All The Days of My Life by Hilary Bailey Read Free Book Online Page A

Allaun said, “Of course, in the old days Nanny used to –”
    â€œShe’d need new clothes sooner or later, your ladyship,” said Mrs Gates.
    â€œHer family’s responsibility,” said Lady Allaun. “But obviously we can’t have the child walking about in tatters.”
    â€œI was thinking I could take her into Gladly on my afternoon off and fit her out,” said Mrs Gates.
    â€œThat’s a good idea – thank you, Mrs Gates,” said Isabel Allaun.
    Mrs Gates stood her ground. It was not always easy to get money out of the gentry. Persistence payed. “I have her clothing coupons –” she suggested.
    Lady Allaun said, “Yes – I’ll give you a cheque to cash in Gladly to cover the cost. About eight pounds should do, shouldn’t it?” She took a chequebook from the pigeon-hole in the desk and began to write out a cheque.
    â€œMore like twelve would be necessary, your ladyship,” said Mrs Gates, “with today’s prices what they are.” She had no wish to go through this scene again in a few months’ time, when warmer clothing would be needed for Mary.
    â€œDamn,” said Lady Allaun, making an alteration on the cheque. “I must say I didn’t bargain for all this. I hope you’ll be as careful as you can, Mrs Gates.”
    â€œOf course, Lady Allaun,” said Mrs Gates in a neutral tone. “Thank you.” She made no attempt to lighten her tread as she stumped back down the passageway to the kitchen.
    â€œLike blood from a stone,” she muttered to herself as she shut the kitchen door behind her, all the more annoyed because now there was no kitchenmaid or parlourmaid to grumble with. There was no Rose, no Maggie. They had both been called up for the army. Sometimes Clarisse, on leave, appeared in the back door with her khaki cap set rakishly over blonde hair a few shades lighter than it had been when she was a parlourmaid, and grinning with bright red lips, might say, “Hullo, Mrs Gates. How’s the rubbing and scrubbing these days?” And Mrs Gates, feeling the full weight of her fifty-year-old legs, would reply, with feeling, “None the better for seeing you lounging in the doorway, Clarisse. And if you’re coming in my clean kitchen kindly take that fag out of your mouth first.”
    â€œI wouldn’t set foot in this kitchen again for five pounds,” Clarissewould return. “I’m off with my boyfriend to the flicks so keep smiling through, Mrs Gates.”
    Mrs Gates was torn between disapproval of these cheeky young things, with their new freedom and contempt for the long-established village rules, and her pleasure that they had escaped, or so it seemed, into a better-paid, more independent life.
    Meanwhile, in the big, scrubbed kitchen, there was only tiny white-haired Mary, reading a book with a glass of milk at her elbow. At least, Mrs Gates thought, she’d got the money.
    â€œLady Allaun has given me the money for some nice new clothes for you,” she told Mary. “Here – are you reading that?”
    â€œI can’t understand some of the words,” said Mary, “just the pictures. Jackie taught me some words.” She’s sharp enough, Mrs Gates thought. These Cockney kids were.
    â€œYou’ll learn a lot more when you go to school in September,” she said.
    This was a shock for Mary. “Is the teacher nice?” she asked.
    â€œIf you behave yourself,” Mrs Gates said. “Anyway, we’ll get the bus into Gladly tomorrow and get you some new things. Get rid of them old boots.”
    Mary looked at her sharply. “What’re you going to do with my boots?” she demanded. “You can’t take my boots.”
    â€œThose boots are going in the dustbin,” Mrs Gates said firmly. “There’ll be no more boots while you’re here.”
    â€œWhat am I going to wear then?” asked