But she didn’t say it.
‘Miss Lees believes I can do the job –’
‘Speak up!’ Sir Henry snapped. ‘I can’t stand a woman who whispers.’
‘I said I believe I can do the job,’ Alice repeated, turning to look at Mrs Tomkinson.
The woman was watching her with an expression of interest and envy. She had been taken aback when Alice walked in; this was not the obedient little mouse she had been expecting. This was a beauty, a young woman who looked like she could turn heads and hearts. Hardly someone who would be satisfied with Netherlands.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ she asked Alice coolly. ‘I mean, Netherlands is not the most exciting place on earth. My husband was saying only the other day that he couldn’t for the life of him see why anyone would want to work here.’ She turned her head, the feathers on her hat wiping the underneath of the vicar’s nose. ‘It would be hard work.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Mr Grantley replied, nodding violently.
‘But you would be repaying the debt you owe,’ Mrs Tomkinson continued. ‘I mean, Netherlands has been a home to you since you were a baby.’
A home, Alice thought angrily. What kind of home was always damp, cold, overcrowded, comfortless? What kind of home, Mrs Tomkinson, Alice wanted to ask, never held its children? Or picked them up when they cried? I don’t owe you a thing. Not a bloody thing.
But she said nothing of what she was feeling, her eyes unfathomable. ‘I think I could do the job –’
‘That’s not what I’m asking, is it?’ Mrs Tomkinson replied. ‘I need to know – we all need to know – if you are suitable.’
Alice studied her dispassionately. She knew who Leonora Tomkinson was and wondered how a woman as ridiculous and plump as she was could have landed a rich husband. Rumour had it that her Albert wasn’t faithful, but Alice doubted if his wife minded. After all, she had the power and the money, why should she worry about her husband’s flings?
‘I’ve been at Netherlands nearly all my life,’ Alice went on calmly. ‘I know how the home runs.’
‘But would you be prepared –’
‘What?’ Sir Henry interrupted, ‘what about affairs?’
‘No one said anything about affairs!’ Mrs Tomkinson snapped, her head whipping round and catching Mr Grantley in the eye with a feather. ‘I was about to ask Alice Rimmer if she would be prepared to dedicate her life to Netherlands.’
‘I didn’t hear that –’
Mrs Tomkinson rolled her eyes. ‘Because I hadn’t got around to saying it.’
‘Then how could the girl answer?’ Sir Henry asked blithely.
At this point Clare Lees interrupted. ‘I took the liberty to write out some notes for all of you about Alice,’ she said, gesturing to the papers in front of them. ‘They explain why I think she is qualified and what her qualities are that make her the best candidate for the post.’
‘I thought you were keen on your Welsh deputy head?’ Mr Grantley said, ducking to dodge the pheasant feathers.
Clare was not about to be sidetracked. ‘Mr Evans has many good points, but I feel that Alice – although so young – would make the better principal.’
‘Well,’ Mrs Tomkinson said, looking over to Alice. ‘She certainly seems very … composed.’
‘I was thinking the very same thing,’ the Vicar chimed in.
Ignoring him, Mrs Tomkinson asked Clare Lees, ‘Do you think that this girl could really be your successor?’
Alice could feel her temper flare. They were talking about her as though she wasn’t there. And what could she do about it? She was a nobody, some orphan who had to be grateful for any consideration. She was beholden to them – these powerful people who had given her a home, who were now considering her for a position as lifelong dogsbody. It made her sick, Alice thought. She wanted to knock off Leonora Tomkinson’s ludicrous hat and push the Vicar’s dyed head into the plate of biscuits.
Clare Lees was aware that there was a friction in the air and did her best to soothe it.
‘Mrs Tomkinson, Alice has the makings of a very good teacher, and she is very reliable. She works hard and explains her lessons clearly.’
‘I dare say … but are you willing to make running Netherlands your life’s work?’
Alice smiled, almost surprised to be addressed directly.
‘Yes,’ she lied, the sarcasm tingling her tongue. ‘it would be an honour.’
They were selling her into slavery, Alice thought, the dull drone of Leonora Tomkinson’s voice continuing, Sir Henry peering at her through his thick glasses. Her attention wandered to the courtyard outside. It was Friday; soon it would be Sunday and she would see Victor again. Her eyes fixed on the wall outside, sunlight making it temporarily golden.
She should tell them that she wasn’t interested in being the principal – but what would that do? Result in her being sent off to a menial job outside. But so what? Alice wondered. Outside it would be easier to meet up with Victor … Oh Victor, she wondered, why don’t I tell them that I don’t give a damn about any of this?
Then she remembered what he had told her so many times. You have a chance to be someone, take it. I’ll be a qualified tradesman and you’ll be a teacher. When we leave then we can make some real money. Think about it, he’d urged her. You’re too clever to be a nobody.
So she went along with it.
‘Alice?’
She turned to Mrs Tomkinson. ‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I have to tell you that I’m not wholly convinced –’
‘Well, I like the girl,’ Sir Henry interjected.
Mrs Tomkinson gave him a look that should have turned him into a pile of ash there and then.
‘I like her and I think it’s a good idea. I’m not a man to mess with and I approve,’ the old man went on, Clare Lees beaming. ‘You have my permission to train her up. We need a good-looking young woman to bring this place into the present.’
Clare Lees wasn’t sure why Alice’s good looks made her the right candidate, but she didn’t complain. If she got her way, that was all that was important. So she happily ushered Alice back out into the corridor and briefly tapped the girl’s shoulder.
‘You did well.’
For a moment Alice felt a real guilt. She wanted to confess that she was a fraud, that she didn’t want the job. Then she thought of the odious Welshman and smiled.
‘Thank you, Miss Lees.’
‘Mrs Tomkinson needs to be won over, but Sir Henry has the real clout, so what he says, goes,’ Clare went on. ‘This is an important day, Alice. This is a day which marks out the rest of your life.’
The words wedged firmly into Alice’s chest like an arrow tipped with poison.
It was a wicked late summer that year. Temperatures were high, the mills belching out their fetid smoke into the muggy overhang of sky. Salford steamed under the sun, the doors of the terraced houses thrown open to let in some air, the streets greasy with the light evening showers