Maryann obeyed, thinking, someone’s been pouring something stronger down him by the look of him.
‘I don’t know why – I feel in a damn good mood today,’ Roland said, flinging himself down on the bed.
‘That’ll be a bit of sunshine, sir.’
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right.’
She went to the door.
‘Nelson?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I—’ He opened his mouth, then closed it again, brow wrinkling. ‘I was on the verge of saying something tremendously important just then, but I’m damned if I can
think what it is. God – d’you think I’m really past it, Nelson? Is this the first sign?’
‘I think it may be the whiskey,’ Maryann suggested.
Roland Musson lay back and roared with laughter. ‘’Course it is! Course it is! Why didn’t I think of that?’
She slid out of the door and downstairs. As she reached the bottom, Evan came out of the kitchen on his way to the dining room.
‘Aha!’ he hissed. ‘’Ere she is then. ’Ello, beautiful!’ He came up close to her so that she had to press herself against the wall with Evan’s face close
to hers. She was immediately filled with panic. Every encounter like this brought back Norman Griffin, him forcing her against her will. Head back against the wall, trying to get as far away from
Evan as possible, she managed to look into his eyes, praying her own would not betray her fear. He was smirking at her. This was just a game to him. He breathed into her face.
‘I’m still waiting for that kiss.’
It went on and on. She avoided Evan at all possible times, but it got so that everywhere she went she seemed to see his round, leering face, even if he was nowhere near. She
even dreamed about him, thinking he had come into her room at night and she woke sweating with fear. All her old ghosts came out to haunt her. The horror of being pursued, trapped by a man for his
own dirty purposes, rose in her until she was beginning to live on her nerves and couldn’t sleep at night.
Both of them were busy most of the time. Evan was under Mr Thomas’s wing and Maryann had plenty of work. But eating meals together in the servants’ dining room next to the kitchen
became a torment. His eyes scarcely seemed to leave her face. Every time she looked up, there he was, ogling at her until she was put right off her food. Once she found herself on the point of
bursting into tears and had to hurry out to compose herself. He was always looking for opportunities to get her on her own. Usually she could dodge him, but the time that was most difficult was
Wednesday afternoon: the time they both had off together.
‘Alice,’ Maryann asked one day. ‘D’you think we could change – you ’ave Wednesday off and I’d ’ave the Thursday instead?’
Alice frowned. ‘Ooh no – I don’t think so.’ She had no good reason for wanting Thursday as her day off. She just wasn’t one to oblige other people. ‘No
– I’ll keep my Thursday.’
Maryann got so she was too scared to walk into Banbury in case Evan followed her. Even staying round the house she felt very uneasy. In the summer months she liked to go into the garden. To one
side, near the bottom end, was a walled rose garden, bright with blooms at this time of year, sheltered to sit in and deliciously scented by the rose petals. The servants were allowed to sit there
during their leisure time, provided none of the family wished to use it.
So, one Wednesday in July, a baking hot afternoon, Maryann went out of the house, looking round her as she seemed to do all the time at present. The garden was warm and peaceful. She could see
no sign even of Sid or Wally, and Roland only worked when it suited him. Taking her cardigan to sit on she walked down under the trees – a mature old oak, a young monkey-puzzle tree, maples
with beautiful coloured leaves – and into the rose garden. Peering through the gap in the wall she saw no one was there, and immediately she was within the walls she relaxed.
The rose garden was square and immaculately maintained, with beds all round the edge, a path running round inside them, and two large beds of roses in the middle. Between them was a long
lozenge-shaped patch of grass. Though the two benches along the side received the most sun, Maryann spread her cardigan on the grass and lay down. She was tired and longed to lie in the sun, have a
snooze and relax after all the hard work of the week.
It was very hot. Lying back with her eyes closed she felt immediately drowsy. Somewhere in the far distance she could hear a tapping noise, a mallet on a wooden post, which seemed to echo on the
air, and closer by there were the sounds of birds and buzzing insects. The sun’s rays beat down on her face and she began to fall asleep straight away.
It took her a few moments to notice that the sun had gone in and a shadow had fallen across her. She put a hand up to shield her face and open one eye, then sat up with a horrible start. Evan
was standing, straddling the place where her feet had been, hands on his waist, staring down at her.
Maryann wrapped her arms tight round herself in protection.
‘What’re yer doing creeping up on me?’ She tried to sound angry and commanding but her voice had gone squeaky.
Evan lolled down on the grass beside her, shuffling up close so that Maryann had to lean away from him.
‘I saw you come down here. Don’t seem to be able to find you on your own these days, Maryann.’
‘What d’yer want?’ As if she didn’t know. She edged away from him.
‘You’re a funny one you, aren’t you?’ He sat back, leaning on his hands and looking at her. He sounded reasonable.
‘Am I?’
He leaned towards her again and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. ‘Look, there’s not much time around ’ere, is there? Why can’t you stop being so prim and proper and
enjoy yourself while it’s on offer?’
Maryann was all knotted up inside and her limbs had gone weak. She pulled her chin down on to her knees. ‘I don’t want it, Evan.’
‘Come on—’ He budged closer and started to play with her hair. ‘You just need to get started.’
A moment later his other hand slid in behind her knees, feeling for her breast, and she felt his lips on her ear.
‘Come on, girl – I’ve got something for you in ’ere—’ He pressed his body hard against her, pinching her breast as he did so. ‘Why don’t we go up
to your room and I’ll show you? No one’ll see.’
‘Oh, get
off
!’ Maryann launched herself to her feet, catching Evan off balance and leaving him sprawled on his side. ‘Get yer dirty ’ands off of me. I don’t
want yer touching me.’
She saw a really ugly look come over Evan’s face that chilled her. ‘You’re not normal, you, you know that? Not a proper girl at all.’ His top lip curled in a snarl of
disgust.
‘Leave me alone—’ She was growing distraught. ‘Whatever I am, just leave me alone. I don’t want yer anywhere near me. Go and make up to Alice – she’ll
’ave yer like a shot. But if you come near me again I’ll go to Mrs Letcombe and I’ll get you sent away from ’ere.’
‘She won’t listen to you!’
It was Maryann’s turn to stand over him. ‘Oh, you’re wrong there, Evan. I’ve been ’ere a hell of a sight longer than you have and Mrs Letcombe’s been good to
me. So you keep yer filthy hands to yourself from now on.’
She snatched up her cardigan, determined not to let Evan see that her legs and hands were trembling, and strode back to the house.
As the summer passed in the usual way, events in the wider world seemed very distant from Charnwood House and its inhabitants. Mrs Lydia Musson sat every afternoon with a shawl
round her shoulders and her feet up on a stool reading a newspaper, so the hunger marches from the north of England and the rise of Fascist groups constituted some of the drawing-room conversation.
But they were not a highly political family. And Maryann was barely aware of the world outside Charnwood and its small domestic dramas.
Evan continued to smirk at her and make snide remarks, but he had not made any more attempts to touch her or kiss her and gradually Maryann could relax again a little. But the inner calm that
she had possessed for the last years had deserted her. She felt restless and lonely. Ruth was to be married in a few weeks, but no one had said a word about who was to replace her as lady’s
maid. A year ago Maryann would have been on pins with anxiety about this, she had wanted the post so badly for so long. But now she began to find Charnwood confining. She loved her afternoon off
and made sure every week now that she went out, into the town to the shops and for a wander along the cut to see the boats being loaded and unloaded. She liked the bustle, the smells and sounds,
and the way the canal made her feel connected to things again, instead of buried alive at Charnwood. For that was how it was coming to feel.
The turmoil inside her that she had avoided for so long was returning to her like an old family chest being opened. Norman, Sal, Joel and her brothers. Round and round in her head. And her own
future. Was there happiness waiting for her somewhere else? Would she be capable, after all, of love?
Ruth was married on a Saturday at the church in the nearest village and the staff were allowed leave to attend the service before coming back to Charnwood for a celebratory
meal. Ruth, as ever, looked calm and serene; her long, dark hair was knotted beautifully and she wore a simple cream dress. Her husband, tall and blond, kept looking at her as if he couldn’t
believe his luck. The two of them left for Banbury in a horse and trap decorated with garlands of flowers, to begin their married life. Both the servants and those of the family who were at home
came to wave them off. Maryann saw Roland shake hands rather awkwardly with Ruth. Pamela flung her arms round her tearfully and Mrs Musson slipped a little package into her hand. Maryann kissed her
and wished her every happiness.
‘I hope some of you’ll come and see us,’ Ruth said, kissing and hugging everyone. ‘We’re not far away, but I’ll miss you.’
It had been announced that Ruth was to be replaced by a young woman called Eve. As Mrs Letcombe told them, Maryann experienced a pang of envy and disappointment, closely followed by relief and a
surprising sense of freedom. If she’d been given the job, somehow in her mind it would have tied her to Charnwood, when in her heart she could feel the stirrings of change.
That week, when Maryann walked into Banbury, she didn’t even get as far as the shops. Slipping along the side streets, she found herself heading for the cut. More and
more now, she found herself thinking about the past.
She went past the Strugglers Arms and down to the cut, walking on the towpath for a time. There were horse boats and motor boats on the go. She stood aside every now and then to let a horse go
past pulling one of the boats. The smells of the water, the hot horse scent, the water splashing on the sides of the cut and the sunlight glaring on the ripples all filled her with a great sense of
nostalgia and excitement. When she’d walked a way along, tied up on her side of the cut she saw a family boat called
Miss Dolly,
a rather scruffy vessel with chipped red and yellow
paint. From the back on the steering platform peered three young children and Maryann heard a woman’s voice shouting crossly to them from inside the cabin. Several others were playing along
the bank and there was a string of threadbare clothes, stained grey with coal dust, strung on a washing line along the boat.
Maryann smiled at the children in the boat and said, ‘’Ello there, awright?’
‘’Ow do!’ one of then chirruped back. The older ones were throwing stones into the cut with little plopping noises. She saw they were aiming at something floating in the middle
of the channel. It was sodden and feathery: a dead pigeon turning gently in the water. She stood watching for a moment, then turned back, still smiling.
It was hard living on the cut, she remembered that very well. She knew how they rushed and competed for the loads, how the Number Ones were up against the company-owned boats, how it was work
work work for long hours every day. Yet there was a freedom in it too. She stood looking north along the long, thin strand of water, following its course in her mind. On it went, out through those
remote fields where you scarcely saw anyone about, only trees and birds and the sky overhead and the sun glinting in the brasses. What a life that was!
After a time she came towards the dry dock called Tooley’s Yard where boats were taken in for repairs. She remembered Joel telling her about the place. Every so often the boats had to be
taken there for recaulking. ‘So they don’t go letting no water in,’ Joel had said. ‘They seal up the seams and blacken ’er bottom to keep ’er
watertight.’
She’d never been in the place and she thought she’d slip in and have a look. Just as she was about to go into the yard, two men came out, talking earnestly. One was a portly,
middle-aged man with a red face looking out from under his trilby hat. The other, in contrast, was much taller, dark and strong-featured, with black curly hair and a large, slightly beaked nose.
The tall dark man’s face looked furrowed with some strong emotion, worry or anger. They passed her, talking earnestly together, and turned off away from the cut.
It was only as Maryann turned into the yard that she realized she recognized the tall, dark man. She stopped for a moment. Where had she seen him before? If she could only think! She looked
across Tooley’s Yard and could just see the hull of a boat in the dry dock. Those lovely yellows and greens. And then it came to her, where she knew him from. A boat passing, Joel calling out
as they slid beside each other, smiling, happy to see each other . . . the man with dark curly hair was Darius Bartholomew the younger: she was certain of it! Heart racing, she turned and ran in
the direction they had gone, but they had disappeared. In any case, what could she say to Darius? He didn’t know who she was, did he?
But she couldn’t resist a look round the yard. It wasn’t a large place – there was a brick shed and the dry dock, which would take one boat at a time, was a long, rather
ramshackle building by the cut. She saw a couple of the Tooley’s workers eyeing her up admiringly. She felt as if her skin was prickling. She knew she looked pretty in her blue dress, slim
and shapely, black hair tucked under a little navy straw hat with a down turned brim. But she so disliked the feeling of being stared at, sized up in that way.