‘Said she didn’t want no stranger lookin’ after ’er little Mollie,’ Mrs Eddis remarked, having forcibly removed Linnet’s case from her grasp in order to carry it up the stairs and casting a curious glance at the ‘replacement nanny’ as she did so. ‘Said no one understood the kid like she did, that she’d ha’ sooner chose someone to come in ’erself.’ She reached the head of the stairs and stood for a moment to catch her breath. ‘Made me wonder, that did.’
‘What did you wonder, Mrs Eddis?’ Linnet asked. ‘Here, let me.’ She reclaimed her suitcase firmly and this time Mrs Eddis let her do so. ‘Did Mr Cowan not say that Mollie knew me?’
‘No, Miss, nor he never said it were you,’ Mrs Eddis assured her. ‘Just kep’ sayin’ a friend were comin’ in. And I wondered, ’cos we don’t reckon, Ethel an’ me, as ’ow Miss Peters were too good wi’ Mollie.’
‘You never said anything, Mrs Eddis,’ Linnet said with a mildness she was far from feeling. Why on earth hadn’t the woman told Mr Cowan of her suspicions? It would have confirmed his own fears and he would, presumably, have acted more speedily.
‘Well, no, Miss. The nanny was chose by Dr Davies . . . it didn’t seem right to question it,’ Mrs Eddis said, going ponderously ahead of Linnet up the corridor and speaking over her shoulder. ‘Still, all’s well that ends well, they say.’ She threw open a white-painted door. ‘Your room, miss, wi’ the connectin’ door to the nursery.’
It was a pleasant room with a wide windowseat and a view over the park. Linnet put her case down on the chest of drawers and studied her surroundings with awe. There was a pink rug on the floor, pink curtains at the windows and a pink shade on the electric light overhead. The bed had a white lace counterpane flung carelessly across it, and there were two chairs, both basketwork, with fat embroidered cushions on the seats. It did not look as she had imagined a nanny’s room should look to Linnet, though she knew herself to be ignorant in such matters.
‘Nice, ain’t it?’ Mrs Eddis said behind her. ‘She did ’erself awright, did Nanny Peters. Kept bringin’ stuff in . . . most o’ this stuff were in the spare room but it weren’t used, so . . . but I mustn’t stand ’ere chattin’. Make yourself at ’ome, miss, and ring if you want anything. Ethel will be up before the cat can scratch.’
‘Where’s Mollie?’
‘Havin’ a rest in ’er room. It’s just through there, miss.’ The housekeeper indicated a door to the right of the bed with a jerk of her chin. ‘She’ll sleep till she’s roused, miss. Ever so good she is.’
But in fact, when Linnet looked into the nursery Mollie was lying in her bed, straight as a die, with her eyes wide open. She closed them as soon as she realised Linnet was there, though, so Linnet said cheerily, ‘I’ve just popped in to see if you’re awake yet, dear. It’s time for some tea, but before we have it I thought we might have a play. But if you’re still tired, of course . . .’
Mollie sat up. She had a small, triangular face, big, grey-green eyes and straight, very dark brown hair. ‘Play?’ she said looking round her carefully.
‘Yes, play. Nanny Peters has gone away, she isn’t coming back for a long time so we can play if we like. What would you like to do until teatime?’
Mollie slid carefully off the bed. ‘Ring o’ roses,’ she said in her small, flat voice. ‘Ring o’ roses, please.’
Linnet went to take her hand and saw Mollie go rigid. Carefully and slowly, she said, therefore, ‘I don’t know your house very well yet, Mollie. I’m a bit afraid of getting lost. Will you take me down to the garden?’
Mollie looked at her. You could see all sorts of emotions warring on the small face. Then, wordlessly, she took Linnet’s hand and led her, not out of the nursery door and onto the landing, but through the pink bedroom. She looked around carefully, then she peeped into the suitcase, unpacked but open now on the chest of drawers, then she looked up at Linnet. Linnet could read the unasked question.
‘I’m sleeping here now, Mollie,’ Linnet said reassuringly. ‘Nanny Peters has gone away. She’ll be sleeping somewhere else.’
Mollie didn’t smile, but it was as though she relaxed all over. She even gave a tiny sigh. Then she pulled Linnet over towards the door. ‘Ring o’ roses now,’ she said. ‘Mollie
play
!’
The rest of the day passed in a flash. Mr Cowan, who had deemed it politic to keep out of the way for a bit, returned to his home to find his daughter and Miss Murphy playing games in the garden – very discreet, careful games for the most part – and then the three of them had tea on the terrace, the tea augmented by delicious cakes and tiny sandwiches. Then Mollie went with both of them to the park, fed the ducks and even ran on the grass. Mr Cowan marvelled at the change in his child and watched whilst Linnet made her a daisy chain and Mollie wore it proudly, keeping it on for the rest of the time they were in the park, during the walk home, and only shedding it, reluctantly, when Linnet promised to put it in water until the following morning.
‘And now it’s time for your bath and after that Daddy is going to read you a bedtime story,’ Linnet said and Mr Cowan, primed, said that indeed he was and it would be a jolly good story, too. ‘Do you want to come and watch me bath her?’ Linnet asked, when she and Mollie were going upstairs. ‘Mollie is going to swim and splash, you ought to see that!’
But Mr Cowan thought it might be wiser to let Mollie swim and splash alone for a day or so, and settled down with his
Evening Echo
. But he had scarcely done more than read the headlines when he heard a bell pealing vigorously and a couple of minutes later Ethel came hurriedly into the room.
‘Oh sir, Miss says would you go up to Miss Mollie’s bathroom, please. She really thinks you ought, sir.’
Mr Cowan immediately folded his paper and ran up the stairs two at a time. Miss Murphy was very inexperienced, suppose she had unknowingly done the child some harm? He burst into the bathroom to find Mollie sitting serenely in the tub surrounded by bakelite ducks. She jumped and gasped at his sudden entry but Linnet put a soothing hand on her shoulder and thereafter she ignored them both but continued to move the ducks around whilst her lips moved soundlessly and her eyes never left the toys.
‘What is it, Miss Murphy?’ Mr Cowan said quietly. ‘The maid said . . . oh, my God!’
He had seen what Miss Murphy had brought him in to see – the child’s upper arms and much of her torso were black with bruises.
‘
That
is how Nanny Peters kept order,’ Linnet said in a deceptively even voice. ‘Nips, pinches, blows from a hairbrush – I daresay we shall never know the half of it. That is the reason Mollie always wore long-sleeved frocks – I did wonder why, but I never dreamed that woman would do anything so wicked. Sir, you’ll surely dismiss her after this?’
‘I shan’t have to,’ Mr Cowan said grimly. ‘She must know she would be found out – she’ll never dare show her face in these parts again. What an evil woman!’
‘Yes. But at least Mollie’s so young that the harm can be undone,’ Linnet said. ‘And I intend to spend the next fortnight doing just that!’
For the whole of the first week the sun shone every single day, and after a week of constant outdoor play, the company of other children in the park and the loving attention of Linnet and her father, Mollie positively blossomed. She began to chatter freely, she ran, she even shouted. At first she was delighted with any story her father told but she soon had the confidence to choose which story she preferred and very rapidly learned the words so that she could correct her father if he went wrong. As her confidence improved she actually seemed to grow prettier and everyone who came to the house remarked on the change in the child.
Linnet wondered if Mollie would begin to grow quiet again as time went on and once, when they were coming home from a day at the seaside, with Mollie leaning drowsily against her shoulder, Linnet said to the child, ‘You’ll never see Nanny Peters again, you know.’
‘I know,’ Mollie said. ‘You’re my nanny now, Linnet. I do love you.’
‘Well, I don’t . . .’ Linnet began, but Mr Cowan turned towards her and put a finger to his lips.
‘Hush,’ he said. ‘It’s too soon. Later, Miss Murphy.’
When they got home and Mollie was safely bathed and bedded, Linnet went down to dinner with her employer and over steak and duchesse potatoes raised the question, once again, of a nanny.
‘Because it won’t do for her to grow too fond of me so that she resents the change,’ she pointed out. ‘She’s had a bad time, sir, she deserves better than that.’
‘She deserves to keep you,’ Mr Cowan said calmly. ‘And I hope she will. You are a delightful person, Miss Murphy, and I am beginning to think it isn’t only Mollie who can’t manage without you. You’ve made us both very happy – wouldn’t you like to stay with us, Mollie and me?’
‘I’m a secretary, Mr Cowan,’ Linnet said uncomfortably. ‘I’m not
really
a nanny, I’m not trained or anything. I love it here, and I love Mollie, but . . .’
‘Well, you’ve another five days to go; let’s see how you feel at the end of that time,’ Mr Cowan said comfortably. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to ask you to do another job for me – would you choose me a nice, sensible girl to act as nurserymaid? That woman said it wasn’t necessary and to my shame it never occurred to me that it wasn’t true, it was just because the fewer people who knew what went on in that nursery the better Miss Peters liked it. I simply accepted her at her own valuation, I’m afraid. But I’ll never do so again, which is why I’d like you to find me a nurserymaid, Miss Murphy.’
‘Oh . . . but I wouldn’t know where to get a nurserymaid from,’ Linnet said, worried at the thought of having to find a member of staff for her employer. ‘I’d rather you or Mrs Eddis did it, sir.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll speak to the people at the employment exchange and get them to send half-a-dozen suitable young women up to the house. All you will have to do is talk to them informally and choose someone who will be kind and good to my little girl.’
‘Oh, I can do
that
,’ Linnet said, much relieved. ‘I’d like to do that, sir.’
That conversation took place on a Tuesday. On the Thursday, seven nervous young women arrived at the kitchen door and were shown, one by one, into the small drawing-room where Linnet, at first extremely nervous too, soon settled into her stride and positively enjoyed interviewing.
‘I advise you to employ Emma Alcott, Mr Cowan,’ she said at dinner that night, having seen all seven of the applicants. ‘She’s bright and sweet-natured, very clean and intelligent and she really loves children. I don’t think you could do better than Emma.’
‘Good. Then would you ring the exchange in the morning and tell them your decision? The agency advised me on wages and on terms and conditions so you needn’t bother about that. Just confirm that Miss Alcott has the job and ask her to start on Monday next.’
Oddly enough, it was that remark which made Linnet think. She agreed to ring the agency next day and went to bed, but not, alas, to sleep. Her mind was far too active for slumber. Next Monday the new nurserymaid, the sweet, pretty little Emma Alcott, chosen by Linnet, would start work. And on that same day, she, Linnet, would be back at her desk, taking dictation, typing up letters, filing, running errands, coming in early and leaving late. She would have butties for her lunch and not homemade soup, a crusty roll, a beautifully served salad with a lemon cream or a dish of strawberries to follow. She would drink tea and not coffee, would cook her own dinner and after she had eaten it would make do with her own company most of the time. Here, Mr Cowan shared her dinner, then they talked quietly in the twilight, or made plans for the next day. He told her amusing stories about the office and she told him how funny Mollie had been. They enjoyed each other’s company until bedtime when Mrs Eddis came through with a tray on which rested two cups of hot chocolate and a tempting display of biscuits. Linnet checked that Mollie was sleeping soundly, undressed, got into her comfortable bed and slept soundly until morning.
Since Mollie’s new-found confidence, the child padded into the room each morning and roused Linnet, who enjoyed being woken by a soft little hand on her face, a soft voice telling her that it was ‘Morning time now, time to wake up, Linnet!’ and always moved over to let Mollie come down the bed with her so that when Ethel came in with a tray of tea it was two faces she saw on the pillow, and two smiles which greeted her.
Back in the Boulevard you’ll wake alone, make your own tea, get your own breakfast, come to that, Linnet reminded herself, turning her hot pillow over to get at the cool, uncrushed cotton. But that’s freedom, isn’t it? That’s being a working girl, independent, a career woman in the making. That’s what you want – isn’t it? You’ll be gossiping with Rose, smiling at the clerks and keeping the office boys in order, seeing Mr Cowan across his desk and nowhere else . . .
She turned over again and stuck her feet out of bed because it was a warm night and no doubt the reason she couldn’t sleep was the heat and nothing else. But the moment she got comfortable her thoughts returned to her problem. What to do for the best? Having your own little room and being free between six in the evening and nine the next morning was important – wasn’t it? Everyone knew that domestic service of any sort was low because you did not have the same amount of freedom and freedom was important – wasn’t it? She turned over again and threw one of her pillows on the floor. She would sleep better flat, perhaps.
She had been surprised at the salary which Nanny Peters received, though. If you took into account the rent which Linnet paid for her room and the tram fares to and from work alone, then a children’s nanny was laughing all the way to the bank. A nanny had uniform provided, the use of the whole of her employer’s home plus, of course, the privacy of her own domain and her keep. A nanny’s salary, then, was pocket money. Why, I could save just about all of it and after a few years I’d have enough to buy all sorts, Linnet thought, excited by the prospect of such riches. Rose won’t earn money like that ever, probably, and she’s really senior compared to me. If I ever
did
decide to get married then I’d have a real little nest-egg towards me own home, whereas even the best of secretaries found saving a tiny sum each week hard work.