The Girl on the Cliff (15 page)

‘Thank you, sir.’

As Mary walked over to the basket and tentatively peered inside, Lawrence added, ‘I think she’s quite attractive for a baby, although I wouldn’t have much experience in these matters. And rather good, too. On the boat-train from France, the child barely whimpered.’

Mary stared at the shock of dark, downy hair, and the pale but perfect complexion. The baby’s thumb was in its mouth and she was fast and contentedly asleep.

‘I fed her just an hour ago,’ commented Mrs Carruthers. ‘She can certainly holler when she wants her grub. I presume you know how to bottle feed a baby and change a napkin?’

‘Of course, Mrs C.’ Mary smiled down at the baby. ‘What is her name?’

Lawrence hesitated, before he said, ‘Anna, her name is Anna.’

‘To be sure,’ Mary whispered, ‘she’s a beautiful little thing. And yes, sir, I’d love to take care of her for you.’

‘Good, then that’s settled.’ Lawrence looked relieved. ‘The baby will be sleeping on the second floor and the nursery has already been prepared. You are to move into it with her today, so you can attend to her feeds in the
night. You will be released from all your household duties for the present. You and Mrs Carruthers must buy whatever is appropriate for the child; perambulators, clothes, etcetera.’

‘Did she not come with any clothes, sir?’

‘The mother packed a small bag for travelling. That is all she has. So,’ he indicated the door, ‘I suggest you take her upstairs now and settle into your room.’

‘May I ask you what country this baby is from?’ said Mary.

Lawrence Lisle frowned and paused for a moment. ‘From this moment on, the child is English. If anybody enquires,
including
any members of the household staff, she is the child of a close friend of mine, whose wife fell sick giving birth to her. Her father was killed in action a month later. I have taken her in as my ward, until her mother is strong enough to care for her herself. Do you understand, Mary?’

‘I understand, sir. And I promise I’ll be taking the best possible care of Anna for you.’

Mary bobbed a little curtsey, left the room and carried the bassinet carefully up the stairs to the second floor. She waited on the landing until Mrs Carruthers joined her.

‘You’re in here.’ Mrs Carruthers led her down the corridor to a bedroom that overlooked the square gardens. ‘I’ve put you in this room because it’s furthest away from the master. Whatever he may say, that baby don’t half caterwaul if she’s hungry, and I don’t want him disturbed.’

Mary gazed in awe at the pretty room. It contained a dressing table and a comfortable wrought-iron bed, with a counterpane spread atop it.

‘Don’t you be getting any ideas above your station, young lady,’ Mrs Carruthers added. ‘You’re only in here because you need to attend to the baby at night.’

‘I won’t,’ agreed Mary quickly, knowing that her sudden elevation in rank might be threatening to Mrs Carruthers’s own position.

‘It’s only temporary, mind. I’m sure that, as soon as he can, the master will want to employ a professional nursemaid. But as I pointed out, with the war on, it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack. I hope you’re grateful that I suggested you for this, my girl. Don’t you go letting me down, will you?’

‘I’ll do my best, Mrs C, I promise you so,’ Mary reassured her. ‘And there’s no need for us to go spending money on clothes for the baby. I’m handy with my needle and thread, and I enjoy sewing.’

‘Right then. Remove your belongings from your old bedroom when you can. There’s a water closet and a bathroom next door. No more pissing in pots for you, my girl. Ain’t you the lucky one?’

‘Yes. Thank you for the chance, Mrs C.’

‘Even though you’re Irish, you’re a good girl, Mary.’ Mrs Carruthers walked to the door then paused. ‘I dunno,’ she said, ‘there’s sommat funny about all this. After you’d left with the baby, the master asked me to call Smith to collect a small suitcase and store it in the attic. He said it was to be held here for the baby’s mum until she arrived to collect it. That little’un doesn’t look English to me,’ she added, peering into the bassinet. ‘Does she to you?’

‘She’s an unusual colour, to be sure,’ agreed Mary carefully. ‘All that dark hair and white skin.’

‘My betting is she’s one of them Russian babies,’ surmised Mrs Carruthers. ‘But we’ll probably never know, will we?’

‘Well now, all that’s important is the little pet’s safe and sound with us here,’ said Mary.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Mrs Carruthers. ‘I’ll see you downstairs later.’

Finally, Mary was left alone with her new charge. She sat on the bed with the baby in the bassinet next to her and stared down into Anna’s tiny face. Eventually, as though the baby knew she was being observed, she twitched, stirred and opened her eyes sleepily.

‘Hello, little pet,’ Mary cooed, looking straight down into the deep, brown eyes. She watched the expression in them change, and realised that the observing was being done by the baby.

Mary grasped the baby’s hand with her fingers. ‘Hello, Anna, I’m here to take care of you.’

It was love at first sight.

The war continued to drag on for the next few months and Mary received only one further letter from Sean. He said he believed the allies were finally winning the battle. Mary wrote faithfully to him every week, and prayed for him every night.

Yet now, her every waking thought was no longer just for Sean, but for the small, exquisite human being she was caring for. She was with the baby twenty-four hours a day. During the morning, after her feed, Anna would sleep outside in the garden, while Mary soaked her napkins and washed the tiny clothes she had sewn for her. After lunch, she would put Anna in the big perambulator and take her for a walk up to Kensington Gardens. They would sit near the statue of Peter Pan and listen to the gossip of the other nursemaids who gathered there with their charges.

They didn’t speak to her – Mary knew they looked down on her, attired as they were in their plain grey dresses, whereas she still wore her parlour maid’s uniform.

After their walk, and if the master was not at home, Mary would take the baby into the kitchen to feed her, where she was cooed over by the household staff. Anna loved being the centre of attention; she would sit upright in her wooden baby chair and bang her spoon on the table, singing along to the sound of it. Every milestone
she passed as she grew was admired and commented on by her audience. There was no animosity from the other servants at Mary’s new position. She was in charge of the little ray of sunshine that lit up the kitchen. Anna was adored by all of them.

At night, as she sat by the bassinet, Mary would sew dresses, the collars decorated with delicate embroidery, and crochet cardigans and bootees. Anna was growing more bonny by the day, as her pale cheeks filled out and the fresh air provided a rosy glow to them.

Lawrence Lisle popped into the nursery occasionally to glance at the baby, enquire after her health and then depart swiftly. Sadly, Mary’s eagerness to show off her charge to him was mostly ignored.

One night in October, as news of an imminent victory ran rife through London, Mary sat by Anna’s cot and watched her sleep. The atmosphere in the house, due to the good news, was one of excitement, with everyone holding their breath to see if the promised armistice would finally come.

Like thousands of other women with their men at the Front, Mary had often imagined how she would feel when it was announced that war was over. Now, she thought with a sigh, she wasn’t sure.

Anna stirred and murmured in her sleep. She went to her immediately and gazed down at her, stroking the soft cheek.

‘What will become of you, if I’m not here to take care of you?’

Tears came unbidden to Mary’s eyes.

The armistice was eventually announced three weeks later. Mrs Carruthers agreed to care for Anna for a few hours while Mary, Nancy and Sam, the footman, joined thousands of other Londoners in celebration. Mary was propelled down the Mall towards Buckingham Palace in an ecstatic crowd, waving flags, singing and cheering. Everyone roared as two small figures appeared on the balcony – she was too far away to see them properly, but she knew it was King George and his wife, her namesake, Mary.

She turned and saw Nancy kissing Sam passionately and then found herself swept up in a pair of strong arms.

‘Isn’t it wonderful news, miss?’ said the soldier as he swung her around then set her down. ‘It’s the start of a whole new world.’

Nancy and Sam had met up with a crowd who were all going back down the Mall to Trafalgar Square to continue the celebrations. Mary walked back through the packed streets alone, enjoying the infectious happiness around her, yet not able to participate fully.

The end of the war meant the end of her time with Anna.

A month later, Mary received a letter from Bridget, Sean’s mother. Bridget had never been good with her letters, and this one was short and to the point. All the boys that had gone away to fight and lived to tell the tale were apparently back home in Dunworley village. Sean was not amongst them. Someone remembered seeing him alive in their last battle at the Somme, but a week ago Bridget had received a letter from the War Office telling her that her son was officially Missing in Action.

Due to the restraints of Bridget’s literacy, it took Mary a few minutes for the meaning of the letter to sink in. Sean was Missing in Action. Presumed dead? Mary didn’t know. She’d heard it was chaos out in France as the soldiers began to make their way home. Huge numbers of them were still unaccounted for. Surely then, she thought desperately, there was still hope?

As the rest of the world slowly began to look to the future for the first time in five years, Mary felt her own was still as much in limbo as it had ever been. And she could not see the point in returning to Ireland until there was news of Sean. At least, here in London, she was busy, and the amount of shillings under her mattress grew by the month.

‘Surely, it’s best if I stay here with you, for now?’ she cooed to Anna as she bathed her. ‘There’s nothing for me back in Ireland until Sean returns, pet, nothing.’

As Christmas approached, guests began to appear back at the dinner table in Cadogan House. One morning in mid-December, Lawrence Lisle called Mary into the drawing room.

With her heart in her mouth, Mary bobbed a curtsey and waited for the axe to fall.

‘Mary, please, sit down.’

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was not the custom for servants to do this in front of their masters. She did so tentatively.

‘I wanted to ask you how Anna is progressing?’

‘Ah now, she’s wonderful, so she is. She’s crawling, and I have a deal of a job to keep up with her, she goes so fast!
She’ll be walking soon, and then we’re in trouble.’ Mary smiled, affection in her eyes.

‘Good, good. Well now, Mary, you’ve probably noticed how the house is coming back to life. To that end, we must look to reinstating the position of parlour maid to wait at table.’

Mary’s face fell and her heart thundered in her chest. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘This was your old position and by rights you should now return to it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Mary’s eyes were downcast and she had to grit her teeth to stop herself crying.

‘However, Mrs Carruthers seems to think that you have a natural affinity with Anna. She has indicated the bond the two of you have formed is strong, and excellent for the development of the child. I agree with her. So, Mary, I wish to ask you what your plans are. I am sorry to hear your fiancé is still missing in action, but the point is this: I am prepared to offer you the permanent post of nursemaid to the child.
If
you are not imminently preparing to scamper back to Ireland the moment your young man is found.’

Master and servant shared a look that said the possibility of that happening was fading by the day.

‘Well now, sir, I can’t be knowing whether he will, but while he … isn’t, I’d be happy … more than happy to continue to care for Anna. But if he did … come home, that is,’ Mary stuttered, ‘I’d be thinking I would have to go back with him to Ireland. And it’s only fair to tell you so, sir.’

Lawrence Lisle thought for a moment, mentally weighing up the odds. ‘Well, perhaps we should cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’re all having to take each day as it comes, and Mrs Carruthers assures me that your care of Anna has been impeccable. So, if you accept the position, you will receive a rise of ten shillings a month and I’ll have Mrs Carruthers do something about finding you a more suitable uniform. I do not wish my friends to think that I am not doing right by the child.’

‘Thank you, sir. And I promise you that I will continue to take the greatest care of Anna. She is such a beautiful child. Perhaps you’d like to visit the nursery to see her. Or I could bring her down here?’ she offered eagerly.

‘When I have time, you may bring her down to see me. Thank you, Mary, and keep up the good work. Could you please ask Mrs Carruthers to join me in here, so we can discuss the engagement of a new parlour maid?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Mary stood up and walked towards the door. She turned back. ‘Sir, the baby’s mammy, do you think she’ll ever be coming for her?’

Lawrence Lisle sighed then shook his head. ‘No, Mary, I doubt that very much. I’d doubt it very much indeed.’

Mary walked down the stairs to the kitchen with a guilty spring in her step. She may have currently lost her beloved Sean, but she was mighty relieved she hadn’t lost Anna too.

The months passed and there was still no word. Mary had taken herself down to the War Office, and queued with the other poor souls who had loved ones as yet unreturned to them. The man behind the desk, harassed by the queue of desperate women, looked Sean up on his lists of missing persons.

‘I’m sorry, madam, but there is little more I can tell you than you already know. Sergeant Ryan has not yet been identified, either living or dead.’

‘Does that mean that perhaps he is alive somewhere and has maybe –’ Mary shrugged in desperation – ‘lost his memory?’

‘Certainly, madam, amnesia is a common phenomenon with many soldiers. But it’s also likely that, if he was alive, he would have been spotted. The Irish Guards’ uniform, in particular, is very noticeable.’