House of Strangers Page 4

  Flora explained that she would order provisions, check the accounts and supervise the little maid who came in daily.

  ‘We are very pleased to have you here,’ Arabella said, her glance swivelling round the table, inviting the others to agree with her.

  ‘Good show,’ said Margery Craig. ‘The last housekeeper, she was no use at all. Slovenly—and dishonest. Had her fingers in the housekeeping purse, if you ask me.’

  ‘No one asked you,’ said Arabella coolly. ‘But she may well have been a little dishonest.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Mr Turnbull, ‘you are either dishonest or you are honest. There is no such thing as being a little dishonest.’

  ‘And how do you know?’ Arabella challenged him.

  ‘Because it is my job to teach the King’s English to a lot of dunderheads.’ He broke off and exclaimed to Flora, ‘Try hammering the principles of English grammar into the skulls of blockheads.’

  ‘It must be very difficult,’ said Flora politely.

  ‘Difficult!’ He was silent for a moment. But then he brightened. ‘Ah! Plum tart. Excellent.’ He picked up his spoon and said no more for the rest of the meal.

  ‘Please excuse me,’ said Flora, rising. ‘I have promised to have coffee with my cousin in her sitting room. I hope you will tell me if there is anything I can do for you.’

  ‘Now that’s well said!’ Mr Turnbull smiled, showing heavily stained teeth. ‘Well spoken! I can see you will be a great asset.’

  ‘I will do my best.’ Flora escaped, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I hope so,’ she could hear Arabella murmuring, half to herself.

  Flora’s heart sank. What an odd lot of people! She felt sure they would complain if anything went wrong. ‘I think I may have made a mistake in coming here,’ she thought. ‘I’m not qualified to be a housekeeper.’ But there was nothing else she could do; she had taken on the job. ‘I can only do my best,’ she told herself, ‘though I’m bound to make lots of mistakes.’ She tapped on Cousin Chris’s door.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Well,’ said Cousin Chris, ‘and what did you think of my lodgers?’

  ‘They are…’ said Flora carefully, ‘all very different.’

  Cousin Chris laughed. ‘That makes for variety,’ she said. ‘And if they argue a good deal, that adds spice to the meals.

  ‘And now,’ she said. ‘we must discuss your duties and your pay—and I insist you must have proper time off. I don’t suppose you have ever been to Edinburgh. No? I thought not. So you won’t have been to the National Gallery and the Gardens and concert halls and Mackie’s tea room, not to mention the shops. Oh,’ she said with a sigh, ‘I wish I were young again and could jaunt about as I used to. Never mind, you must tell me all about your adventures exploring the city.

  ‘But—your duties.’ She reached into a drawer in her desk and produced two bound notebooks. ‘These are the order books; the butcher, the fishmonger and the baker you should call regularly. Nelly will help you with the orders. We have daily help—I told you about Betsy; a quiet child but willing.’

  Flora was relieved to hear this. Although she had kept house for her mother, some years ago now, she had no experience of catering for any number of people. Aunt Mina had kept the ordering firmly in her own hands, frequently changing orders and suppliers as she fell out with the butcher or the grocer.

  ‘There is one thing,’ said Cousin Chris. ‘Nothing to do with the housekeeping. I would like you to go up to the attic one day and bring down one or two things I have a fancy to see again. There is a special piece of china,’ she added. ‘She is a very pretty china shepherdess that belonged to my family long ago. I think she would look well on the mantelpiece.’

  She gazed with satisfaction at the array of Victorian scent bottles and china ornaments, and Flora wondered fleetingly how there could possibly be room for anything else. But aloud she said, ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘And anything else you may find that might be of interest, perhaps photograph albums.’

  She went on. ‘It may seem foolish to a young person, but I like to surround myself with treasures that have meant a great deal to me, even though they are not valuable,’

  Flora, alarmed, saw that her cousin was becoming downcast; she took out a handkerchief embroidered with violets and mopped her eyes. ‘How foolish of me. I am a very silly old woman.’

  Hastily Flora hurried to change the subject. ‘You are nothing of the kind. Tell me about these lodgers of yours. They have a very comfortable home here. Arabella, for instance.’

  Cousin Chris brightened. ‘Yes, she is a character, isn’t she? Have you heard her sing?’ she said with a wicked grin.

  ‘Yes,’ Flora admitted. ‘She seems to be waiting for a summons from one of the opera companies.’

  ‘She may wait a while,’ said Cousin Chris, shaking her head. ‘She says she sang major roles in her day, but perhaps it is too late now. Anyway she is a good soul, always cheerful, doesn’t complain.’

  ‘And Miss Craig?’

  ‘Now she was a teacher—I say was, because I don’t know if she is employed now. I have a feeling,’ said Cousin Chris, ‘that her family may have cast her off because she is so involved with the WSPU.’

  Flora looked mystified. ‘The Women’s Social and Political Union,’ Cousin Chris explained. ‘Miss Craig is a leading light in the branch—and I think may be fairly militant.’

  ‘And Mr Turnbull?’

  ‘Now there is a mystery,’ said Cousin Chris with satisfaction. ‘Why should a man of middle years, fairly prosperous, decide to live in a boarding house, no matter how good the food—and he does like his meals, does Mr Turnbull. Is he widowed? A bachelor? I don’t ask questions,’ said Cousin Chris a little piously.

  ‘But,’ she added, ‘he came to me six months ago, recommended by a friend,’ she added a little vaguely. ‘They are all people in need of a good home. When I inherited this house from my dear, late father, I decided I would make it a home for people who worked in the city and couldn’t afford to rent a place of their own. Oh, I have had all sorts of people here over the years; there was a conjuror, not I think, a very good one. Though he could make things disappear. He was a great entertainment at the dining table, but a somewhat trying guest. A number of silver spoons disappeared for good and I suspect reached the pawn shop. So I had to ask him to go.

  ‘And there were others: circus performers, acrobats, as well as a couple who had eloped from England to escape from her father.’

  ‘What an interesting house this is,’ said Flora.

  ‘I like to think so,’ said Cousin Chris modestly. ‘I ask no questions; everyone is entitled to a private life. Mr Turnbull may be a little strange and Arabella more than a little unusual. And as for Miss Craig, I wonder about her and her family. But everyone has a right to privacy; this is a House of Strangers. ‘

  Flora was intrigued. She had been here only a few hours and yet—there was an air of mystery over the place. And Cousin Chris? Was she too hiding a secret?

  ‘Now my dear, I mustn’t keep you,’ said her cousin. ‘You must be tired after such a busy day—and I also retire early. I hope you sleep well.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ said Flora, her head spinning with acrobats, conjurors and opera singers.

  One thing, she thought, as she climbed into bed, her new home would be nothing like the one she had left behind. What would Aunt Mina think?

  *

  The next few weeks were busy as Flora began to get to know the ways of the house. Nelly, cheerful and good natured, was a great help and saved her from a number of mistakes.

  ‘Eh, lassie,’ she would say, ‘you’ve no call to go ordering all that bread from the baker’s van. And see and watch the milkman—he’ll add a penny or two on the sly.’

  Gradually Flora became familiar with the different carts: the woman who sold Loch Fyne kippers, the coal man, the rag and bone man.

  As for Betsy, the little maid of all work, Flora h
ardly saw her, apart from giving instructions about housework. The lodgers’ rooms were clean and tidy, Flora was pleased to see, and Betsy was quick to understand what was required. But she was like a timid wild creature, darting away if she should meet Flora on the stairs, and she rarely said more than ‘Yes, mum.’ Every evening after her work was done, she disappeared until the next morning when she arrived, trotting up the drive with a determined expression, carrying her apron under her arm.

  The lodgers were a friendly, easily-pleased group, each absorbed in his or her own life and not at all curious about Flora’s background. That suited Flora—not that I have much to talk about, she told herself.

  Nelly, on the other hand, was eager to know all about Flora’s previous home, and pressed her for details of Nancy’s wedding. ‘I mind the mistress going off that day and I said to myself, she’ll maybe not fit into a grand family. Is it a big house your auntie has?’

  ‘Quite big.’ Flora didn’t want to be disloyal.

  ‘And a conservatory! And the food -there would be a grand spread, I’m thinking.‘

  ‘There was chicken... and salmon with all kinds of salads, and then trifles...’ Flora felt she could safely describe the food and the bride’s dress.

  ‘My!’ Nelly stopped rolling out the pastry, and listened eagerly. ‘It’s a bit different here,’ she said. ‘Not that I’ve been to any grand do’s—when my niece was wed they had the wedding breakfast in my sister’s house, a fine steak pie, it being Ne’er Day. But no chicken or salmon, and them being teetotal no wine, just ginger beer.’

  Just then there was a timid knock on the door, and Nelly opened to find a young woman in a long black coat that reached to her ankles. On her head was a man’s flat cap, somewhat the worse for wear. She clutched a bunch of white heather.

  ‘Buy my white heather, lady,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘It’ll bring you luck.’

  ‘Indeed, I’ll have nothing to do with superstition,’ said Nelly firmly, drawing herself up. ‘And you can be off - I’ll have nothing for you.’

  Flora noticing that the coat was old and stained and underneath was a shabby blouse and a long grey skirt, said, ‘Wait a moment. I’ve something that might do you.’

  She came downstairs with the dress Aunt Mina had given her to wear at the wedding.

  ‘Could you use this?’

  The girl’s eyes brightened. ‘ Thank you, miss, ’ she said as she fingered the satin fabric. ‘That’s braw.’

  ‘Take it, if it’s any use,’ said Flora.

  ‘You can have the white heather for naething,’ said the girl eagerly.

  ‘No, thank you. ‘ Flora was about to close the door, when the girl said, ‘Or here, I’ve something else. See, in the cart.’

  Flora followed her outside and saw the four small black kittens nestled on an old blanket in the back of the cart.

  ‘Would you like one - for free? They’re big enough to leave the mother,’ said the girl. ‘They’ll all be grand mousers. Seeing as you’ve given me this braw dress.’

  Flora hesitated for a moment. ‘We haven’t got a cat,’ she said. ‘All right, I will.’

  ‘Any one you like.’

  Flora was instantly drawn to the small black kitten that was thrusting its paws through the bars of the cart. ‘ This one,’ she said.

  ‘Michty, what’s that you’ve got there?’ Nelly turned from stirring a pan of soup on the stove.

  ‘I like cats,’ Flora defended herself. ‘And Aunt Mina would never have one. She had a small lapdog, a snappy little thing. A cat is good company. And it would keep down the mice.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Nelly said. ‘See, there’s a box - it can sleep in the scullery. And there’s milk in the jug on the table; you can give it a saucer.’

  Flora watched proudly as the kitten lapped the milk then settled down on the rag rug in front of the fire

  Nelly shook her head. ‘Well, it can stay, as long as it’s clean. And don’t you go bringing any more animals in here. Or giving any more good clothes to the tinkers. That was a real grand dress you gave that lass,’ she added disapprovingly.

  ‘I’d never wear it again,’ said Flora and she felt a lightness of heart. It was like shaking off the old life, she thought, and starting all over again.

  Chapter 7

  Flora had not forgotten her promise to look for the china shepherdess in the attic. One afternoon when it was quiet downstairs, she left Cousin Chris sleeping in her chair.

  ‘You will find it rather dusty,’ her cousin had said. ‘No one has been up there for a very long time, probably years. I can’t remember what’s all there—probably a lot of junk. But do bring down anything you like.’

  Flora expected to find the door jammed or difficult to open . But to her surprise it opened easily, as if the lock and the hinges had been oiled—and fairly recently.

  She pushed open the door and looked in astonishment at what she saw inside. Like a junk shop, she thought. There were chairs, desks, small tables, a large trunk, fabrics of all sorts, some worn and moth-eaten, and piles of books in every corner. On the tables there were heaps of papers and magazines. Thrown into another corner was old kitchen equipment and several suitcases. There was a roll top desk in the centre of the room, and on the floor in front of the window was stacked china: cups, saucers, soup tureens and large serving dishes. A small window looked out on to the sycamore trees in the garden of the next house.

  Flora paused, then decided to start searching. But as she crossed the threshold, she stopped. ‘No one has been up there for a very long time,’ Cousin Chris had said.

  And yet, why were there very plainly, footprints on the dusty floor leading across the attic? And why did the door open so easily?

  Who had been up there?

  *

  Though Flora made a thorough search, as far as possible, there was no sign of the china shepherdess. Mystified, she made her way downstairs, deciding that she would go back very shortly and search every corner. She hesitated to tell Cousin Chris of the footprints in the dust, and the ease with which the door opened, but said only that she hadn’t found the shepherdess, and would go back to look more thoroughly.

  ‘I’ll go up again tomorrow and have a proper look,’ she promised.

  Flora was puzzled. This certainly was a house of secrets. There was Arabella—had she really been an opera singer? And Miss Craig—what was her background? And Mr Turnbull—if he was a teacher at a well-known school, what was he doing living in a boarding house? And what was the secret of the attic and the footprints in the dust?

  *

  Flora wasn’t able to keep her promise the following afternoon. Instead she had taken the tram to the nearby shops; Nelly was out of flour and semolina. ‘And I’d promised Miss Dunbar I’d make my Holyrood pudding,’ she said, vexed with herself. ‘It’s an old favourite of hers.’

  ‘I’ll fetch what you need,’ offered Flora. It was a fine afternoon with only a light breeze and she hummed happily to herself as she made her way to the tram stop.

  Several people noticed the girl swinging along the road to the shops while dodging the boys playing peevers on the pavement and then throwing a coin into the cap of the old man sitting in front of the butcher’s shop.

  Her errands finished, Flora set off home, but jumping off the tram car at the car stop, she dropped her bags and suddenly fell, wrenching her ankle.

  ‘You all right, miss?’ the ticket collector called.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Flora didn’t want to admit to the pain in her ankle but tried to stand upright as the tram went hurtling on its way.

  ‘Can I help?’ The young man who had got off the tram behind her picked up Flora’s parcels and offered his arm.

  ‘That was so stupid of me,’ Flora said, cross with herself. ‘No, I’m not hurt, thank you, just twisted my ankle, I think. It’s nothing,’ she added with a yelp of pain as she tried to put her foot to the ground.

  ‘Have you far to go?’ He had a deep, pleasan
t voice, and an open, concerned expression. He was not particularly handsome; medium height, stocky, with sandy hair—not that Flora was in any mood to take notice of his looks—but could only be thankful when he repeated, ‘Have you far to go?’

  She explained, and he said cheerfully, ‘No distance. I stay quite near. Do you think you could hang on to me?’

  They inched along the pavement, Flora limping painfully. She knew Aunt Mina would have thought it improper, holding the arm of a young man she had only just met, but her foot hurt, and she didn’t care what Aunt Mina might have thought.

  ‘I’m most grateful,’ Flora said as he helped her up the drive to the kitchen entrance.

  ‘And what have you done to yourself?‘ Nelly was all concern.

  ‘Just a sprain.’ Flora gritted her teeth.

  ‘You sit down there.’ Nelly rushed about fetching cloths and a basin of cold water.

  The young man said from the doorway, ‘I’ll be off then. I hope you’ll soon be recovered.’

  Flora looked up at him. ’I’m so grateful.’

  ’Think nothing of it.’ With a nod he was gone..

  ‘And who was that then?’ Nelly soaked a cloth in cold water and bound it round Flora’s foot.

  ‘I don’t know, and I never properly thanked him. I probably won’t have the chance.’ How could I be so ungrateful, Flora thought. She sighed. ‘I never do the right thing. And I’ve no idea how to talk to men.’

  But a few days later, Flora was sitting in the kitchen, her foot up on a low stool. She was peeling potatoes to help Nelly and listening with half an ear to Nelly’s tales of her large family of brothers, sisters and cousins. There was the cousin, or was it a brother, who had gone to America, made a sizeable fortune, ‘and never a scrape of the pen to his mother,’ Nelly had said impressively. ‘Would you credit it?’

  Flora murmured that she wouldn’t, but Nelly did not really expect a response, and in any case Flora had such difficulty keeping track of this vast family, that she didn’t feel she could make an intelligent reply. Suddenly, a knock came at the door.