enough.’
‘That odious nick-name!’ shuddered Mrs Murgatroyd. ‘It makes him sound like a train! But enough of him,’ she said as the two ladies went into the house. ‘Do tell me, Cicely. How did you get on with Mr Evington?’
An hour later, Cicely took her leave. She had told Mrs Murgatroyd all about her interview with Mr Evington and had left that lady in a happy frame of mind, working out how many sandwiches would be required at the picnic. She was now looking forward to a peaceful evening back at the Lodge.
What with one thing and another, it had been an eventful day. But there was to be one last thing that disturbed her peace of mind. As she approached the Lodge, she saw something she had not seen before. Gibson was carrying a bucket of coal from the coal bunker into the house.
That in itself was not an unusual sight. Since Cicely had had to dispense with the services of most of the Haringay servants because of her straitened means, Gibson had had to take on many of the chores that should, by rights, have been taken on by under-servants. But it was not this that worried Cicely particularly. It was the way Gibson put down the bucket after a few paces and rubbed his back, before picking it up and carrying on again.
Gibson never stopped and rubbed his back in her presence, but once or twice of late she had suspected he had back trouble. He often moved stiffly, and was noticeably slower than he had been a year or two before. It was not right that a man of his advanced years should be carrying heavy loads and Cicely thought, not for the first time, that she must employ a boy to help him.
The only problem with that idea was that Cicely could not afford to employ a boy.
She gave a sigh. She could not for the moment see a solution. But as she turned in at the Lodge gates she knew that she must find one. And find one soon, if she was to spare Gibson any more suffering.
Chapter Four
The following morning Cicely gave her full attention to the matter of hiring a boy. It was, unfortunately, not an easy matter to resolve. She had enough money to live on, but she had nothing to spare, and she found her thoughts wandering to Lord Chuffington’s proposal.
If she accepted him, she would be well provided for, and Gibson would be able to retire with the benefit of an annuity to look after him in his old age. But although marrying Lord Chuffington would solve her financial difficulties, and thereby solve the problem of Gibson as well, Cicely could never seriously consider such a thing. Lord Chuffington was a dear, but she did not love him. And love, for Cicely, was the only reason for marriage.
There remained only one alternative. She would have to seek some form of part-time employment. After much thought, she decided she would seek a job as a secretary. She was bright and well organised, and she felt she ought to be able to give satisfaction in that capacity.
Having made her decision she set out on her bicycle for the neighbouring town, in order to see if there were any suitable positions being advertised: Mr Peterson’s office, she knew, dealt with such things. She did not need to earn a huge amount; just enough to be able to hire someone to help Gibson, and perhaps to provide the loyal butler with an annuity when he retired.
On reaching the town of Oakleigh she made directly for Mr Peterson’s office and, propping her bicycle up against the wall, went in.
The office was situated up a flight of stairs, above a baker’s shop. The stairs were narrow and steep. At the top they gave onto a bare waiting room, with six hard chairs pushed up against one wall. A low table with an aspidistra on it was set in front of them. On the walls were posters of young men and women busily at work, all smiling cheerily as they went about their tasks.
At the far side of the room was a desk, and behind it sat a brisk young woman who asked Cicely her business. Fortunately Cicely was not well known in the town, and the woman
‘That odious nick-name!’ shuddered Mrs Murgatroyd. ‘It makes him sound like a train! But enough of him,’ she said as the two ladies went into the house. ‘Do tell me, Cicely. How did you get on with Mr Evington?’
An hour later, Cicely took her leave. She had told Mrs Murgatroyd all about her interview with Mr Evington and had left that lady in a happy frame of mind, working out how many sandwiches would be required at the picnic. She was now looking forward to a peaceful evening back at the Lodge.
What with one thing and another, it had been an eventful day. But there was to be one last thing that disturbed her peace of mind. As she approached the Lodge, she saw something she had not seen before. Gibson was carrying a bucket of coal from the coal bunker into the house.
That in itself was not an unusual sight. Since Cicely had had to dispense with the services of most of the Haringay servants because of her straitened means, Gibson had had to take on many of the chores that should, by rights, have been taken on by under-servants. But it was not this that worried Cicely particularly. It was the way Gibson put down the bucket after a few paces and rubbed his back, before picking it up and carrying on again.
Gibson never stopped and rubbed his back in her presence, but once or twice of late she had suspected he had back trouble. He often moved stiffly, and was noticeably slower than he had been a year or two before. It was not right that a man of his advanced years should be carrying heavy loads and Cicely thought, not for the first time, that she must employ a boy to help him.
The only problem with that idea was that Cicely could not afford to employ a boy.
She gave a sigh. She could not for the moment see a solution. But as she turned in at the Lodge gates she knew that she must find one. And find one soon, if she was to spare Gibson any more suffering.
Chapter Four
The following morning Cicely gave her full attention to the matter of hiring a boy. It was, unfortunately, not an easy matter to resolve. She had enough money to live on, but she had nothing to spare, and she found her thoughts wandering to Lord Chuffington’s proposal.
If she accepted him, she would be well provided for, and Gibson would be able to retire with the benefit of an annuity to look after him in his old age. But although marrying Lord Chuffington would solve her financial difficulties, and thereby solve the problem of Gibson as well, Cicely could never seriously consider such a thing. Lord Chuffington was a dear, but she did not love him. And love, for Cicely, was the only reason for marriage.
There remained only one alternative. She would have to seek some form of part-time employment. After much thought, she decided she would seek a job as a secretary. She was bright and well organised, and she felt she ought to be able to give satisfaction in that capacity.
Having made her decision she set out on her bicycle for the neighbouring town, in order to see if there were any suitable positions being advertised: Mr Peterson’s office, she knew, dealt with such things. She did not need to earn a huge amount; just enough to be able to hire someone to help Gibson, and perhaps to provide the loyal butler with an annuity when he retired.
On reaching the town of Oakleigh she made directly for Mr Peterson’s office and, propping her bicycle up against the wall, went in.
The office was situated up a flight of stairs, above a baker’s shop. The stairs were narrow and steep. At the top they gave onto a bare waiting room, with six hard chairs pushed up against one wall. A low table with an aspidistra on it was set in front of them. On the walls were posters of young men and women busily at work, all smiling cheerily as they went about their tasks.
At the far side of the room was a desk, and behind it sat a brisk young woman who asked Cicely her business. Fortunately Cicely was not well known in the town, and the woman
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