The Fortunes of Francesca

‘No good, Auntie, I wasn’t suitable. It was a lovely house and there was a butler. While I was there one of the maids cut her arm quite badly so I stopped to give first aid, and when a doctor came he asked me to go to the hospital with the girl. So I did.’

‘I hope that they thanked you…’

‘Well, now I come to think of it, they didn’t. The doctor was polite, but I think he took me for one of the servants.’

Mrs Blake looked indignant. ‘Did he, indeed? What happened at the hospital?’

‘Well, nothing. I mean, I didn’t go in. I waited a bit but no one came out, so I caught a bus and came home.’

‘Disgraceful. The ingratitude…’ Mrs Blake, a small, plump lady with a mild face and grey hair, was ever more indignant.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Franny cheerfully. ‘As we passed the supermarket in the bus I saw a notice in the window asking for check-out girls. I’ll go tomorrow.’

Mrs Blake started to speak, and stopped. The gas bill had come that morning, Finlay needed more books and the rent was due. The housekeeping money was at a very low ebb and the only solution was for Franny to get a job as soon as possible.

Mrs Blake was unhappy about that. They had just about managed while Franny had been training as a nurse; her salary and Mrs Blake’s pension had kept them going. They had even been saving a tiny bit, knowing that Finn would be going to medical school when he had done so well in his A levels. He would need books and clothes and money to live on.

Then she had fallen ill. Franny had left the hospital in order to nurse her and look after the house, and their savings had gradually been eroded. Finn had now already started at medical school; there had been no question of him giving it up. He had offered to do so, and a job, any job he could get, would tide them over for a year or so, but that would have meant a year’s training lost. Neither Franny nor her aunt would hear of it. They would manage, Franny had said stoutly, and, once Finn was a qualified doctor, she and auntie would become ladies of leisure. ‘What is a paltry four or five years?’ Franny had demanded largely.

Now they had a cheerful supper, and she took care not to mention the supermarket again. She was up early the next morning, nipping round the house, getting Finn’s breakfast, taking tea up to her aunt, tidying the place, intent on getting down to the supermarket as soon as possible and getting a job.

She took her aunt’s breakfast tray upstairs as usual, mindful of the doctor’s advice that Mrs Blake should lead as quiet a life as possible. Having breakfast in bed was one way of doing that. Then she went to her room to get her outdoor things. She was in the hall, her hand on the door handle, when the postman pushed a letter through the letter box.

It was for her, and she opened it slowly. It didn’t look like a bill—the writing was old-fashioned and spidery and the envelope was good quality…

Lady Trumper’s request that she should call that morning with a view to taking up the post of girl Friday came as something of a shock. The wages she offered were even more of a shock. She would no doubt be expected to earn every penny of them, but Franny had reached the stage where she was open to any honest offer. She didn’t think working for Lady Trumper would be pleasant, but the money was more important than job satisfaction. Finn could have his books and the bills could be paid.

Franny wasted a few minutes wondering why Lady Trumper had changed her mind and then went to tell her aunt.

Aunt Emma read the letter. ‘Now, why would she change her mind?’ she asked. ‘Would it be because you gave the girl first aid?’

‘That wasn’t much qualification for the job, Auntie. More likely no one else has applied and she’s desperate.’

‘You may be right, love. You’ll go?’

‘Well, yes. The money is more than we hoped for, isn’t it?’

‘If only you could go back to hospital and finish your training…’

‘I’ll do that when Finn is qualified. We’re managing very well, and if I went back to hospital now I’d be worrying about you all the time. The doctor said you weren’t to do more than potter, and with this job I’ll have plenty of time to see to the house and so on. In a month or two we’ll have the bills paid and be on our feet again. What shall I wear?’

‘What you wore yesterday. You looked very nice. It’s raining, isn’t it? A pity your mac’s shabby, but you can take it off when you get there.’

‘I’ll do the shopping on the way home. Don’t go out, Auntie, it’s cold as well as wet.’

There was a faint glimmer of friendliness on the butler’s face when he admitted her. ‘I’m to take you straight up, miss. If you will leave your raincoat here?’

Franny followed him up the staircase. ‘It’s a horrid morning,’ she told him chattily, ‘but November nearly always is horrid, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you need to go out…?’

Barker turned to give her a quelling look. Familiarity was something to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible. But Franny was beaming at him and the quelling words on his lips weren’t uttered. Instead he said gravely, ‘The weather is indeed inclement.’ And he proceeded on his way.

This time he announced her by name, and Lady Trumper, sitting at her desk, turned round to look at her.

‘Miss Bowen, you are probably surprised to have heard from me again. I have been considering your application and have decided to offer you the post. A month’s trial. I should wish you to start next Monday morning at ten o’clock. You will be expected to work until five o’clock each day, but you may have Saturday and Sunday free. If I should require your services at any other time I expect you to agree.’

‘An annual holiday?’ asked Franny.

‘Oh, I suppose so. Two weeks…’

‘Three,’ said Franny, very politely and not waiting for a reply. ‘And what exactly will my duties be?’

‘Sorting my post each day and replying suitably. You said that you could type? Paying bills, checking the household accounts with Barker…’

He won’t like that, reflected Franny, and gave Lady Trumper an encouraging look.

‘It will be necessary from time to time to take over work from any member of my staff who is ill or on holiday. Also to arrange the flowers and see to any callers I do not wish to meet. Keep my diary correctly.

‘I heard from Barker that you showed a good deal of common sense when Elsie cut her hand. I shall expect you to act as nurse in the event of myself or my staff falling ill.

‘You will take your meals in the small sitting room on the ground floor, but I expect you to defer to Barker, who is in charge of the household. You will be paid weekly, and if you find that you are unable to cope with the work you are at liberty to tell me and give me a week’s notice.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Franny matter-of-factly. ‘But I must point out that I have no intention of taking orders from your butler. I will respect him, and oblige him whenever possible, but I’ll not take orders from him.’

She watched Lady Trumper’s formidable bosom swell; she had cooked her goose, and the job so nearly hers, too. She waited quietly to be dismissed for the second time.

‘I am willing to concede to your wish, Miss Bowen, as long as I have your word that you will give Barker the respect due to his position in my house. He has been with us for many years.’

‘Yes, of course I’ll treat him with respect,’ said Franny, ‘and anyone else who works here. I’ll come on a month’s trial, Lady Trumper.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I dare say we shall all get on very well together.’

Lady Trumper looked surprised. ‘I trust that may be so, Miss Bowen. Good day to you; I’ll expect you next Monday morning.’

She was shown out presently by Barker, who observed importantly, ‘You will no doubt be joining the staff shortly, Miss Bowen?’

‘Yes, on Monday morning.’

‘I shall, of course, render you any assistance you may require,’ said Barker at his most majestic.

‘Thanks very much,’ said Franny, and she skipped down the steps, turning to wave as she reached the pavement—something which took Barker aback. He wasn’t a man who encouraged such behaviour. On the other hand, it was rather nice to be waved at by a young woman, even if she was without looks…

Franny squashed a desire to dance along the pavement; someone might be looking out of the window. Instead she did optimistic sums in her head and mused over ways of making the money go as far as possible. It was a good thing that Finn had his midday meal between lectures—she and Aunt Emma could eat economically and they could all eat a substantial high tea in the evening.

In the meantime, she would pop into the corner shop on her way home and get something special—bacon and half a dozen eggs, mushrooms, if there were any, and plenty of fried bread, thought Franny, her mouth watering.

Later in the evening, well-fed with these delicacies, the three of them had a light-hearted discussion about a rosy but improbable future.

At exactly ten o’clock on the Monday morning Franny presented herself to Lady Trumper. She looked neat and tidy in her navy skirt and white blouse topped by a navy cardigan. The garments did nothing to add to her looks, but Lady Trumper noticed and approved. At least the girl didn’t wear a skirt up to her thighs and one of those vulgar tops printed with some stupid sentence…

‘You may use the small room through that door, Miss Bowen. The post is already there; kindly open it and let me see anything of interest. And any invitations, of course.’