Lunch was a huge success—lovely leg of lamb, crispy roast potatoes and cabbage from Granddad’s back garden, followed by baked apple and custard. I felt the occasional pang of guilt as I wondered whether he could really afford to eat in this way, but he was taking such obvious pleasure from watching me eat, that I let myself enjoy every bite.

“After lunch,” I said, “you really must teach me how to light a fire. I’m not joking. My brother will be arriving tomorrow and I’ve been instructed to have a fire lit in his bedroom.”

“Well, blow me down. Of all the cheek,” he said. “What do they think you are—a skivvy? I’m going to give that brother of yours a piece of my mind.”

“Oh, it’s not Binky,” I said. “He’s actually quite a dear. Very vague, of course, never notices anything. And not very bright. But essentially a kind person. And it is my fault partly, I suppose. My sister-in-law took it for granted that I’d be hiring staff as soon as I got to London. I should have made it quite clear that I couldn’t afford to do so. Stupid pride.”

My grandfather shook his head. “I told you, my love. If you want to light a fire, you’ll have to go down the coal cellar.”

“If I must, I must,” I said. “I’m sure plenty of servants have been down into the coal cellar and survived. What then?”

He talked me through it, from the newspaper to the right way to lay the sticks and then the coal on top, and all about opening dampers. It sounded daunting.

“I wish I could come up and do it for you,” he said. “But I don’t think your brother would take kindly to my being in the house.”

“I wish you could come up and live with me for a while,” I said. “Not to look after me, but to keep me company.”

He looked at me with wise dark eyes. “Ah, but that would never work, would it? We live in different worlds, ducks. You’d want me to sleep above stairs in your house and I wouldn’t feel right doing that, but then I wouldn’t feel right sleeping below stairs, like a servant either. No, it’s better this way. I welcome your visits, but then you go back to your world and I stay in mine.”

I looked back longingly as I walked up Glanville Drive past the gnomes.

Chapter 9

Rannoch House
Sunday, April 24, 1932

When I arrived back at Rannoch House I changed into my servant garb, tied up my hair, and ventured downstairs until I located the dreaded coal hole. As Granddad had predicted, it was awful—a dark opening in the outside well, only a couple of feet high. I couldn’t find a shovel and I wasn’t going to reach my arm into that dark unknown. Who knows what was lurking in there? I went back into the kitchen and discovered a large ladle and a towel hanging on a rack. Then I used the ladle to scrape out bits of coal, one at a time, then picked them up with the towel to put into the coal scuttle. By this method it took a good half hour to fill the scuttle but at least I didn’t touch any spiders and my hands remained clean. Finally I staggered upstairs with it, with new admiration and respect for my maid, Maggie, who obviously had to do this chore every single morning.