as the light from the library vanished. Ahead of us a soft clamouring of metal upon metal could be heard. Mrs Wilson shoved me again. ‘Get moving, girl. Any real servant would have known not to turn up minutes before dinner needs to be served.’
I stumbled on not wishing to be trapped in the darkness any longer than was necessary with the harpy behind me. In only a few moments my eyes adjusted and I could see that, as in the proverbial saying, there was light at the end of the tunnel. As we grew nearer to the egress the soft noises became harsher and interspersed with the barking cries of an angry woman.
We emerged directly into the kitchen. My initial impression was of 30 or more people bustling around the room. I moved sharply aside before Mrs Wilson could shove me again and stepped on a large well-polished shoe. ‘That,’ said Mrs Wilson coldly, ‘is Mr Holdsworth, the butler.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ I said timidly. A tall, stern-faced, middle-aged man with a polished demeanour looked down at me. His expression was cold, but I could see from the lines on his face he was normally no stranger to smiling. I bobbed a small curtsy and did my best to look friendly, but all he said was, ‘Don’t let it happen again.’ His voice was strangely flat.
The room was modern and brightly lit. There was a fine range with sparkling pots. The high windows had been opened to combat the sweltering heat of a country house kitchen in full engine mode as the family were about to sit down to dinner.
‘This is Mary,’ said the butler indicating a pretty young woman with freckles and brown curls. ‘We call her Merry, because of her sunny disposition.’ I glanced up at him to see if he was joking, but his face gave no sign of levity. Merry, on the other hand, bounced over to shake my hand, a delighted smile on her face. ‘Help at last,’ she giggled. ‘It will be so nice to have another girl to work with. I can’t really count Aggie. All she ever talks about is how to get the pots cleaner faster.’
‘The scullery maid,’ explained Mr Holdsworth. ‘And this is the magnificent Mrs Deighton, who is coming to the end of the dinner preparations. It would probably be better if you were elsewhere while this process is completed. Perhaps Merry could show her to her room, Mrs Wilson? The girl needs to get out of those wet things.’ He then whispered to me, ‘We’ve had our tea, but I’m sure Mrs Deighton could find you a little something after dinner. She’ll be much calmer then.’
‘We have not yet established whether Euphemia will be staying,’ snapped Mrs Wilson. ‘But you are quite correct, Mr Holdsworth. The girl is very wet. She dripped considerably on the library carpet. Merry, show her the way up and give her some rags. I want that excess moisture mopped before the gentlemen retire for whisky. If you can do that right, girl, I might consider putting in a word for you with the Mistress.’
I had the sense to nod and say, ‘Yes, Mrs Wilson. Thank you, Mrs Wilson.’ I’d rather have rammed her rags down her long rangy neck, but I suppressed the impulse and even managed a bobbed half-curtsy. ‘You don’t have to curtsy to me, girl,’ she snapped, but I could tell she was pleased. She had the same way about her as Bishop Pagget. I loathed her already.
Merry returned from a back room with a pile of rags, and with a wink gestured to follow her. ‘Mind you’re not seen,’ called Mrs Wilson as we entered the passageway.
‘Oh lor’,’ I muttered.
‘Take no notice of her,’ said Merry. ‘She’s a miserable, dry old stick, but half the time she’s got her lips wrapped round a bottle and she don’t bother us that much.’ She stopped by the library door. ‘Think you can find your way back?’ I nodded in the gloom. ‘Right, I’ll see you later then. Watch out for the gentlemen. You’re so wet through it’s like you’re wearing no clothes.’ She giggled again and gave me a half-pat, half-shove through
I stumbled on not wishing to be trapped in the darkness any longer than was necessary with the harpy behind me. In only a few moments my eyes adjusted and I could see that, as in the proverbial saying, there was light at the end of the tunnel. As we grew nearer to the egress the soft noises became harsher and interspersed with the barking cries of an angry woman.
We emerged directly into the kitchen. My initial impression was of 30 or more people bustling around the room. I moved sharply aside before Mrs Wilson could shove me again and stepped on a large well-polished shoe. ‘That,’ said Mrs Wilson coldly, ‘is Mr Holdsworth, the butler.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ I said timidly. A tall, stern-faced, middle-aged man with a polished demeanour looked down at me. His expression was cold, but I could see from the lines on his face he was normally no stranger to smiling. I bobbed a small curtsy and did my best to look friendly, but all he said was, ‘Don’t let it happen again.’ His voice was strangely flat.
The room was modern and brightly lit. There was a fine range with sparkling pots. The high windows had been opened to combat the sweltering heat of a country house kitchen in full engine mode as the family were about to sit down to dinner.
‘This is Mary,’ said the butler indicating a pretty young woman with freckles and brown curls. ‘We call her Merry, because of her sunny disposition.’ I glanced up at him to see if he was joking, but his face gave no sign of levity. Merry, on the other hand, bounced over to shake my hand, a delighted smile on her face. ‘Help at last,’ she giggled. ‘It will be so nice to have another girl to work with. I can’t really count Aggie. All she ever talks about is how to get the pots cleaner faster.’
‘The scullery maid,’ explained Mr Holdsworth. ‘And this is the magnificent Mrs Deighton, who is coming to the end of the dinner preparations. It would probably be better if you were elsewhere while this process is completed. Perhaps Merry could show her to her room, Mrs Wilson? The girl needs to get out of those wet things.’ He then whispered to me, ‘We’ve had our tea, but I’m sure Mrs Deighton could find you a little something after dinner. She’ll be much calmer then.’
‘We have not yet established whether Euphemia will be staying,’ snapped Mrs Wilson. ‘But you are quite correct, Mr Holdsworth. The girl is very wet. She dripped considerably on the library carpet. Merry, show her the way up and give her some rags. I want that excess moisture mopped before the gentlemen retire for whisky. If you can do that right, girl, I might consider putting in a word for you with the Mistress.’
I had the sense to nod and say, ‘Yes, Mrs Wilson. Thank you, Mrs Wilson.’ I’d rather have rammed her rags down her long rangy neck, but I suppressed the impulse and even managed a bobbed half-curtsy. ‘You don’t have to curtsy to me, girl,’ she snapped, but I could tell she was pleased. She had the same way about her as Bishop Pagget. I loathed her already.
Merry returned from a back room with a pile of rags, and with a wink gestured to follow her. ‘Mind you’re not seen,’ called Mrs Wilson as we entered the passageway.
‘Oh lor’,’ I muttered.
‘Take no notice of her,’ said Merry. ‘She’s a miserable, dry old stick, but half the time she’s got her lips wrapped round a bottle and she don’t bother us that much.’ She stopped by the library door. ‘Think you can find your way back?’ I nodded in the gloom. ‘Right, I’ll see you later then. Watch out for the gentlemen. You’re so wet through it’s like you’re wearing no clothes.’ She giggled again and gave me a half-pat, half-shove through
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