think so, Esther? Honest?’
‘I wish mine was that colour.’
‘It generally goes a bit lighter in the summer. Now winter’s nearly here it’s goin’ darker again. But it always looks the brighter for a good wash.’
Esther picked up the brush with the silver handle and began gently brushing. ‘Mine always looks so dull.’
‘It’s funny how we always want something we ain’t got. Don’t you think so, Esther? But your hair’s nice. And a nice colour. I wun’t mind it.’
Esther smiled, grateful for the reassurance. ‘How long you stopping here for, miss?’
The relevance of the question suddenly struck Poppy. ‘A long time, I think. I hope so, any road …’ She was looking at Esther in the mirror as she spoke. ‘For as long as Aunt Phoebe wants me to stay, I s’ppose. However long it is, I hope you and me’ll be friends, Esther.’
Esther smiled again, evidently flattered. ‘Am yer her niece, then?’
‘No. I ain’t no relation. But I know her nephew.’
Poppy’s hair was taking on a well brushed, sleek look, her curls non-existent now.
‘Which one?’
‘Oh … Mr Robert Crawford.’ Poppy caught Esther’s eye in the mirror and at once felt herself blushing. A glance at her own reflection confirmed it. ‘Robert’s me friend.’
‘I thought he was engaged.’
‘Oh, he is …’ Poppy affirmed.
‘To you?’
‘No, not to me. Worse luck!’ She uttered a little laugh that held traces of sadness and embarrassment.
‘You fancy him then, miss?’
Poppy looked up from under a fringe of hair. ‘Wouldn’t you, Esther?’
‘Me? Oh, I got no chance of ever getting off with the likes o’ Robert Crawford. I ain’t pretty enough. I got a face like a turnip and figure like a bolster, and no two ways. He’s a likely enough lad for any wench to fancy. But not me. I got no time for all that fallalery, what with helping Dolly in the kitchen, keeping the furniture and household goods looking summat like, sweeping and cleaning. I’m glad there’s no men living in this house, spitting in the grates, walking on the carpets wi’ mucky boots and crumpling up the antimacassars with their greasy hair. Men in the house make too much mess.’
‘I don’t think all men am the same, Esther.’
‘Me own father’s worse than a dog. Maybe not your Robert Crawford, though,’ Esther conceded. ‘He seems betterer’n most.’
‘Did he used to come here a lot?’
‘From time to time.’ She bent forward to Poppy’s ear and whispered, ‘They reckon as his family’s one o’ the richest for miles.’
‘Honest?’
‘That’s what they say. But I expect you knew that already.’ Esther lifted Poppy’s hair away from her neck, holding it up to ascertain the effect. ‘Shall I try and pin it up afore it dries out, miss?’
‘If you like.’ She recalled Minnie’s efforts to do likewise.
‘I reckon it suits yer pinned up …’ Esther sighed. ‘I do wish I had hair this colour, miss.’
‘You could always dye it.’
‘Dye it?’ Esther chortled at the very notion. ‘Lor! Me mother’d kill me when she sid it. I daresn’t dye it.’
‘You could always keep your bonnet on.’
‘Or borry a wig,’ Esther quipped with a chuckle.
Poppy changed the subject. ‘How old is Dolly, the other maid?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘I ain’t had the chance to talk to her much.’
‘It’s her afternoon off. Gone a-courting, I ’spect. She’ll be back tonight. Dolly does most o’ the cookin’ and looks after the kitchen. I do the housework … and the donkey work … Oh, and then there’s Clay. You must’ve seen Clay afore. He does the gardening and anything to do with outside—’
Poppy grinned. ‘Clay? That’s a good name for a gardener.’
Esther laughed again, revealing the gap between her two front teeth. ‘I hadn’t thought about it, but you’m right. Any road, I think Clay used to work for Mr Newton afore he died, driving him about in his carriage. He still drives Mrs Newton about from time to time.’
‘But he don’t live in the house?’
‘No, thank the Lord. He lives over the stables. He cleans up his own mess.’
The hair was done, to the satisfaction of Poppy and Esther, and Poppy put on her one and only dress. She went downstairs to Aunt Phoebe who was laying the dining-room table for tea herself. Poppy had never seen a tablecloth so white.
‘My goodness, your face is glowing, Poppy my dear,’ Aunt Phoebe remarked. ‘It must be the hot bath. Do you feel refreshed?’
‘Yes, thank you. D’you like the way Esther’s done me hair, look?’ She swivelled her head from side to side, seeking Aunt Phoebe’s approval.
‘Very elegant, my dear. Very elegant. Would you like to take tea now, or would you prefer to wait?’
‘Now, if you want. I’m hungry after me bath.’
‘Good. I prefer to take tea even earlier than this on a Sunday on account of going to church. But we shall have to forego church this Sunday – it’s been quite hectic, your moving in … Esther, would you make us a pot of tea? Poppy, would you be so kind as to go with Esther and slice and butter the bread, on account of it being Dolly’s afternoon off? Then bring it to the table with the jam and the cakes, if you please. I’ll lay out the crockery and find the serviettes.’
So Aunt Phoebe and Poppy sat down to tea together. Although she was hungry, she did not want to disgrace herself, and was restrained when it came to filling her plate with sandwiches. Eclairs and custard pies also sat invitingly on the crystal glass cake stand before her. But she first took a sandwich and began munching it.
‘How old is Robert, Aunt Phoebe? He never told me.’
‘Robert is twenty-four. He will be twenty-five next May. He is now the black sheep as far as his family is concerned, you know,’ Aunt Phoebe declared conversationally. ‘However, he just happens to be my favourite nephew.’
‘Why is he the black sheep?’
‘Because he was expected to join the family firm. His going away has delayed that. He went much against his father’s wishes. However, he has always wanted to be independent of his father, and that has always been in
