BONE HOUSE Read Free

and write, as my mother had been unable, because she herself could barely sign her name. I was given daily lessons, together with readings of the Scriptures, for the first few years: now it is I who read to her, for she is decrepit and her eyes are failing. For a while she taught two other girls as well, my replacement in the kitchens, and the laundry maid, but neither showed a facility for learning and they were eventually left to Cook’s devices. They and Cook and I are the only women in the house, aside from my mistress. With the exception of Josiah, my master’s private steward, the menservants come and go; there is little opportunity for them to rise here, as the estate is not grand enough. A few have stayed but some have left to seek their fortunes elsewhere. In all we number twelve or thirteen. We take our meals together in the Great Hall, while the master and his mother, my mistress, dine in privacy in the adjoining chamber.
    To sit at table with so many was a novelty for me at first; always it had been just my mother and myself, alone with our silence for company. In the beginning I found the coarse talk of the men and table banter of the girls alarming; early on I found it difficult to eat at all, so much so that my weight dwindled to that of a stable boy. Eventually I mastered my senses and could speak my mind, though I still found the bawdy humor and sly insinuations not to my taste. I suppose I am my mother’s daughter in that respect, for she has little time and even less facility for an exchange of wit. Her words are full of truth but empty of grace or subtlety: it is the latter that my mistress has tried to cultivate in me. Perhaps I am the daughter she never had, though I have never felt affection for her, only loyalty. For this I am amply rewarded. I now have my own bedchamber at the top of the house; not big but private, with a small rectangular window tucked under the eave. Inside there is a real mattress and pillow, with bleached linen sheets to sleep on, and a rough-hewn trunk to hold my few possessions, most ofwhich were gifts from her. Every year at Christmas she makes a present of some cloth that I make up into a dress or cape. The first year I cut it carefully so there would be extra left to make a bonnet for my mother. When I gave it to her she pursed her lips and thanked me, but I have never seen her wear it.
    It is the windows of the Great House I prize above all. I love the way the sunlight passes through the leaded glass, creating patterns on the floor that vanish in an instant, like a whim. Before I came to the Great House, I lived in near-darkness. My mother’s house had only one window, open to the elements and facing to the north. The sun did not shine through it, and the house was always cold as a result. We lived in one room and shared a bed, which was large and hung with curtains all around to keep out the draf. The cottage was one of several rented from my master; we were the only tenants in the row who did not farm. To a greater or lesser extent our fortune still depended on the harvest; in famine years, there were fewer babies to be born, and little money to pay my mother’s fees. But in times of plenty, we did well. My mother had a reputation that extended far beyond the village. She often traveled to neighboring towns, and once attended royalty who were passing through en route to London. The baby was born early and died, but my mother was still rewarded with more gold sovereigns than we had ever seen, as she had acted quickly and saved the mother’s life.
    I was fourteen when I took up residence at the Great House. I was small for my age and had not yet a woman’s body. Cook took one look at me and laughed, saying I was not large enough to stew, let alone to help prepare one. But I worked harder than the others and kept my tongue, and soon I’d earned my place. There are advantages that come with being slight: I move about the House more freely than the others, and as a