‘Why can’t you pick it up?’ Lonnie said aggressively. She was hot and cross and in no mood to be trifled with. ‘As for Kitty, she’s probably on my bed … but I’d better just check.’ She went to pass Hester but was grabbed and turned to face her clothing. Hester said nothing, but gave her a little shake and pointed. Lonnie sighed. ‘You asked where Kitty was so I was going to find out for sure,’ she said plaintively. ‘Whilst I do that, you might as well pick up my coat and things.’
This time the shake was harder and accompanied by a push in the back. Lonnie compressed her lips. Six weeks ago she would have pouted, run out of the room or demanded that a maid be sent up to do the task but time was already changing her attitude.
Despite her forays into the outside world, she had made no friends amongst the children who played in the parks. Some of them had made overtures but always seemed to draw back, and though Lonnie told herself it did not matter she was often lonely, so was careful not to antagonize Hester too much. Hester had made it clear, however, that if she herself were to remain at the house in Shaw Street, Lonnie must begin to do more. Looking back now, as she bent to pick up the clothing, Lonnie remembered how she had fought against doing such menial tasks at first. The first time she had had to empty Kitty’s litter tray, for instance, she had stalked indignantly down the stairs and out into the garden, the reeking seed box and its nauseous contents held out in front of her whilst she muttered imprecations against Hester and every other member of the household. She had meant to tip the seed box out on to the lawn, hoping that one of the maids would step straight into the mess and carry it back into the kitchen to disgust the other servants. Mimms, who had been weeding a nearby flowerbed, had scotched this nasty intention by calling her over and telling her that there was a compost heap at the end of the garden, behind the shed.
‘And don’t think I couldn’t tell from the way you was behavin’ what you intended to do with that stuff,’ he said severely. ‘If you want to keep that kitten, you’ll dispose of its messes where I say, for I won’t have my flowerbeds or my lawn mucked up by cat dirt.’
Lonnie had looked at his rosy, countryman’s face and stern eyes and had said pertly: ‘How dare you speak to me like that! You are only a servant and an outdoor one at that. In future, I shall empty the litter
tray as soon as I am outside the house. And don’t you dare threaten my cat, you wicked old man.’
What had happened next had shocked Lonnie to the core of her being, for Mimms had made as if to turn away, knocking the litter tray as he did so. The contents had cascaded down Lonnie’s front, staining her pink gingham dress, her white stockings and her brown leather sandals. Naturally, she had begun to shout, to accuse Mimms of deliberately attacking her, but the old man had just laughed.
‘I reckon you got what was comin’ to you,’ he said. ‘It were an accident, but unless you want a few more similar accidents, young woman, you’ll not speak to me like that again. Why, I’m fifty years older than you – didn’t no one ever tell you to show respect for your elders? D’you want everyone to think you’re a nasty, spiteful kid? Most of the servants think it already, an’ I don’t blame ’em. I disagreed, I thought you were just spoilt, but now I’m not so sure. Mebbe they’m right and you’re as black as you’re painted. What d’you say to that, eh?’
Lonnie had looked down at her ruined dress and then up into the old man’s face. Thoughts raced through her head. People, it seemed to her, did not like Leonora Victoria Hetherington-Smith very much, but this old man had not yet made up his mind. If she apologised … but why should she? He was only a servant after all.
She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him and with some astonishment heard her own voice saying penitently, ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Mimms. Miss Elliott is always telling me that things are different here, but sometimes I forget. I’ll take the box to the compost heap in future, truly I will.’
Mr Mimms’s face softened and he held out the
spade he was carrying. ‘Scrape the stuff up wi’ this and purrit back in the seed box,’ he said gruffly, ‘then we’ll say no more. Tell you what, Miss Lonnie, one of these days mebbe I’ll give you a little garden plot of your own, then you’ll appreciate me compost heap. You ain’t such a bad little thing after all.’
This somewhat tepid phrase had thrilled Lonnie out of all proportion to the words used and she began to seek Mimms out when she visited the garden, even offering help should he need it.
Now, going into her bedroom and checking that Kitty was still queening it in the middle of her bed, Lonnie remembered that she did have a friend, for only the previous week Mimms had done as he had half promised and had given her a small piece of garden for her very own. She was eager to begin work in it as soon as she and Hester had had their tea.
Returning to the nursery – only now it was called the schoolroom – Lonnie assured Hester that the kitten was fine. ‘We’ll have tea early tonight, so I can start work on my piece of garden,’ she said.
Hester heaved a sigh. ‘May we have tea early tonight, please, Hester?’ she said reprovingly. ‘Does nothing ever stay in that butterfly brain of yours, Lonnie? You simply must learn to ask; little girls do not issue commands as though they were colonels in the army!’
‘They do in India …’ Lonnie was beginning, then saw the look on her companion’s face and hastily changed it to: ‘Please may we have tea early today, Hester?’
Hester, laughing, said she would do her best. After Mrs Jackson had left, it had been agreed between Miss Hetherington-Smith and Hester that
nursery tea should be prepared and served by Hester herself. The new cook, Mrs Ainsworth, had set up quite a little kitchen in one of the spare attic rooms, even getting a small icebox so that milk would keep in all but the hottest weather. Each morning now, one of the maids toiled up the stairs with a fresh loaf from the local baker, a jug of milk, a large pat of butter and anything else which Hester thought suitable for their tea. Today it was to be cold ham and salad, accompanied by a plateful of bread and butter, followed by a square of seed cake. This last was regarded with abhorrence by Lonnie but Hester cheated by spreading jam over each slice and making a custard with the remains of the milk which she allowed Lonnie to pour over her portion.
Whilst they ate this repast, Kitty, who was now quite a well grown little cat, tucked into a bowl of bread and milk.
‘Finished!’ Lonnie said as soon as she had scraped the last trace of custard from her dish. ‘That was really nice, Hester. I think I like nursery tea best of all our meals. I wonder if I might take Kitty into the garden with me? After all, she’s getting to be quite big now and I’m sure she won’t try to escape. Mr Mimms says it’s agin nature for a cat to be always indoors and he says even if she does get out of the garden, she’ll come back home of her own accord, ’cos cats knows their own place once they’s fully growed.’
‘Lonnie! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times not to imitate people’s accents …’
‘Yes, but it’s what Mr Mimms
said
,’ Lonnie pointed out. ‘It is hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong, when you’re in a new country and people talk differently. Can I take Kitty out with me, Hester?
I wonder if the other kittens get to go into gardens? They were all sold weeks ago! I bet that boy was pleased.’
‘Yes, you may take her with you if you promise me not to go chasing after her if she gets out of the garden,’ Hester said, after a moment’s thought. ‘You are still not used to the traffic on the streets, and dreadful though it would be to lose Kitty it would be even worse if I were to lose you! So remember, no straying outside the garden.’
‘Kitty can’t possibly escape unless someone leaves the street door open,’ Lonnie pointed out, picking her pet up and giving her an exuberant hug. ‘She’s far too little to climb that huge wall and anyway she’ll have heaps of exploring to do in the garden. She won’t be interested in the outside world for a while yet. Call me when you want me to come in, because Aunt Emmeline still hasn’t written to my father to ask if I may have a watch.’
‘I’ll come down when I’ve cleared up the tea things and see how you and Kitty are getting on,’ Hester promised. ‘Does Kitty’s dirt tray need changing? If so, you might as well kill two birds with one stone and take it down with you when you go.’
‘Oh – oh, pooh! I’ll be carrying Kitty though, so couldn’t you …?’ Lonnie was beginning, when she belatedly remembered that she was supposed to do everything for Kitty, and to do it willingly. Heaving a sigh, she went over and picked up the seed box, then headed for the door.
Hester went ahead of her to open the door, then took the seed box from her. ‘Just this once, I’ll bring it downstairs for you because you were a good girl and remembered the rules,’ she said approvingly. ‘You
are beginning to learn some nice English manners, Lonnie, so I’m happy to help you out on occasion.’
‘Thank you,’ Lonnie said humbly, and together the two descended the stairs and presently emerged into the garden. How odd it was, Lonnie thought, as she set the kitten on the ground, took the box from Hester and watched her governess disappear into the house once more, that the sun which had seemed so oppressive in the streets should seem merely warming in the garden. But then she remembered that it was later in the day and that a pleasant breeze was stirring the branches of the tall trees.
‘Well, missie? Have you come to do a bit of digging in your little plot? I said I’d find you a small spade and I’ve done just that – tek a hold on it and let’s see whether it’s right for you.’ Mr Mimms stood before her, a miniature spade in one hand and a miniature fork in the other. Lonnie beamed at him, delighted that he had remembered how futile her efforts had been when wielding his enormous garden tools.
‘Where did you get them?’ she asked delightedly. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Mimms, how very kind you are! I’ll try them at once but I’m sure they’re both exactly right.’
The old man walked down the garden beside Lonnie, telling her that the tools had once belonged to his small son. ‘All I had to do was clean ’em up a bit,’ he assured her. ‘My Ron were happy for you to have ’em since he’s no young ’uns of his own.’ They had reached the end of the garden and Lonnie seized the fork and began to dig, exclaiming with pleasure at how the brightly shining metal tines penetrated the hard-packed earth, for her little garden was close up against the wall and the soil had not been worked for many years.
‘Don’t try to do too much at once; pace yourself,’ Mr Mimms advised, watching with approval as Lonnie began to turn the soil, breaking up the pieces with repeated blows of the fork. ‘When you’ve dug the whole patch, I’ll barrow over some compost, ’cos you have to feed soil if you want your plants to thrive, same as you do that plaguey kitten.’
Kitty, who had been cautiously investigating the newly turned earth, sprang back as a worm came wriggling to the surface. Lonnie laughed breathlessly. ‘Right, Mr Mimms,’ she said, wiping drops of perspiration from her hot face. ‘Oh, Kitty, get out from under my fork or I’ll spear you by mistake and that would be terrible. Go and play on the lawn or under the trees, where it’s cool. I’m far too busy to amuse you now.’
Mr Mimms pulled a large gunmetal watch from his waistcoat pocket and examined it, then put it back. ‘Time I were off,’ he said gruffly. ‘Sure you’ll be all right, Miss Lonnie? Only Mrs Mimms gets that aerated if I’m late for me tea, life ain’t worth livin’.’
‘I’ll be fine, Mr Mimms,’ Lonnie assured him. She was very warm and her arms and legs were already beginning to tell her that this unusual work was not entirely to their taste, but she continued doggedly digging. In her imagination, her garden was already a mass of wonderful things. She would grow flowers, fruit, vegetables – oh, all sorts. But first, she knew, she must conquer the soil, enrich it with compost as Mr Mimms had advised, and find some means of earning a few pennies so that she might buy seeds. ‘Thanks ever so much for my garden, Mr Mimms, and for my gardening tools. I’ll take great care of them, the way you showed me last week, and put
them ever so carefully into your shed and remember to lock it afterwards.’
‘An’ give Mrs Ainsworth the key, ’cos I don’t want to find me shed burgled when I comes in tomorrer,’ Mr Mimms said. He wheeled his rusty old bicycle towards the door in the high wall. ‘Catch a hold of that cat, Miss Lonnie, or it’ll be out through the gate and off down the road before you can say knife. Cats is that contrary, I’ve never known one what didn’t want to be on the other side of any door it set eyes on.’
‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ Lonnie murmured, clasping Kitty to her chest and watching Mr Mimms as he wheeled his bicycle through the doorway into Haig Street. Kitty stared at the closed door, her golden eyes round with inquisitiveness, and Lonnie dropped a kiss between the little cat’s pricked ears before returning her to the ground once more. ‘Now we’ve got the garden all to ourselves,’ she told her. ‘I wish I could spare the time to play with you, Kitty, but I’ve got far too much work to do.’ She took up her fork once more. ‘I should like to get the digging finished before Hester calls us.’
The kitten miaowed and wound round her ankles, and then the little cat’s attention was distracted by a passing butterfly. She leapt in pursuit, standing on her hind legs and batting fruitlessly at the air beneath the lovely insect. Lonnie watched her for a moment, then went back to her digging and had actually turned over a good half of her plot before she stopped for a rest and, looking round, realised with dismay that the kitten seemed to have disappeared. All thoughts of her garden forgotten, Lonnie cast down her fork and was about to begin searching Mr Mimms’s vegetable plot and herbaceous borders
when a loud miaow caused her to look up. Precariously balanced on an upper branch of the tall lime tree sat Kitty, eyes wide with fright, tiny white claws clutching desperately as the bough upon which she perched dipped and swayed in the breeze.