The Fortunes of Francesca. Betty NeelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
whenever possible, but I’ll not take orders from him.’
She watched Lady Trumper’s formidable bosom swell; she had cooked her goose, and the job so nearly hers, too. She waited quietly to be dismissed for the second time.
‘I am willing to concede to your wish, Miss Bowen, as long as I have your word that you will give Barker the respect due to his position in my house. He has been with us for many years.’
‘Yes, of course I’ll treat him with respect,’ said Franny, ‘and anyone else who works here. I’ll come on a month’s trial, Lady Trumper.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I dare say we shall all get on very well together.’
Lady Trumper looked surprised. ‘I trust that may be so, Miss Bowen. Good day to you; I’ll expect you next Monday morning.’
She was shown out presently by Barker, who observed importantly, ‘You will no doubt be joining the staff shortly, Miss Bowen?’
‘Yes, on Monday morning.’
‘I shall, of course, render you any assistance you may require,’ said Barker at his most majestic.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Franny, and she skipped down the steps, turning to wave as she reached the pavement—something which took Barker aback. He wasn’t a man who encouraged such behaviour. On the other hand, it was rather nice to be waved at by a young woman, even if she was without looks…
Franny squashed a desire to dance along the pavement; someone might be looking out of the window. Instead she did optimistic sums in her head and mused over ways of making the money go as far as possible. It was a good thing that Finn had his midday meal between lectures—she and Aunt Emma could eat economically and they could all eat a substantial high tea in the evening.
In the meantime, she would pop into the corner shop on her way home and get something special—bacon and half a dozen eggs, mushrooms, if there were any, and plenty of fried bread, thought Franny, her mouth watering.
Later in the evening, well-fed with these delicacies, the three of them had a light-hearted discussion about a rosy but improbable future.
At exactly ten o’clock on the Monday morning Franny presented herself to Lady Trumper. She looked neat and tidy in her navy skirt and white blouse topped by a navy cardigan. The garments did nothing to add to her looks, but Lady Trumper noticed and approved. At least the girl didn’t wear a skirt up to her thighs and one of those vulgar tops printed with some stupid sentence…
‘You may use the small room through that door, Miss Bowen. The post is already there; kindly open it and let me see anything of interest. And any invitations, of course.’
Hardly a task to tax her intelligence, thought Franny, dealing with the pile of envelopes with calm efficiency. She took their contents to Lady Trumper presently.
‘I will read them and give you instructions as to their replies. There is a registered envelope on my writing desk. Take it to the post office. You will need money. There is a purse in the left-hand drawer—take five pounds from it and put the change into it when you return.’
So Franny got into her mac again, tied a scarf over her head, since it was drizzling with the threat of sleet, and found her way to the post office. It was quite a walk, but she needed to know a little of her surroundings. Back at the house presently, she prudently went round to the side entrance. Barker and the cook were in the kitchen. ‘I came in this way because I’m wet and I might leave marks over the hall floor,’ said Franny. ‘May I leave my mac here to dry?’
‘Certainly, and it would be convenient if you would continue to use the side door in future,’ said Barker. ‘Mrs Down will make coffee shortly, if you will come here when it is convenient for Lady Trumper?’
When she had gone, Mrs Down said thoughtfully, ‘Not quite our sort, is she, Mr Barker? Ever so polite and nice, but I bet she’s seen better days.’
‘There is that possibility,’ agreed Barker. ‘Let us hope she remembers her position in this household.’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘Girl Friday…’
If he had hoped that Franny would put a foot wrong, he was to be disappointed, for she behaved exactly as she should. The general opinion when she left the kitchen after her coffee break was that she was OK.
Queuing for her bus at the end of her first day, Franny decided that it hadn’t been too bad. She had been kept busy with small jobs—none of them important, but they were time-consuming. Then the answering of letters and invitations had taken up a good deal of the afternoon, while Lady Trumper rested, but Franny had been brought up a cup of tea by Shirley, the housemaid, and had been allowed half an hour to have her dinner with the rest of the staff in the kitchen.
This had been a splendidly satisfying meal. Franny had enjoyed every mouthful, and hoped that Aunt Emma was eating the lunch she had prepared for her to heat up while giving polite replies to the questions being put to her by Mrs Down.
Mrs Down had remarked afterwards that Miss Bowen was a nice young lady, but not very forthcoming. Respectable enough, she had conceded, living with an aunt and a young brother who, Franny had told her vaguely, was studying, although she hadn’t said at what.
For the rest of that week Franny found herself doing a variety of jobs. She was indeed a girl Friday: opening the door to callers on Barker’s half-day, cooking lunch when Mrs Down was prostrated by migraine, taking charge of a toddler while his mother—a niece of Lady Trumper’s—came to call. And besides all this there was the daily routine of post to be opened and answered, phone calls to take, knitting to unravel, bills to be paid…
At least, reflected Franny, going home tired on Friday evening, she hadn’t been bored. She had a week’s wages in her purse and two days to be at home. As a girl who looked on the bright side of life, Franny was happy. She hadn’t been given notice, so presumably Lady Trumper was satisfied with her work. Franny hadn’t expected to be told as much—Lady Trumper wasn’t a woman to praise. After all why, that lady had often asked her nearest and dearest, should she give praise to someone who was only doing their job?
Not that Franny minded that. She didn’t dislike Lady Trumper, but neither did she like her. She was, however, providing Franny with her bread and butter…
It was during the following week that she came face to face with the doctor who had attended to Elsie. She had been sent to the hospital to fetch Elsie back, for her stay there had been prolonged by an infection which had needed treatment and antibiotics. Although Elsie was fit to be discharged she was still not quite herself.
Lady Trumper, wealthy though she was, was also frugal when it came to spending money on anything which didn’t concern herself, and she bade Franny take a bus to the hospital and procure a taxi for the return journey, which was a brief one. And a good thing, too, for it was another grey, damp day. Even in this, the more elegant district of London, the streets looked dreary. Not that Franny minded; it meant she was out of the house for an hour.
It was a short walk from the bus stop to the hospital; she arrived at its entrance with her woolly hat sodden on her head and the mac clinging damply to her skirt and blouse. Her face was wet, too, as were the odds and ends of brown hair which had escaped from the hat. She presented not a shred of glamour, and the professor, coming to the entrance hall as she walked through the doors, cast an amused eye over her person, recognising her at once.
He had told his godmother that he couldn’t remember her face and realised that he had been mistaken. Though not at its best at the moment, he recalled vividly her small, unassuming nose, gently curving mouth and determined chin. It was a face redeemed from plainness by large, long-lashed eyes. Grey, he remembered.
He crossed the vast place and stopped in front of her.
‘Forgive me for not knowing your name, but you were kind enough to help with Lady Trumper’s maid. I had every intention of driving you back from the hospital; I should have told you so. I apologise for that.’
Franny beamed up at him. ‘Oh, that didn’t