She smiled at him. ‘I got rather carried away.’
He surveyed the neat rows of piled-up papers, old dance programmes, newspaper cuttings and the like. ‘Indeed, miss, I can well understand that. It is no trouble to bring you a tea-tray. Dinner is at eight o’clock; the ladies go to dress just after seven o’clock.’
‘Oh, but surely I’m not to dine with them?’
‘Indeed you are, miss. They quite understand that you would not wish to join them for tea and interrupt your work, and breakfast is taken by the ladies in their beds. Your breakfast will be served in the morning-room at eight o’clock.’
‘Thank you, Mr Snow.’
‘And if you will not find it presumptuous, miss, you should address me as Snow.’
‘Oh, but the maid who showed me to my room called you Mr Snow.’
‘And quite rightly; I am in charge of the staff here and head of the domestics, but you, miss, are employed by Lady Manbrook.’
She said in her sensible way, ‘Oh, I see, thank you for telling me. I’ll try not to give any of you any extra work.’
‘If I may say so, miss, it is a pleasure to have some one young in the house.’
He made his stately way out of the room, leaving her to enjoy tiny sandwiches, hot buttered toast and fairy cakes as light as air.
By seven o’clock she had the trunk empty, its contents extending in piles half-way across the attic floor. Tomorrow she would go through each pile and arrange the contents according to the dates, dealing with the newspaper cuttings first, for it seemed to her that they would be the easiest. There were two more trunks; she would have to sort them in the same way and then add the piles together. Weeks of work, if she was to index them too.
She went downstairs and through the side door to her flat, fed Horace and took him for a brief stroll, then came back to switch on the lights and draw the curtains. A fire had been laid ready to light in the small grate and she put a match to it, put the fireguard in front of it and went to take a bath and dress. She had nothing really suitable for dinner, only a dark brown dress in fine wool, very plain and at least two years old, or a grey pinafore dress with a white silk blouse. She got into the brown, promising herself that with her first pay packet she would buy something suitable for dining in the splendour of Lady Manbrook’s dining-room. She took pains with her face, brushed her tawny head until it shone like copper, and went back to the house to be met by Snow.
‘The ladies expect you to join them in the drawing-room,’ he offered, and led the way.
Suzannah saw at a glance that her brown dress was woefully inadequate, but she didn’t allow it to worry her; she sat down to enjoy her sherry and take her sensible part in the conversation. And dinner, although somewhat more lengthy than lunch, was just as pleasant. She excused herself shortly afterwards, wished the two ladies goodnight and went back to her room. The fire was burning nicely and Horace was sitting before it, the picture of a contented cat. Suzannah too uttered a sigh of contentment, made a cup of tea from the selection of beverages she had found in the tiny cupboard in the kitchen corner, and went to bed. The room was warm and the firelight comforting, and she curled up and went to sleep within minutes, with Horace beside her.
Within a few days she had found her feet. She had little time to herself but that didn’t matter overmuch; no one had suggested the hours she should work, so she arranged her own; from nine o’clock in the morning until lunchtime, and then work again without a pause until the seven o’clock gong. Horace, that most amenable of cats, was quite happy to have a walk in the morning after breakfast, another few minutes after lunch and then a more leisurely stroll in the evening. Snow had offered scraps from the kitchen: tasty morsels of chicken, ends off the joints and fish; and she had arranged to have milk left at her door from the local farm. Life might be busy, but it was pleasant, and she had no idle moments in which to repine. When the opportunity occurred, she would have to ask about having a half-day a week so that she could shop in Marlborough for her bits and pieces.
She thought that probably she was going about her task in a very unprofessional way but, be that as it may, she had made headway. The piles of letters, cuttings and old photographs were beginning to take shape and make sense.
Some of them were very old indeed; letters written in spidery hands, crossed and recrossed, invoices and bills, dressmaker’s accounts and any number of receipts and recipes. She began to deal with these, getting them roughly into date order, separating them into heaps. It was slow work but she was methodical and very patient. She was able to tell Lady Manbrook that the last of the trunks had been emptied by the end of her first week; it had seemed a good opportunity to ask about her working hours, but before she could touch on the subject Mrs van Beuck observed, ‘You will accompany us to church, my dear? The rector preaches an excellent sermon. You will come in the car with us, of course; it will be at the front door at half-past ten precisely.’
She looked across at her sister, who smiled and nodded. ‘We have discussed the matter,’ she said, ‘and we would prefer to call you by your Christian name if you have no objection?’
‘Oh, I’d like you to. No one calls me Miss Lightfoot—well, almost no one.’ She had a brief memory of Professor Bowers-Bentinck’s cold voice uttering her name with what seemed to her to be mocking deliberation. And after that it hardly seemed the moment to bring up the matter of her free time. It was, after all, only a week since she had started work, and she was happy in her little flat and everyone was kind to her; even Snow, who could look so austere, had unbent sufficiently to save the best morsels for Horace. There was, of course, the little matter of when she would be paid. She had a little money, but it wouldn’t last for ever. Perhaps Lady Manbrook intended to pay her when she had finished her work, but that would be a month or six weeks away, or even longer. There was no use worrying about it; she went back to the attic with the careful notes she had made to show Lady Manbrook and then made her way back to the flat to get ready for dinner.
She would have enjoyed the walk to church in the morning but, since she had been expected to accompany the ladies, she got into the old-fashioned car with them and was borne in some state to the village church. The family pew was at the front and the church was comfortably full; she was conscious of curious glances as she followed the two ladies down the aisle. After the service, as they made their stately progress to the church porch, she was introduced to the rector and a number of elderly people who made vague, kind enquiries about her without really wanting to know, so that she was able to murmur politely without telling them anything.
At lunch she made another effort to talk about her free time; indeed, she got as far as, ‘I was wondering about my hours of work…’ only to be interrupted by Lady Manbrook with a kindly,
‘We have no intention of interfering, Suzannah. It is, I’m sure, most interesting and you enjoy it, do you not? And I must say that what you have told us about it, has whetted our appetites to know more about your finds. Perhaps you would take tea with us this afternoon and bring down those old dance programmes you were telling us about? We have tea at four o’clock, and it would be most amusing to go through them.’
‘I haven’t got them in order yet, Lady Manbrook…’
‘You are so quick and efficient that I’m sure you can get them sorted out before tea.’ The old lady smiled at her very kindly, so that Suzannah stifled a sigh and agreed.
So when she had fed Horace and taken him for his short trot, she went back to the attic once more. It was a lovely day, and a walk would have been very satisfying; she made up her mind to talk to Lady Manbrook when
