For the past fortnight, you’ve barely touched your food—fallen for someone, have you, Elsie? asked Agnes, the housekeeper.
Well, yes. There’s a boy I like, but he doesn’t seem to notice me, Elsie admitted, pushing her breakfast around. He’s at university too, same year but different course. I don’t know how to make him see me.
Don’t you go chasing after him, mind. Girls didn’t run after lads in my day—
Oh, Agnes, not this again! Times have changed, Elsie cut in, finishing her toast. Anyway, I’ve got to dash—Professor Wilkins will lock me out if I’m late again.
Off you go, then, Agnes said, crossing her as she shut the door behind her.
Elsie came from money, never wanted for anything. Agnes—her mother’s elder sister, housekeeper by trade—had raised her right. The adults called her Agnes, but Elsie had always called her Auntie.
Agnes had her own sorrows. Married young to a village lad, Fred—a kind, hardworking soul—but they’d only had a year together before he vanished. A gamekeeper, likely drowned in the fens. They’d searched for weeks. Never found a trace. Left Agnes alone, childless.
At first, she’d thought of vanishing into a convent.
What sort of nun would I make? I’m too young still, prone to fibbing and the odd sharp word. So she stayed in the village, living with her parents.
Her younger sister, Maggie, married well—a man five years her senior, already climbing the ranks in town. In time, they built a grand house, had Elsie. That’s when Maggie asked Agnes to move in.
Come to the city, Agnes. We’re both working—you’ll help with Elsie, keep house.
Oh, Maggie, I’d love to. Fred was good to me, but I’ve wept my eyes dry. I’ll take care of everything.
So Agnes moved in, calling herself the housekeeper. She cooked like a dream, kept the garden lush. Never remarried, barely left the house except to shop. She adored Elsie, raised her like her own.
Elsie wanted for nothing—the finest toys, prettiest dresses. Never lifted a finger. Agnes taught her anyway.
Learn to work, love. Life turns on a penny. A woman who cooks with heart bewitches a man. Every cook has her secrets.
You’ve got yours, then? Elsie asked.
Course I have.
Elsie fancied Anthony—tall, handsome, though she swore he never glanced her way. But he had. At university, everyone knew who had money. Anthony, raised by a single mother, noticed.
Her parents saw nothing, too busy. But Agnes did. Elsie flew in one day, beaming.
He’s asked me out! We had ice cream after lectures.
Clever lad, Agnes chuckled. Knows girls love sweets. What next?
We’re courting now!
Youth, Agnes sighed. Bring him round. I’ll tell you if he’s worth it.
Fine. I’ll invite him soon.
He came for supper. Agnes watched him like a hawk. When he left, Elsie bubbled over.
Well? Isn’t he lovely?
Handsome, Agnes allowed. But not for you. Saw our house, and his eyes lit up like a magpie’s. Dark soul, that one.
Oh, Auntie, really! Elsie huffed, marching off.
Agnes fretted. Let her learn. But I’d spare her the tears.
Four months in, Elsie’s gold ring vanished. Only Anthony had been round.
Told you, Agnes said. Report him.
No. Don’t tell Mum and Dad. It’s our secret. I’m done with him.
Elsie confronted him.
I know you took it.
You’re mad! Why would I—get lost!
That was that. Agnes soothed her, smug she’d seen through him.
Later, Elsie met Robert at a friend’s party. He wooed her—theatre, concerts, flowers. Even Agnes relented, asked to meet him.
Robert came for dinner, charmed her parents. But Agnes grumbled afterward.
Shifty. Won’t meet your eye. Twitchy.
Auntie! He’s gentle as a lamb!
Then disaster struck. Her parents died in a crash. Elsie and Agnes moved through the funeral in a fog.
I’ll never leave you, Agnes whispered. What’s yours stays with you.
I know. This is your home too.
Weeks later, at a café, Robert took a call. Elsie followed, overheard him hissing:
You should see her house. Orphan now, just that old biddy left. I’ll propose quick—get my hands on it.
She fled, sobbed at home.
Can’t anyone love me just for me?
They can, Agnes said. Next time, play poor.
Time passed. Elsie graduated, worked for her father’s old friend, Stephen. There, she met Silas—quiet, clever. Stephen praised him.
Reliable, sharp. Promoting him soon.
Silas adored her but was too shy to ask her out. Finally, he did.
Dinner?
I’d love that.
He knew she’d lost her parents, assumed she lived humbly with her aunt.
Meet my mother tomorrow?
Of course.
Margaret was warm, kind. Silas took after her.
Come in, love. We’re simple folk.
Later, driving home, Elsie thought Margaret lovely.
I’m glad Silas found you. Girls these days want everything handed to them. Not like you.
Soon, Agnes insisted on meeting him. His eyes widened at the house, but he said nothing. Brought Agnes flowers, chatted like she was his own gran.
He’s the one, Agnes declared. Modest, respectful. No envy in him.
At last—a man Agnes approved of. They married. Stephen, overjoyed, handled everything. Saw Silas would care for his late friend’s girl.
Now Elsie’s forty-two, happy with Silas, twin sons, and Agnes—old but spry—still helping.
Silas is Stephen’s finance director now, trusted utterly. Stephen plans to leave the firm to him—his own daughter’s abroad, divorced a wastrel.
