said, smiling and hoping for a smile in return. I wanted to get on her good side, since I was all but certain she’d be the one ordering me to scrub floors and polish silver.
As I went to the basin I introduced myself, but she ignored me, pretending to be busy with pinning a small tear in the hem of her skirt. When I asked how many other girls were in the house, she merely rolled her eyes and grunted.
“Lady’s got herself another green one,” she grumbled as she walked past me to the other side of the room.
Just by being here, it seemed, I’d already gone wrong.
Opening the door of a large wardrobe, Caroline brought out a maid’s dress. Practical looking but pretty, it had a row of shiny buttons up the front, and matching lace collar and cuffs. She inspected the garment front and back and then laid it across my mattress. Going to the wardrobe a second time, she fetched a pair of boots from the bottom drawer and then placed them on the floor next to my bed.
“Thank you,” I said again, making my voice as sweet as I could, hoping she’d forget herself and say something in reply. She did not.
Pulling the dress over my head, I caught the faint smell of sweat from the girl who’d worn it before me. Who was she? Where was she now?
Even second-hand, the dress was nicer than anything I’d ever owned. I couldn’t help but admire the cut of it, how the pleats came racing down the front of the waist, how the buttons sat in a straight, neat row after I’d fastened them. Caroline gave me a sideways look, clearly trying to discern if the dress would suit. I turned in place, smoothing the brushed cotton cloth against my belly. She needn’t have worried. The dress fit fine.
The boots, however, were another matter. Although they were polished and whole, the leather was stiff and unforgiving. As I slid my feet inside them, my toes poked through the holes in the ends of my stockings, rubbing against the boots, threatening to blister even before I stood up. Laces loose, they still felt tight. I took them off and put them on again, and then did it again, each time tugging at the ends of my stockings until the holes were tucked under my feet. Still, my toes found their way out to rub against the leather.
“Lady’s got to have her tea by eight,” Caroline said, heading for the door.
I gave up on the stockings and hurried to tie my boots. I followed her down the same flight of narrow stairs I’d come up with Nestor the night before, this time descending past the doorway to the main floor of the house and into the kitchen below.
Nestor was there, tending a fire in one of the three large stoves that lined one wall. “Good morning, Caroline,” he said, greeting the housekeeper with a cheerful voice.
She responded with a distracted, “We’ll see.”
“Good morning, Miss Fenwick,” he said, now turning to me, “I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, fine, sir,” I replied, relieved to find he hadn’t changed his ways towards me because of Caroline’s attitude.
I looked around, thinking I might find at least one other maid preparing for the day, but there were only the three of us, Nestor, Caroline and me.
I watched as Caroline took a loaf of bread from a basket and began tearing it apart. She placed three metal soup bowls in front of her and put several hunks of bread into each one. When I stepped close and offered to help, she jabbed a sharp elbow into my ribs and shoved me aside. Wincing, I decided to act as best I could on her nods and shrugs until she saw fit to direct me with her words.
Once the bowls were filled with bread, Caroline went to the cupboard and brought out a large, heavy crock. After removing the crock’s lid, she took up a ladle and plunged it through the thick layer of fat that sat across the top of the pot. “One for you, one for you, one for you,” she whispered to herself as she deftly poured ladlefuls of broth into the bowls. The ragged pieces of bread melted with the weight of the
As I went to the basin I introduced myself, but she ignored me, pretending to be busy with pinning a small tear in the hem of her skirt. When I asked how many other girls were in the house, she merely rolled her eyes and grunted.
“Lady’s got herself another green one,” she grumbled as she walked past me to the other side of the room.
Just by being here, it seemed, I’d already gone wrong.
Opening the door of a large wardrobe, Caroline brought out a maid’s dress. Practical looking but pretty, it had a row of shiny buttons up the front, and matching lace collar and cuffs. She inspected the garment front and back and then laid it across my mattress. Going to the wardrobe a second time, she fetched a pair of boots from the bottom drawer and then placed them on the floor next to my bed.
“Thank you,” I said again, making my voice as sweet as I could, hoping she’d forget herself and say something in reply. She did not.
Pulling the dress over my head, I caught the faint smell of sweat from the girl who’d worn it before me. Who was she? Where was she now?
Even second-hand, the dress was nicer than anything I’d ever owned. I couldn’t help but admire the cut of it, how the pleats came racing down the front of the waist, how the buttons sat in a straight, neat row after I’d fastened them. Caroline gave me a sideways look, clearly trying to discern if the dress would suit. I turned in place, smoothing the brushed cotton cloth against my belly. She needn’t have worried. The dress fit fine.
The boots, however, were another matter. Although they were polished and whole, the leather was stiff and unforgiving. As I slid my feet inside them, my toes poked through the holes in the ends of my stockings, rubbing against the boots, threatening to blister even before I stood up. Laces loose, they still felt tight. I took them off and put them on again, and then did it again, each time tugging at the ends of my stockings until the holes were tucked under my feet. Still, my toes found their way out to rub against the leather.
“Lady’s got to have her tea by eight,” Caroline said, heading for the door.
I gave up on the stockings and hurried to tie my boots. I followed her down the same flight of narrow stairs I’d come up with Nestor the night before, this time descending past the doorway to the main floor of the house and into the kitchen below.
Nestor was there, tending a fire in one of the three large stoves that lined one wall. “Good morning, Caroline,” he said, greeting the housekeeper with a cheerful voice.
She responded with a distracted, “We’ll see.”
“Good morning, Miss Fenwick,” he said, now turning to me, “I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, fine, sir,” I replied, relieved to find he hadn’t changed his ways towards me because of Caroline’s attitude.
I looked around, thinking I might find at least one other maid preparing for the day, but there were only the three of us, Nestor, Caroline and me.
I watched as Caroline took a loaf of bread from a basket and began tearing it apart. She placed three metal soup bowls in front of her and put several hunks of bread into each one. When I stepped close and offered to help, she jabbed a sharp elbow into my ribs and shoved me aside. Wincing, I decided to act as best I could on her nods and shrugs until she saw fit to direct me with her words.
Once the bowls were filled with bread, Caroline went to the cupboard and brought out a large, heavy crock. After removing the crock’s lid, she took up a ladle and plunged it through the thick layer of fat that sat across the top of the pot. “One for you, one for you, one for you,” she whispered to herself as she deftly poured ladlefuls of broth into the bowls. The ragged pieces of bread melted with the weight of the
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