The Girl on the Cliff (17 page)

These days, she couldn’t have a more caring Daddy if he were her real one, Mary often commented in the kitchen. He’d even decided to engage a governess for her. ‘Probably best we educate her here at home. We don’t
want her being teased about her stutter,’ he’d commented.

Yet the passion that took up Anna’s every waking moment was ballet. She lived and breathed it, waiting eagerly for her lesson and spending every day practising the new positions Princess Astafieva taught her.

When Mary chided her for her lack of concentration in her lessons, Anna would give her a bright smile. ‘I w-won’t be needing to kn-know about history when I g-grow up, because I am going to be the best b-ballerina in the world! And you will c-come to my first night, Mary, when I dance Odette/Odile in
Swan L-Lake
!’

Mary did not disbelieve her. If it was simply down to determination alone, she reckoned Anna would fulfil her dream. And as Princess Astafieva had indicated, Anna displayed the talent as well.

When Mary went upstairs to fetch Anna for her bath, she found her pirouetting around the bedroom, excitement written on her face.

‘G-Guess what?! I am going to see the D-Diaghilev’s
Ballets R-Russes
with the Princess and Uncle! They are performing at C-Covent Garden. Alicia M-Markova is dancing Aurora in
The Sleeping Beauty
!’ Anna ended her dance by leaping into Mary’s arms. ‘Now how about th-that?’

‘I’m thrilled for you, pet,’ Mary smiled.

‘And Uncle says we are to go out tomorrow to b-buy me a new dress! I’d like velvet, with a b-big, wide ribbon round my middle,’ she clarified.

‘Then we’ll have to see if we can find it for you,’ agreed Mary. ‘Now, away with you into the bath.’

Although Mary wasn’t to know it, the night that Mr Lisle took Anna to see her first ballet was to change all of their lives.

Anna returned home after the performance, clutching her programme in her small hands, her eyes wide with wonder. ‘Miss M-Markova was so beautiful,’ she said dreamily as Mary tucked her into bed. ‘And her partner, Anton Dolin, lifted her above his head as though she w-was as light as a feather. Princess Astafieva says she knows Miss M-Markova. Perhaps one day I can meet her. Imagine that,’ she added as she put the programme beneath her pillow. ‘G-Goodnight, Mary.’

‘Goodnight, pet,’ Mary whispered. ‘Sleep tight.’

A few days later, Mrs Carruthers came into the kitchen in a state of high excitement.

‘The master’s up there, in the drawing room. He’s asked me to take in afternoon tea. And he’s with …’ Mrs Carruthers paused for full effect, ‘a
woman
.’

At this, all the servants’ ears pricked up.

‘Who is she? Do you know?’ enquired Nancy.

‘No, I don’t. I could be wrong, but there was a look in the master’s eye as he watched her that made me think … well now,’ Mrs Carruthers shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m getting ahead of meself, but I have a feeling our confirmed bachelor might be about to change his spots.’

In the next few weeks, Mrs Carruthers’s intuition looked as if it was going to be proved right. Elizabeth Delancey became a regular visitor to the house. Between them, the servants managed to piece together the information they
had all gathered. It seemed Mrs Delancey was the widow of an old friend of Lawrence Lisle from his schooldays at Eton. Her husband, an officer in the British Army, had lost his life at the Somme, like Sean.

‘That Mrs Delancey’s a one!’ huffed the parlour maid as she brought the tea tray down from the drawing room one afternoon. ‘She told me the scones tasted stale, and to tell Cook.’

‘And who does she think she is to be making such comments!’ exclaimed Mrs Carruthers. ‘She told me yesterday there was smudges on the mirror in the drawing room and could I see to it the maid was more careful next time.’

‘She looks like a horse,’ added Nancy, ‘with that long face and them droopy eyes!’

‘She’s no beauty, that’s for sure,’ agreed Mrs Carruthers, ‘and nearly as tall as the master. But it’s not her looks that worry me, it’s her character. She’s getting her feet under his table, well and good, and it will be trouble for all of us if she’s here permanently, you mark my words.’

‘And he’s never after asking Anna to go to the drawing room since she arrived here,’ Mary said quietly. ‘In fact, he’s hardly seen her at all in the past month. The little pet keeps asking me why he doesn’t call for her any more.’

‘She’s a cold one, she is, and she won’t want to be having no competition for her man’s affections. And we all know how the master is about Anna. She’s been his two eyes, and Lady Muck won’t like that at all.’ Mrs Carruthers wagged her finger at no one in particular.

‘What if he marries her?’ Mary asked, her fear raising the question they all wanted to ask.

‘Then there’s trouble for all of us,’ Mrs Carruthers repeated grimly, ‘and there ain’t no two ways about it.’

Three months later, Mr Lisle called his servants into the dining room to speak to them. Elizabeth Delancey stood next to him as he announced proudly to his household staff that the two of them were to be married as soon as the wedding could be arranged.

The mood that night in the kitchen was subdued. Each one of the servants knew their comfortable world was about to change. As the new mistress of the house, Elizabeth Delancey would, on her marriage, take charge of the running of the house. And the staff would be answerable to her.

‘D-do you like Mrs D-Delancey?’ Anna asked Mary quietly as she read her a story before bedtime.

‘Well now, I’d say I hardly know her, but I’m sure if Uncle thinks she’s grand, she must be.’

‘She told me my speech was f-funny and I looked …’ Anna searched her mind for the word, ‘scraggy. W-what is scraggy, Mary?’

‘Ah, it means you are a pretty little thing, pet,’ Mary comforted her as she tucked her into bed.

‘She said that I must call her “Aunt” when she b-becomes Uncle’s wife.’ Anna lay down on her pillows, her huge dark eyes nervous. ‘She won’t b-become my mother, will she, Mary? I mean, I know you’re not really my m-mother, but I feel like you are.’

‘No, pet. Don’t you be worrying your head over that, you know I’ll always be here to take care of you. Night, night, sleep tight.’ Mary kissed Anna gently on the forehead.

As she turned off the light and began to leave the room, a voice came through the darkness.

‘Mary?’

‘What is it, pet?’

‘I don’t think she l-likes me.’

‘Don’t be daft! How can anyone not like
you
? Now you stop your worrying and close your eyes.’

The wedding took place in a church near Elizabeth Delancey’s parents’ home in Sussex. Mary was asked to bring Anna to sit in the congregation. The bride’s nieces performed the role of bridesmaids.

Cadogan House held its breath for a month while the newlyweds took a honeymoon in the South of France. The day they were due back, Mrs Carruthers ordered the house to be cleaned and polished from top to bottom. ‘I will not have that woman suggesting I don’t know how to take care of her new home,’ she muttered to her staff.

Mary put Anna in her best dress to greet her uncle and her new aunt, her heart heavy with a sense of unease.

Mr and Mrs Lisle arrived home at teatime. The servants lined up in the hall to greet them and clapped reticently. Their new mistress had a few words with each of them. Anna stood with Mary expectantly at the end of the queue, waiting to perform her perfect curtsey. Mrs Lisle simply nodded at Anna then moved on and into the drawing room. Mr Lisle followed suit.

‘She wants to see each of us individually tomorrow,’ Mrs Carruthers huffed later. ‘And you too, Mary. Gawd help us all!’

One by one the next morning, the servants filed into the drawing room to meet their new mistress. Mary stood nervously outside, awaiting her turn.

‘Come,’ said the voice, and Mary stepped inside. ‘Good morning, Mary,’ said Elizabeth Lisle.

‘Good morning, Mrs Lisle. May I be offering you my personal congratulations on your marriage?’

‘Thank you.’ Her thin lips did not curl into a smile. ‘I wish to inform you that, from now on, any decisions regarding Mr Lisle’s ward will be taken by myself. Mr Lisle is very busy at the Foreign Office, and it is not acceptable for him to be bothered with the details of a child.’

‘Yes, Mrs Lisle.’

‘I’d prefer it if you call me “ma’am”, Mary. That is what I am used to in my own home.’

‘Yes … ma’am.’

Elizabeth Lisle swept over to the desk, on which were laid out the ledgers containing the monthly accounts. ‘I shall also be taking over these,’ she indicated the ledgers, ‘from Mrs Carruthers. It seems to me, having studied them, that there has been sloppiness in the use of finances. I will be putting a halt to this immediately. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘For example …’ Mrs Lisle pulled her horn-rimmed glasses, hung by a chain around her neck, up on to her nose to read the ledger. ‘It says here that Anna’s costs are running at over a hundred shillings per month. Can you explain where this money goes?’

‘Well, ma’am, Anna has two ballet lessons a week, costing forty shillings a month. She also has a governess to come in
and help her with her lessons every morning at a cost of fifty shillings a month. Then there are her clothes, and –’

‘Enough!’ snapped Mrs Lisle. ‘It is patently clear to me that the child has been indulged and the expenses you talk of are unnecessary. I will be speaking to Mr Lisle about them later tonight. The child is eight, is she not?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Then I would hardly think it necessary for her to be taking two ballet lessons a week.’ Mrs Lisle raised her eyebrows and sighed as an indication of her dissatisfaction. ‘You may go, Mary.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘B-but, Mary, why can’t I go twice a week to my ballet lessons? One isn’t enough!’ Anna’s eyes were full of anguish.

‘Perhaps you will again, pet, but for now, Uncle can’t afford the money it costs.’

‘B-but he’s just g-got a new p-posting! And everyone in the kitchen was talking of the big diamond necklace he’s just b-bought Aunt. How c-can he not have ten shillings a week if he c-can b-buy that?’ Emotion making her stutter worse, Anna burst into tears.

‘Now, now, pet.’ Mary put her arms around the child. ‘The nuns always told me to be grateful for what I was getting. At least you have one lesson still.’

‘B-but it’s not enough! It’s not enough!’

‘Well now, you will just have to practise more in the meantime. Please try not to go upsetting yourself.’

But Anna was inconsolable, just as Mary had known she would be.

After his marriage, Lawrence Lisle was rarely at home. When he was, Anna would wait in an agony of anticipation for him to call her into the drawing room. Mary’s heart broke as she watched the disappointment on the child’s face when he didn’t.

‘He doesn’t l-love me any more. Uncle doesn’t l-love me. He loves Aunt. And does everything she t-tells him.’

The kitchen was in full agreement with Anna.

‘She’s got him where she wants him, good and proper,’ sighed Mrs Carruthers. ‘I didn’t think the master had it in him to be so cruel,’ she added. ‘Poor little mite. He hardly speaks to Anna these days, doesn’t even spare a glance for her, from what I’ve seen.’

‘Probably get a clip round the ear from the mistress if he did!’ put in Nancy. ‘I reckon he’s as scared of her as we are. She’s never satisfied, that one, always finding fault with whatever I do. If it continues, I’ve half a mind to leave. There’s other employment for women these days, and well paid too.’

‘I’m of the same mind,’ agreed Mrs Carruthers. ‘My friend Elsie tells me they’re looking for a housekeeper just around the Square. I might go and apply.’

Mary listened to them wistfully. She knew that leaving would never be an option for her.

The household staff lived in a constant state of tension, knowing whatever they did and however hard they worked would never be enough to satisfy the new Mrs Lisle. The parlour maid left, and then the cook. Smith, the butler, decided it was time to retire. Mary did her best to keep herself and Anna out of the way, going about their business as quietly and invisibly as possible. But, often, the call
would come from the drawing room. Mary was not allowed to accompany Anna and would hover nervously outside waiting for her to emerge, usually tear-stained. Whatever Elizabeth Lisle could find to criticise in Anna, she did. From her halting speech to the bow in Anna’s hair being untied and dirty footprints up the stairs, Anna got the blame.

‘She h-hates me, she hates me,’ Anna cried on Mary’s shoulder one night.

‘She doesn’t hate you, pet, that’s just the way she is. With everybody.’

‘It’s not a very n-nice “way”, is it, Mary?’

Mary couldn’t disagree.

In the autumn of 1927, when Anna was nine, Lawrence Lisle left for his new, permanent posting as British Consul in Bangkok. Elizabeth Lisle was to follow him in three months’ time.

‘Well, we got to look on the bright side – at least we only have to suffer a few more weeks of her,’ said Mrs Carruthers. ‘With any luck, they won’t be back for years.’

‘Maybe she’ll die of some tropical disease and never come back,’ sniffed Nancy.

Lawrence Lisle offered a curt, unaffectionate goodbye to Anna as his wife stood next to him, watching his every move. Then it was Elizabeth Lisle’s turn to say goodbye to her husband.

Lawrence put his arms around her. ‘So, darling, I will see you in Bangkok.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And don’t worry about anything here. Rest assured, I will make sure the house runs smoothly in your absence.’

Two days later, Mary was called into the drawing room.

‘Mary,’ Elisabeth Lisle attempted a tight smile, ‘I’ve asked you here to tell you that your services in this house are no longer required. Due to my imminent departure to join my husband in Bangkok, it has been decided by
me that it’s best if Anna enters a boarding school. Mr Lisle and I will be in Bangkok for at least the next five years and this house is to be closed up. It is a waste of money keeping the staff on while we are away. I understand that you have been with Anna for nine years and it will be a wrench for both of you. Therefore you will be paid a month in lieu. I will be taking Anna down to her new school at the end of the week, and you will leave this house on the same day. I will tell her tomorrow she is to go away. But I think it is perhaps best if you say nothing to her for now about you leaving. We don’t want the child becoming hysterical.’