Read Online The Novel in the Viola by Natasha Solomons - Free Book Online Page B

outside, but light streamed in, illuminating the particles of flour that hovered in the air like floating snow. I knew Hildegard would have wept with joy to even glimpse such a kitchen – this would be her Xanadu. The housekeeper, Mrs Ellsworth, sat in state at the table, surrounded by baking trays, a round pat of butter, flour bucket, packets of spice and yeast. Her grey hair was drawn back into a neat bun, her skin tanned and lined, suggesting a life out of doors, despite being monarch of the kitchen. She wore a starched white shirt and full black skirt with a crisp apron fastened around her middle.
    ‘Elise Landau.’ She made this a statement, not a question, and I was unsure how to respond.
    I reached into my pocket and produced the envelope from the Mayfair Private Service Agency, and gave it to Mrs Ellsworth. She opened it and glanced at the contents: several coins and a receipt for my train ticket.
    ‘Did you have nothin’ for lunch? I hope you didn’t let some young man purchase you refreshments, missy.’
    I said nothing and willed my cheeks not to redden. Mrs Ellsworth huffed, and waved at May. ‘Get the girl some bread and butter. She must be hungry. No dinner, indeed. I hope you’re not one of them continentals what doesn’t eat. I’m too busy for skinny girls.’
    She scrutinised me with grey eyes. ‘Well, you don’t look like one them meal-skipping wenches. There’s too much work for you to pine away, mind,’ she warned.
    ‘She don’t speak much,’ said May, dumping in front of me an enamel plate with some bread and crumbling cheese.
    ‘Well, you could do with talkin’ a good deal less,’ said Mrs Ellsworth, and May slunk to the sink, where she could wash the dishes and spy without being criticised.
    Mrs Ellsworth turned back to me. ‘In the morning I’ll show you your duties. Tonight you can ’ave an early night.’
    I nodded dumbly, my mouth full of bread and cheese. She pushed a small pile of laundry across the table at me.
    ‘Tomorrow I want to see you wearing these. And we’re goin’ to have to talk about your hair.’
    I wiped my hands down my skirt and picked up the clothing: a white cap and apron. The symbols of my new life and I hated them already.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Mr Rivers
     
     
     
    I went to bed early, in a small room under the eaves. It had sloping ceilings, and I couldn’t stand up in two thirds of it, so I lay down on the bed (in my cotton pyjamas, finally having the confidence to remove my dress without fear of fleas) and stared at the rough wood beams. They had jagged saw marks all along the side and had never been sanded – why bother to smooth beams in a maid’s attic? Yet the room was scrupulously clean and newly whitewashed and if there had only been a small fireplace, it might have been cosy. I set the pictures of my family and Vienna on the single chest of drawers. The Belvedere Palace looked rather incongruous in the spartan surroundings. There was no radiator or light switch, and I sprawled by candlelight, feeling like one of Anna’s operatic heroines, save for the fact I was cold, miserable and without an applauding audience. From a tiny window, I glimpsed a sliver of slate-grey sea, turning to shining black as daylight faded into dusk. There was a knock at the door, and a white envelope slid underneath.
    I shot up, and clutching the sheet around me, waddled to the door, but when I opened it no one was there. I stole into the corridor and glanced about. Empty. Shrugging, I padded back into my bedroom and, picking up the letter, closed the door. The envelope was postmarked Vienna and I recognised Margot’s curling handwriting. I ripped it open, and began to read.
     
I thought you might like a letter as you arrive. As I write this, you’ve not yet left. I can hear you arguing with Papa in his study – you’ve been cheating at backgammon again. But I miss you. You’ve not gone and I miss you. I hope you liked the chocolate. I’ve not packed it yet,