavement on the other side of the road bordered a green park. Shady trees, which although leafless now, still shielded the neatly trimmed hedges beneath.
Ettie could see that every house had wide white steps and some even had tall pillars. Just as she managed to locate the shining white steps below, a movement startled her.
She jumped, spinning round. An older woman addressed her, small in stature but stout. Her thin, greying hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a severe bun. But her round, puppy-like brown eyes and flawless complexion gave her face a youthful appearance. She wore a shawl of cream lace that fell in a waterfall to her voluminous black dress. In her hand she held a dainty white handkerchief with the tips of her tiny fingers.
‘Who might you be?’ she demanded in a high-pitched voice.
‘I’m Ettie O’Reilly,’ spluttered Ettie, feeling as though she had been caught doing a mischief.
‘Why are you standing there?’
‘Mrs Powell sent me.’
‘You’re the workhouse girl?’
Startled, Ettie gave a nod.
‘You are to address me as Nanny at all times.’
‘Yes, Nanny.’
‘A curtsey would not go amiss.’
Ettie made a curtsey though the only time she had ever done so before was when she genuflected at the chapel altar.
‘Ungainly child! You must practice.’
‘Yes, Nanny.’
‘Another thing. We do not recommend reveries,’ Nanny squeaked, patting her chest as her voice rose. ‘Windows are to be cleaned, not used to daydream.’
Ettie saw the white handkerchief flick, suggesting she should follow.
Chapter 56
Nanny’s quarters, Ettie discovered, were very different to Mrs Powell’s. The framed embroideries hanging on the walls beside the photographs of children gave the atmosphere a warm character. The round dining table was covered in a pure white linen cloth with an embroidered edging. Around the table were arranged four cushioned chairs with oval backs. Thick dark rugs covered the wooden floor right up to the hearth.
Nanny seated herself in a comfortable chair by a simmering fire and gave a long sigh, sniffing lightly as if chasing off a bad smell.
‘Mrs Powell tells me you can read and write.’
‘Yes, Nanny,’ Ettie replied. Perhaps her duties would include reading to the children?
‘Well, child, it is not reading or writing that I require of you,’ Nanny continued. ‘It is hard work and punctuality.’
Ettie swallowed. ‘Yes, Nanny.’
‘You will take one free day every month, and return to the house by seven o’clock at the latest. As the under-maid to the nursemaids, you will wait on the under-nurse, the head nursemaid and her maid and the night nurse who sleeps in the nursery with the children. We do not mix with the lower servants but you will eat supper in the kitchen with the scullery maid. Mrs Powell, I believe, has explained the house rules which correspond with nursery rules.’
‘Yes, Nanny.’ Ettie was very disappointed that none of her duties included the children.
‘The head of nursery staff will give you your uniform. She will explain your duties fully and the hours you must keep.’ Once again Nanny sniffed and dabbed her nose. ‘My own wishes are to be observed first and foremost. This fire must be lit before I rise at seven o’clock. After I am gone at nine o’clock to the nursery you may clean my quarters. Touch nothing. Dust and sweep with care. My bed requires clean linen every third day.’
‘Yes, Nanny.’
‘I trust you have no questions?’ The elderly matron asked, but Ettie sensed
