She intended to visit her favourite West End department store, Lewis & Allenby, which specialized in silk, to choose a silk evening dress. On her way downstairs ready to leave she had seen Dora’s sister Jay crossing the hall. For a split second it had been like looking at her darling Millicent and her heart almost stopped.
She’d let out an audible gasp and Jay had paused to look up at her. The shock of that moment had wrenched a cry of anger from her.
‘What are you staring at, girl?’
When Jay didn’t move, her voice rose even more. ‘Stop idling and get on with your work!’
‘Sorry, madam.’ The apology caught her as sounding totally insolent and Mary heard her own voice rise to a screech.
‘Do as I say, girl! Go!’
Jay had galvanized into action and hurried away, disappearing down to the kitchen. But Mary could not get the sight of her out of her head or the sound of her own shriek, making her feel like some fishwife.
Now, seated in the cab, the vehicle moving off, Mary turned suddenly to the girl beside her, who at this moment was very quiet – too quiet.
‘Dora, if it can possibly be avoided, I would prefer you not to be found associating with Jay.’
Dora’s voice was small. ‘I don’t, madam, just as you’ve told me.’
‘Then I am reminding you again, Dora.’
‘Yes, madam. But she is my sister,’ she added timidly.
Even so, the remark sounded too bold to her – far too much like Jay.
‘She is not a good influence on you,’ Mary shot at her. ‘You are a nice girl, Dora. I like you very much and if you remain a nice girl I shall see that you are educated and have a good future. She will only pull you down. And I warn you, child, that if you allow her to I will have no option but to let you go, and that will make me very, very sad.’
She was pleased by a compliant nod, but her day had been spoiled. That brief flash of likeness had upset her terribly, the insolent look on Jay’s face even more. It stayed with her all morning, ruining the pleasure of her expedition.
Even the silk gown in a gentle shade of buttermilk that she ordered gave her no joy, seeming tainted by her harrowing experience. And to think that today, with an April sun shining in all its glory, she had actually begun to think herself on the verge of recovering from her grief.
After the bitter and devastating loss of Millicent she had been totally unable to leave the house – not even with Bertram. It was probably irrational and she could understand his impatience with her phobia.
It had taken a long time and only gradually had she improved. But she was still reluctant to venture out on her own. Not being one for making close friends with whom she could go shopping or take tea, Dora had come as a godsend. Gentle-natured, meek and respectful, she was fast becoming an admirable paid companion as well as personal maid. She dared not admit even to herself that to some small degree Dora’s presence was beginning to lessen if not fill the void that the loss of her daughter had left in her heart.
Jay, on the other hand, was another matter. That girl knew exactly what she was about and it made Mary’s blood boil to think of her trying to use that similarity to blind Bertram – he, foolish man, seeming to fall for it.
Mary wasn’t quite sure what the girl hoped to gain, but something told her it wasn’t good. From the moment Bertram had established his authority over having two maids share the work of parlourmaid, she had established hers by laying down a rule that under no circumstances would she allow Jay ever to set so much as one foot in her room.
‘I won’t have her anywhere near me,’ she told him flatly. ‘If you insist on her serving at table there is little I can do to stop you but my mealtimes will be ruined.’
‘That’s pure foolishness, my dear,’ was his immediate response.
‘You know how I feel. I don’t like her. And if you insist on keeping her I shall eat in my room if need be.’
‘I can hardly dismiss her without cause,’ came the sharp retort.
‘She is rude and discourteous to me! That’s cause enough.’
‘I’m sad you feel that way. I find her courteous and obliging.’
‘You would!’ she had flared at him. ‘To my mind, Bertram, you find unnatural comfort in keeping sad memories alive. But what of my feelings? Don’t you care that I feel differently? The mere sight of her makes my heart race so much that I feel quite sick and weak. It is making me ill.’
All he’d done was click his tongue and turn away, having made up his mind that the girl would stay no matter what she said, unwilling to let go of the past. Very well, he had his way of combating their loss and she had hers. But if he were not careful it could very well drive a wedge between them, for she’d never feel any different.
It was late May and Ellie was beginning to worry. Something inside her felt wrong.
The eighteenth of April had seen her turn sixteen – not that it had been celebrated in any way, she working through her day as usual, the long day not even being brightened by any sign of her sister.
She had told Doctor Lowe that it was her birthday. He’d smiled and wished her many happy returns, which was more than many a master would have said, though possibly many another servant wouldn’t have dreamed of overstepping her position by even mentioning it. But she’d been beginning to feel confident of her position.
Two days later there was a small embroidered handkerchief on his study desk, a note pinned to it bearing her name and the words, ‘For your birthday’. A flutter of
