The People's Friend Special

Surprise At The Seaside

This delightful short story by Kitty-Lydia Dye is set in 1860. Whatever Lizzie and her mistress had expected at the beach, it certainly wasn’t this!

- by Kitty-Lydia Dye

LIZZIE knew she’d lose her position at the big house if she were caught. The rules were absolute. Do not steal from the lady’s jewellery box. Always be neat, honest and loyal, and as gentle as summer warm heather, like a country girl with nary a thought or temptation.

A maid must never be someone’s sweetheart, not unless she planned to marry and give up her position.

At nineteen, Lizzie was far from a comfortabl­e pension.

Ma had told her to stop dallying with Gabriel. The sailor had been there first, before Father’s accident meant it was her turn to step up.

No more oysters were brought at suppertime for Ma to grudgingly invite him in, his hand sneaking under the table to hold Lizzie’s.

Little could be said with a look while sitting apart in church pews.

Now, Gabriel was off on the trawlers for cod. He might not come back at all.

Lizzie knew fate had put her and her mistress on the train to Great Yarmouth where Gabriel’s ship was moored. It was her last chance to tell him he still had her heart.

Lady Ashworth was meant to be her priority. Lizzie couldn’t stray.

Her mistress remained stiffly silent throughout the journey, observing the unrolling of bright blue sea and its skirt of sand.

Her expression was shielded by a black bonnet, but Lizzie knew it would be a disapprovi­ng frown. For once it wasn’t turned on her.

The maid might have been deemed suitable enough to braid the woman’s ethereal pale hair, and apply her favoured powders and rosewater scent, but that was all she knew about her employer.

As secretive as a church statue, Cook had told her.

When Lady Ashworth looked at her, Lizzie rigidly mimicked her posture.

“About Charlotte . . .” Panic put a pebble in Lizzie’s throat and she gabbled to dislodge it.

“I’m sorry it happened. It was right of your daughters to tell her to go.”

Lady Ashworth shook her head and sighed.

“Yes, of course. Maids shouldn’t be courting. They become dreamy, spill the tea and leave the fire to go cold.”

Guilt stuck to Lizzie’s tongue. She should have argued for Charlotte’s sake, but the housemaid was found in the arms of the footman.

There was no hope of passing that off as anything else.

A sensible woman would consider this a warning. How could Lizzie hope to get away with what she planned?

****

Lizzie leaned over the promenade’s railing.

Muggy salt winds ruffled her hair and the lacy fringe of her cap.

The sky was the dark colour of water when doing laundry in the copper tub, the sun a disc of soap dropped in.

Families laid out their blankets like patches on a quilt. Bathing machines were already pulled out to sea.

Ladies splashed their feet on the steps; others were dunked in by their paid-for “dipper” for something more bracing.

Lizzie gripped her skinny

arms, hoping Lady Ashworth wouldn’t ask her to do that.

Further down the beach, racing and kicking up sand to dive into the waves, were the men and boys.

Lizzie shielded her eyes, which narrowed upon the bobbing shapes.

Her employer rapped her with the end of her parasol.

“New rules are in: swimming costumes must be worn.”

It cost sixpence to rent the deluxe. The hut on wheels was large enough to change in comfortabl­y, offering seclusion for ladies to enjoy the waters without the scandal of being seen in their bathing costumes.

“Are you certain you don’t want to swim?”

“Oh, no, missus. I don’t know how.”

Lady Ashworth climbed into the bathing machine. Lizzie’s hand went behind her back, fingers crossed.

The hut swayed. Wind chimes jingled and the veranda, made from a tent and some poles, creaked and groaned.

“How old is this thing?” she asked the boy leading the horse, who shrugged.

“My grandfathe­r used to drive them when he was a boy.”

Well, it had held out all this time.

The bathing machine rolled into the sea. Small waves lapped the horse’s legs and it whickered.

“Boy!” another lady’s maid shouted from the groynes.

The boy, with his trousers tugged up, hurriedly waded back to shore.

“There’s a flag on top,” he told her. “It’ll go up when she’s had enough.”

Lizzie was left alone. The hut seemed so quiet.

She was abandoning her duty, stamping over what her family needed from her. All for a boy.

Just for today, she wanted to be more than someone’s maid.

Lizzie caught up her skirt and rushed into town.

Gabriel had no idea she was here. She had to catch him before he set sail.

A walk across the pier. An ice-cream. One kiss.

Then she would be content.

She forced herself not to look back. If she had, she would have seen the sloppily made veranda crack in half and block the door.

****

“Imagine needing a chaperone at sixty!” Chastity Ashworth complained upon shutting the bathing machine door.

Even after becoming a widow, she was still anchored by propriety.

Her daughters constantly fretted over the looming entity known as society.

They thought they knew best, dictating what their mother should do and who with.

Most likely, they’d prefer it if she sat collecting dust in the folds of her skirt like a figurine on the hearth.

In her youth, Chastity had imagined an elopement as a wild dash to Gretna Green, clinging to her husband’s waist as Father’s horse pounded after them.

Instead, it would be quiet and respectabl­e.

Chastity changed into a full-body swimming costume made of heavy flannel. The dour grey colour apparently befitted her age.

Tied beneath the skirt were weights to stop it from billowing and exposing her ankles to sea molluscs.

She severed them with a penknife so she would not be slowed down.

Not even the maid would suspect her of swimming further along the shore to where her lover awaited.

By the time Lizzie realised, Chastity would be married to her unsuitable man.

She gripped the handle, but the door would not budge.

Chastity tried again, her smile going stiff. The door opened slightly, yet something blocked her in.

It would be admitting defeat, having Lizzie rescue her, but she would find another way of giving the girl the slip.

She tugged the pull by the door.

Outside, the red flag flipped up, ruffling in the wind.

The maid did not come. Chastity’s breath came out as a thin stream.

Only a month ago, there were reports of young women being locked in by mistake, coming over with heatstroke and expiring.

Sweat formed a sticky ring around her neck.

When she rubbed her mouth, dry, cracked flesh caught on her knuckles.

Shards of light scattered over the floor and she

Chastity fell back, desperatel­y trying to hold on to something

squinted, making out the thin lines of a hatch. The roof had a skylight!

Panting, Chastity clambered upon the table, banging the hatch open with her parasol.

She clung to the edge, heaving herself up.

She drank in the rush of wind, but her heart continued thrumming in her ears.

The veranda was nothing more than debris. On a small hook by the door, the reins had been hung up.

She still had a chance of making her meeting.

Grimacing, Chastity snatched for them, the leather thong almost slipping from her shaking fingers.

She had not seen, leaning against the reins, a broken post from the veranda.

At the sharp movement, it rolled off. She watched in horror as it tumbled into the horse’s flank.

The creature let out a shriek. It reared, water spraying as its hooves stamped back down.

The horse bolted across the shoreline, dragging the bathing machine and Chastity.

They thundered through the holiday-goers.

A group of men tussling in the water laughed and whistled at the display, only for the big wheels to douse them in a wave.

Children chased after, screaming with excitement.

Inside, Chastity fell back, desperatel­y trying to hold on to something.

Knick-knacks rattled off the shelves and perfume bottles smashed at her feet.

The mirror on the dressing table swung wildly and a string of seashells looped over her shoulder.

The reins dangled from the skylight. Chastity grasped them again, clawing her way to the top, and tried pulling the horse into the safety of the buffering waters.

Someone shouted for the horse to slow, running towards them, rather than away like the others.

The bridle was grabbed and everything came to a halt.

Chastity staggered into a chair, releasing the reins.

Whoever had rescued her climbed atop the roof. She made a meagre effort to cover herself upon realising her rescuer was a man.

“I knew it was you,” he said, reaching in to pull away the seashells tangled in her hair.

“You love to make an entrance.”

“Jimmy!”

She grasped his hand and was pulled up and out of the bathing machine.

****

Of course, one walk had drawn out like the waves, for Lizzie didn’t want to let go of Gabriel’s hand.

Ice-cream dripped, sugar gleaming on her nails.

He kissed away the vanilla, her face becoming so rosy the freckles seemed to vanish.

Lizzie’s time was running out, yet she’d lost her nerve to tell him.

When she started as a housemaid, she’d hated the early rises, scrubbing her hands raw, getting bossed by Cook, but she still did it. All for her family.

Only at night did she dare wonder what her future would be.

A cottage on the coast, a dog, Gabriel sitting with her by the fire.

Children, perhaps,

into the future.

Getting a fresh apron every Christmas at work didn’t compare to when Gabriel held her tight and her heartbeat picked up.

The bobbing of a parasol caught her eye.

It couldn’t be Lady Ashworth, could it? She’d be in for it.

“Gabriel, hide,” she hissed, pushing him behind a shrimp-seller’s cart.

Lizzie peeked out and realised it wasn’t her mistress. The two women didn’t even look alike.

“Lizzie, you’ve made me drop my ice-cream.”

She giggled when she saw his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m seeing my employer everywhere!”

Her nerves were frayed. Anxiety pushed her the rest of the way.

Jolting forward, she pressed her lips to his.

“Will a kiss make things better?”

He grinned, his arm pulling her closer.

“You’ll have to try again to see, won’t you?”

They ran past promenadin­g couples and stopped by a chapel, hiding in its shadow so they could hold one another.

As Gabriel’s cheek pressed against hers, she glanced at the cross, but it was far too early for that.

The door opened. Of all people, a rumpled-looking dandy stepped out.

He wore a striped waistcoat, purple jacket and a carnation tucked in his buttonhole.

The man’s eyes alighted upon them.

“You’ll do.”

“What? I, no –”

Lizzie couldn’t be seen with Gabriel, especially not stepping into a chapel! Her mistress no doubt knew she was gone by now.

The man took her hand, inclining his head as though paying her court.

“I would be for ever in your debt if you honoured me with your kindness. I am marrying a woman I have loved my entire life when the very world has stood between us.”

Gabriel, entranced by the vibrancy of the older man’s costume, leaned over to whisper to her.

“Go on, Lizzie. What if it was us?”

“Might it be us in the future?” she asked, because kisses were the most fragile of promises.

“So long as the sea is kind to me, I’ll always come back to you.”

They stepped inside the chapel with the dandy. Seashells and fishing nets had been hung up.

There was a briny undercurre­nt alongside fresh sea air.

The bride waited not in white, but a dress tawny as a nightingal­e, with a hat of feathers and a lace veil.

She no longer wore severe black or a bonnet with its ribbon knotted tightly under her chin.

Her braid was loose, hair falling about in beautiful pale waves. She appeared younger because of her wide smile.

Lizzie’s head began to swim. The bride was her mistress.

****

Chastity thought her heart wouldn’t stop racing since her misadventu­re with the bathing machine.

When she saw her maid, leaning against the goodlookin­g young man with her, everything stilled.

Seeing how surprised the maid was made her want to laugh.

Then she realised the girl’s shock came from seeing her happy. When had she become so dour and prim?

Jimmy grinned, the lines around his eyes deepening.

They had met at her coming-out ball.

He wasn’t meant to be there, and had sneaked in to borrow money from her brother.

Chastity had escaped to the balcony, after the man her mother had in mind for her had become too ardent.

It was either that or slap him with her fan.

There was Jimmy, leg thrown over the rail, his hat clamped between his teeth. Such a grand figure.

His stories had enthralled her: duelling with Napoleon’s men, escaping prison, spying for the government. Only half of it had been true.

Then he’d asked for a dance.

He might have been charming and mysterious, but he was ever so smug.

Almost in retaliatio­n, she rebuffed him. She spent the night wishing she’d accepted, forced to dance with bumbling men and listen to them drone.

Dreams of running off with Jimmy were as insubstant­ial as sea froth.

Instead, her parents brokered a dependable marriage to replenish their depleted coffers.

There was no love there, though she’d learned to feel fondness for Gregory. If not, the coldness of the house would have set into her bones.

Now, Chastity was free. Jimmy had returned to the country after paying off his debts and called on her.

He still told too many tall tales, but was soft around the edges. He’d learned finally to act his age.

She supposed she had made him into another man entirely in her mind. Some rogue who had made off with her heart. A fantasy.

Somehow, she preferred the reality.

Their vows were made. Everything was quick and blurred.

It was strange, considerin­g how she remembered every anxious intake of breath while walking to the altar during her first wedding.

All she wanted to do now was rush and enjoy what came next.

When Jimmy kissed her, he seemed to slip her a spark of his gumption.

No longer would she be dictated to. Not by her mother, her first husband, and certainly not her daughters.

She understood too well how brittle and precious time was.

From the way her maid clung to that sailor’s arm, Lizzie was not above getting what she wanted.

Chastity looked to where the witnesses stood.

The moment the ceremony had ended, Lizzie and her sweetheart had run off.

****

Like a rind of orange peel flicked into the fire, daylight burned away into smoke and ash.

Lizzie heaved off her shawl, waving as the ship set off.

She sniffed, but played it off as sea salt in her eyes. She had promised Gabriel she wouldn’t cry.

When she turned, someone watched her.

It was Lady Ashworth. Something prickly and sharp like a shell lodged in Lizzie’s throat. She knew she’d done wrong.

It was time to face up and receive her punishment.

Ma was going to murder her.

As she approached, her mistress smiled. It wasn’t a kindly one, but rather bemused.

“You’ve led me a merry dance! Jimmy’s on the other side of town searching for you.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Ashworth.” She supposed she was Lady something else now, considerin­g what she had witnessed. “I . . .”

“Gallivanti­ng with a fancy man? I hope he isn’t stringing you along.”

“Gabriel would never betray me!” Lizzie lowered her voice. “I’ve known him all my life. It was his last day here, you see.”

A tiny part of Lizzie wondered if she could get away with what she’d done by threatenin­g to reveal her employer’s secrets. Her lips pressed together.

Things would be changing at the household, but she wasn’t about to ruin it with spite.

“About my job, missus?” “I can hardly fault you for having some fun. After all, I had the same plan.” Chastity held out her arm. “Come on. I’ve had more excitement than just a wedding, no thanks to you!”

Laughing in relief, Lizzie linked arms with her mistress, and the pair walked down the pier.

The End.

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