Jenny boarded the omnibus near Ripon and chose a seat next to the window. The new found freedom of days off still felt fresh to her and she was determined to make each one a new adventure: life was to be lived. Her work at the big house was an arduous privilege but if it now afforded her this one day a month to taste a different life she was not going to squander it. For that one precious day the servant could become the served. She knew that to be a true young lady of quality she should have a chaperone but Uncle David was busy with the farm.
“I can’t go galavanting off gay as you please” he said. “Who’d see to the pigs?” He had not been galavanting for a long time truth be told thought Jenny. Not since Aunty Mol had passed two years since. He hadn’t even entered the village show this year, said there was no point growing giant marrows and prize winning spuds if the only person he wished to impress was no longer around to admire them.She knew he worried about her when she took off on one of these adventures but the light that would spread across his face in the evening as she told of all she had seen and experienced was its own reward. He could spread his wings vicariously and leave the cares of the farm behind without ever leaving the yard.
Lost in all these thoughts, her carpet bag clasped on her lap, she had been looking from the window without really seeing. The market town and its beautiful cathedral had dropped away into the seams of the landscape and the undulating folds of the countryside were ironing out as they approached the vale of York. The pale blue cloudless sky that stretched to the horizon was so wide open here she fancied she could see the very curve of the earth. Great swathes of wheat and barley stood in the fields, straining to reach the sky, rippling in the warm breeze like a green-gold sea. To Jenny’s eyes the air had never rung so clear.
As the omnibus arrived in the outskirts of the city she chose to alight and walk the last few stops, dropping down to the path that led along the side of the river. Meadowsweet and dog-daisies clamoured for her attention, tripping onto the path in their eagerness to be seen. Rosebay willow herbs flounced their tendrils, flirting their plumage in the breeze. Overhanging branches admired their reflections and tickled the waters surface for making sport of their filigree lace. Jenny stood a while, entranced by the beauty and let loose the ribbons of her bonnet raising her face allowing all her contours to be kissed by the sun’s warmth. What tender embrace could surpass this? The servants hall was always rife with gossip over one coupling or another, the girls who raised their hopes when a new footman was employed or a new tradesman’s lad came to call. She was not immune to this gossip. She had imagination enough to dream that one day the perambulator she was pushing would be hers, something at the very heart of her longed for it, but her head was too sensible to believe it could ever happen. Each time the dream came she shoo’ed it away with a broom like so many spiders webs not to be given countenance. Hers was a game of ‘Old maid’ not ‘Happy Families’. But today; today she felt any dream could be aired in this golden light.
The town loomed ahead of her, its mellow stone rounded with age. The air was perfumed by Mr Rowntree and the brewers alike. She climbed the steps away from the river and made her way down the cobbled alley with its overhanging tudor apartments. Space was at a premium on the pavement as shop owners spilled their wares on to the street, ironmongery, haberdashers, milliners, grocers with their fruits nesting in straw lined boxes. She walked towards the monument slowly, stopping to examine some ribbon; a turquoise hair comb in a glass fronted window; the bloom of a peach all the time knowing her goal lay just beyond the monument. She heard the ladies talk of it often, their tea room of choice: Alexanders. She wondered if her nerve would fail at the last moment and she would prefer a setting less salubrious. No, today she was a lady of independent means and flushed with the warm glow of the sun was content in her right to be there along with the peerage.
Jenny checked her reflection in the glass as she pushed through the cafe door, correcting her cuff and an errant curl. The door tinkled genteelly as she passed through and instantly she was wreathed in the delicious scents of freshly baked goods, tea and coffee. She stepped up the the Maitre d’s lectern and waited for direction. An army of waiters and waitresses swanned gracefully between tables waiting on the elegant assembly. There was a hierarchy for those who new how to read it. The subtleties of rank were easy to observe for one who worked in a large establishment. The most senior staff wore silver filigree buttonieres attached to their lapels and white gloves. They took the diners to their table, advising them of the day’s specials, dealing with any immediate needs they had. Next a host of waitresses wearing a headband of broderie anglaise dressed with a plain black feather pinned with the silver ‘A’ for Alexanders brought food to the tables on silver trays, waiting on the guests. Finally the tables were cleared by the junior staff in smartly starched aprons. They dipped curtsies as they cleared the plates. You could almost hear the murmur of them:hear no evil, see no evil speak no evil. There job was to be invisible or loose their job. Something that without a reference most of them could not afford to do.
“Ahem.” The Maitre d’ appeared and quietly cleared his throat. “How can I help you Mademoiselle?” He was neat as a pin, his uniform stiff and as self assured as its owner.
“I would like to take a bowl of tea if I may.” It seemed appropriate that her response was formal although Jenny thought these words sounded most odd coming from her and she blushed slightly, laughing at herself.
“And are you expecting company this afternoon Mademoiselle?”
“Not today, no.”
“Very well Mademoiselle, one moment please” The Maitre ‘d scanned the ledger and then beckoned to one of the waiters, pointed to the seating chart and whispered a few brief instructions. The waiter nodded curtly and disappeared. “I have a table being prepared for you now Mademoiselle. Would you care to follow me?”
She followed weaving through the peers and heiresses drinking tea and nibbling dainties, the new money and the old rubbing unwilling shoulders.
“I think we have not seen you hear before Mademoiselle. Is this your first time to Alexanders?”
“Yes it is Sir.”
“Well I hope we will see you often. As it is your first visit may I recommend the house blend, it is most refreshing.”
“Thank you.”
“Your table.” Jenny had wondered if she would be put in a corner, a lady alone, not quite the society clientele they were used to but she could not have been more wrong. She had been led to a charming grey veined marble table by the window looking out onto the street. There was a vase of sweet peas blushing at the centre and silver cutlery tucked into a white linen napkin alongside a fine bone china cup and saucer.
“Oh, how delightful! I shall feel like the Queen of Sheeba.”
“And as beautiful if I may be so bold.”
“Oh!” Jenny was unfamiliar with compliments and could not think how to respond but smiled into the Maitre ‘d’s eyes and bobbed a curtsey enjoying the heat of his gaze. “What a lovely view,” she said, remembering just in time to turn away from him to look out of the window.
“I always think it is pleasant when dining alone to have a pleasant view to contemplate. May I take your wrap?”
“Thank you.”
“And a name?” He hesitated and their eyes met again making her feel flustered. “Your name Mademoiselle, for the cloakroom ticket.” Of course, the cloakroom ticket. Had she really fancied he was flirting with her? What a goose she was.
“Jenny. I mean Miss Myrtle”
“Jenny” he repeated softly. “It is truly an honour to meet you” His hand brushed the nape of her neck as he eased the garment from her slim shoulders and a shiver walked her spine as delicious as the summer breeze. “I will take care of this personally. I would not like for it to get lost.” His smile was genuine, inviting and she saw the glimmer of mischief in him.
“I think it will be quite easy to spot among the firs Sir!” she said as he pulled out the chair for her to sit.
“André, call me André.” He leant in and whispered as she sat “But it will give me the opportunity of speaking with you again before you leave.”
He lingered long enough to see her cheeks colour and was gone.
Jenny felt her deepest wishes begin to churn, butterflies tumbling like acrobats beneath her ribs and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. “Just for now, just for today.” she thought. A waiter appeared at her side.
“Do you know what you would like Ma’m. Perhaps something from the sweet trolley? I can recommend the house blend of tea. It is most restorative.”
“So I hear.” A wry smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “Could I just have a moment please”
“Of course Ma’m.”
The waiter retreated. Jenny sat for a moment letting the butterflies dance themselves out as she peered out at the scene beyond Alexanders. She was a goldfish in her own bowl, the world slowly turning without her. When the waiter returned uncalled for a few moments later he held a teapot swaddled in a padded linen cosy and before she could object set it down in front of her.
“With the complements of Monsieur André Ma’m. The house blend. Shall I pour Ma’m?”
“No, thank you. I shall let it steep a while.” The butterflies had returned. Desperate to have some space to think she asked to see the sweet trolley and once more the waiter beetled off. Had the fortune teller at the fair been truthful. Could her future be written in liquid amber, in tea?
The waiter pushed the heavily laden trolley over to the table. There was fruit mouse and frangipan, strawberry tarts and turnovers, meringues and madeleines, there were so many delectable fancies the choice was almost overwhelming. There on a dish almost hidden by the more decorative items were some almond macaroons and she knew at once that was what she would choose: a perfect complement to her afternoon tea. You are what you eat she had heard said. She did not need frills or chocolate swirls, sugar paste roses or crystals of sugar. Honest food for an honest soul. Like a macaroon she was perhaps a little rough around the edges but soft on the inside and comforting and delicate.
The waiter lifted the macaroon with silver tongs on to a doilies plate for her
‘A fine choice Ma’m.” and then squeaked away between the tables with the trolley.
Time for tea. Jenny removed the cosy and found a cloakroom ticket secured to the handle. A number forty nine was printed on one side, and on the other side a hand written note. She took a sip of tea to swallow the lump in her throat and read the tiny cursive carefully.
My shift has ended but I would be honoured to accompany you home.
I will wait by the monument. If you prefer to go home alone I will of course leave you in peace.
Your servant A
She raised the cup to her lips she caught sight of a dashing young man in a trilby and mackintosh leaning on the monument outside the window. André. He looked easier out of the stiff uniform, more approachable. He had done well to achieve such a respected position at Alexanders so young and she believed him to be respectable even if his offer was a little unorthodox. If she were to have any chance of happiness outside her life at the big house she could not stand on propriety, she would need to take a chance. She smiled at him and raised her cup in salute, nodding almost imperceptibly. His face lit and he doffed his hat to her then sat on the monument step to read the paper and wait at her leisure.
Half an hour later they strolled through the liquid amber light of the late afternoon as they headed towards the bus stop arm in arm, acquainting each other with their past, their future unfurling ahead of them.
