The Girl From The Savoy. Hazel Gaynor

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and invariably come to a bad end, I do not expect it of girls employed at The Savoy. I presume this is the first and last time you will be late?’

      Her words snap at me like the live crabs at Billingsgate Market. I nod again and take a step back. When she speaks the veins in her neck pop out, as if they are trying to get away from her. If I were a vein in O’Hara’s neck, I’d be trying to get away from her too.

      ‘Mr Cutler is not impressed by tardiness,’ she continues. ‘Not at all. Not to mention the governor.’

      I have no idea who Mr Cutler or the governor are, but decide that now is not the best time to ask. ‘I’m very sorry. I bumped into someone you see, miss, and the rain—’

      A brusque wave of the hand stops me midsentence. ‘Your excuses do not interest me and I most certainly do not have time for them.’ She consults the watch fob again, as if it somehow operates her. ‘Hurry now. Get your bag. Come along.’

      She turns and sweeps from the room. I pick up my bag and scuttle along behind, following the familiar scent of Sunlight soap that she leaves in her wake. She moves with brisk neat steps, the swish swish of her skirt reminding me of Mam rubbing her hands together to warm them by the fire. We go up a short stone staircase that leads to a series of narrow sloping passageways, the plain walls lit by occasional lampless lights. We pass a large room where maids are stooped over wicker baskets sorting great piles of laundry, and another room where a printing press clicks and whirs and men with ink-stained aprons peer through spectacles at blocks of lettering. The air is laced with a thick smell of oil and tar. It is stark and industrial. Far from the sparkling chandeliers and sumptuous carpets I’d imagined.

      ‘Your reference from Lady Archer was complimentary,’ O’Hara remarks, looking over her shoulder and down her nose with a manner that suggests I don’t match up at all with the girl she was expecting. ‘And the housekeeper spoke highly of you.’

      ‘Really? That was very kind of them.’ I’m surprised. I can’t believe Lady Archer would be complimentary about anything, let alone me. I worked for her in my last position at a house in Grosvenor Square. She can’t have said more than a dozen words to me in the four years I spent there and most of them were only to remark on my appearance and suggest how it might be improved.

      ‘It wasn’t kind, Dorothy. It was honest. Kindness and honesty are very different things. You’d be advised not to confuse one with the other.’

      We walk on a little farther until she takes a sharp left and stops. ‘We’ll take the service lift,’ she says, checking her watch fob again and tutting to herself as she bustles me into a narrow lift and instructs the attendant to take us to second. He mutters a good afternoon before pulling the iron grille across the front and pressing a button on a panel in the wall.

      ‘I presume you haven’t been in an electric lift before,’ O’Hara says as the contraption jolts to life and we start our ascent.

      ‘No. I haven’t.’ I push my palms against the wall to steady myself as the passage slips away beneath us. I’m not sure I like the feeling.

      ‘The Savoy is the first hotel to be fully equipped with electricity,’ she continues. ‘Electric lifts, electric lighting – and centrally heated, of course. No doubt there’ll be plenty of new experiences for you here.’ She pushes her shoulders back and stands proud. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

      ‘Yes. I suppose I will.’ The sensation of the lift makes me queasy. My mouth feels dry. I could murder a brew.

      Stepping out of the lift, I follow O’Hara along another corridor and into a large room, similar to the servants’ room at Mawdesley Hall. She tells me this is the Staff Hall Maids’ Room, where I will take all my meals. At least a dozen maids sit around a long wooden table, their faces lit by electric globe lights suspended on a pulley from the ceiling. The walls are distempered a sickly mustard yellow.

      O’Hara waves an arm towards the table. ‘I’m sure you’re capable of introducing yourselves. Afternoon break is ten minutes. Breakfast, lunch, and supper are all served in here. The tea urn can be temperamental. Wait there.’

      She departs in a rustle of silk. I put my bag down and shove my hands into my coat pockets. ‘Seems like the tea urn isn’t the only thing that’s temperamental.’ I mutter the words to myself but one of the girls sitting closest to me hears. She spits tea with laughing.

      ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all year. Where’d they find you then, the music halls?’

      I have that uncomfortable feeling of being the new girl at school, unsure whether I should sit down and join the others or wait for the irate Irishwoman to return. The girls at the table chatter away like a flock of starlings. They pretend to pay no notice to me, but I can tell they are all trying to sneak a glance without obviously staring. A couple of them smile at me. One glares at me so intently that I wonder if I’ve worked with her before and offended her in some way, although I can’t place her.

      The youngest-looking girl pours tea from a pot and hands me a cup. ‘You been for a swim in the Thames?’ she says. ‘You’re soaked. And you’re leaving puddles on the floor.’

      I look down. A small pool of water has gathered on the floor as the water drips from the hem of my coat. I take it off and bundle it under my arm, telling the girl that it’s cats and dogs outside.

      The girl who spat her tea asks if I’ve ever heard of a thing called an umbrella. ‘Sissy, by the way,’ she says. ‘Sissy Roberts.’

      ‘Dorothy Lane,’ I reply. ‘Dolly, for short. I never bother with umbrellas. Too much bumping into people and apologizing. Anyway, a bit of rain never hurt anyone.’

      Sissy laughs. ‘It’ll hurt the governor’s Turkish carpets if you drip all over them.’

      As I take my first sip of tea, O’Hara sweeps back into the room. ‘Come along now, Dorothy. I’ll show you to the maids’ quarters.’ She stops and stares as if noticing me for the first time. ‘Goodness, girl! You’re soaked. Did you swim here?’

      Her comment sets the others sniggering again. Sissy mouths a ‘good luck’ as I reluctantly leave my tea and rush along after O’Hara like a gosling following a mother goose.

      We walk down another long passage that leads to a narrow staircase where two porters are struggling with a heavy-looking crate of champagne. One of them winks at me as they shuffle past. Cheeky sod. We pass a maid whose cap is just visible above a towering pile of linen balanced in her arms, and then a young page in a powder-blue uniform who stands obediently to one side to let us pass. He reminds me of a toy soldier with his smart white gloves and epaulettes. He wishes O’Hara good morning and gawps at me like he’s never seen a girl before. I flash him my best smile, setting him blushing like a ripe peach. O’Hara tells him it is rude to stare and to straighten his cap and to hurry along with whatever message he is delivering. His cheeks flare scarlet under her castigation.

      ‘You’ll share your room with three other maids,’ O’Hara explains as she bustles on ahead. ‘I suggest you get out of those damp clothes straightaway or you’ll have pneumonia before you’ve even changed so much as a pillow slip. Your uniform is laid out on your bed: two blue print morning dresses, two black moiré silk dresses for afternoons and evenings, three white aprons, two frill caps, black stockings, and black shoes. Laundry is sent out on Mondays. The hotel has its own laundry out Kennington way.’ The mention of Kennington sets my heart tumbling, but I have no time to dwell on the memories stirred as O’Hara rabbits СКАЧАТЬ