Authors: Rosie Goodwin
She stood there feeling as if the bottom of the world had dropped out. Lennie had gone! He had left her to face her trouble alone. But what would happen to her now? She knew that her mother had already guessed at the plight she was in, but if her father was to find out, there would be blood on the moon.
Tears trickled down her frozen cheeks as she stood there but she was so shocked that for a time she did not even realise that she was weeping. Eventually she turned and slowly made her way home. There was nowhere else for her to go.
‘Why, whatever brings you back so soon?’ Martha gasped when Maria staggered in some half an hour later.
‘Mrs Everitt is ill so she isn’t opening the shop today,’ Maria said in a small voice.
Martha peeled her shawl from her daughter’s shoulders and after shaking the snow from it she threw it across the large wooden clothes-horse that stood in front of the fire. It instantly began to steam along with the other wet clothes that Martha had just washed as the woman pressed Maria down at the scrubbed oak table.
‘A good hot brew will do you a power of good,’ she commented as she bustled away. Seconds later she returned with a large brown earthenware teapot, and after pouring some into a cup she handed it to her daughter saying, ‘Now get that down you, lass.’ Wiping her wet hands down the front of her apron she then took a seat opposite and asked, ‘And what else is on your mind?’
Maria knew full well what her mother was referring to but after the shock she had just had from Dora Glover she still wasn’t ready to confide.
‘The thing is . . . Mrs Everitt intimated that I might not be needed again, even when she is better.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment clouded Martha’s face. ‘Then we’ll just have to find you some other form of employment, won’t we? If you’re fit enough to work, that is.’
Again, Maria ignored the insinuation and shrugged, saying miserably, ‘Of course I’m fit enough.’ As she drained the cup of tea, however, she felt warmth begin to flow through her again.
‘Right, then go and get changed out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold,’ Martha ordered. ‘You can help me with all this washing today if you’ve a mind to. We’ll face tomorrow when it comes.’
Without a word Maria rose and went to do as she was told. As Martha watched her go, she bit down on her lip. Oh, her lovely girl – what was to become of her? Turning about, she snatched up another pile of dirty washing and carrying it to the copper boiler that stood in the corner by the scullery she pushed it deep down into the hot soapy water with a pair of long wooden tongs.
‘So what is this then?’ Edward asked when he came in shortly before lunchtime. ‘Why aren’t you at your job, girl?’ He stamped the snow from his boots as Maria continued to lay the spoons and dishes on the table.
‘Mrs Everitt is ill,’ Martha answered for her, with a warning glance at her daughter. ‘But worse than that, it appears that she may have no further need of Maria even when she is recovered. It comes as no great surprise really. She has never made a secret of the fact that she begrudges having to pay someone to help her, has she?’
‘I see.’ Edward scowled as he sat down at the table and Martha instantly hurried away to fetch the pot of boiled bacon, barley and potatoes that was bubbling on the range and began to ladle a generous portion into his dish.
‘In that case I may have the solution,’ he said as he lifted his knife and fork. ‘I heard today that they are looking for a new worker up at Hatter’s Hall. Someone who will be prepared to live in.’
‘Oh, Edward! You
surely
would not consider sending our Maria to work in that place?’ Martha exclaimed in horror.
‘Why not? It’s good honest work and someone has to do it,’ he said. ‘We cannot afford for her to sit at home idle, woman. And the fact that she is the preacher’s daughter will go a long way to securing her the job.’
Martha glanced at Maria but surprisingly the girl didn’t seem to be overly concerned at the suggestion. The way Maria saw it, if she had to live in, it would give her a little time to try and resolve the situation in which she found herself. If the worst came to the worst, she could always pay a visit to Mother Cox. The old woman, who lived in an isolated cottage on the outskirts of Ansley Common, was feared by most of the villagers and given a wide berth, but it was a well-known fact that some of her concoctions could rid women of unwanted pregnancies. The way things were going, Maria could see no other way out of her predicament.
‘I am not averse to working at the Hall,’ she stated now, although her stomach was doing somersaults at the very thought of it. ‘And as long as I am allowed to come back and see everyone occasionally, I would be happy to live-in there.’
Edward was pleased at her response. He had expected her to object like her mother. ‘In that case there is no time like the present. Jobs are hard to come by so you should take yourself off there and be interviewed before someone else snaps up the job position.’
‘But Edward, look at the weather,’ Martha said, gesturing towards the window. ‘It’s fit for neither man nor beast to be out in this. Surely she could go tomorrow?’
‘It’s all right, Mother,’ Maria assured her. ‘I shall be perfectly all right if I dress up warmly.’
‘But your boots are still sodden.’ Martha pointed towards where they were steaming on the hearth.
‘Then I shall wrap some rags around my feet before I put them on.’
Ten minutes later, Maria was all bundled up and ready to leave although it was clear that Martha was not happy about it.
‘Now be sure to come straight back home,’ she fretted as she saw her daughter to the door.
Maria nodded and set off. The walk to Hatter’s Hall took her twice as long as it normally would have, for the snow was growing deeper by the minute, but at last she reached the gates, and shielding her eyes, she peered through them.
The old watchman shuffled out from his little wooden hut to ask, ‘Who goes there an’ what would yer be wantin’?’
Maria gulped deep in her throat before answering. ‘I have come to apply for the position that is vacant.’
‘Hmm, yer’d best come in then.’ The old man unlocked the high gates and once Maria had slipped through them he waved his hand in the direction of the Hall. ‘Just foller the road an’ yer’ll come to it.’
‘Thank you.’ Maria lifted her drab skirts and plodded on, amazed at how long the drive was. Thankfully it was treelined for most of the way so the snow wasn’t quite so deep here and she was able to move along more easily. When Hatter’s Hall finally came into view she paused to stare at it. She had heard many stories about it but had never actually seen it before, and now that she had she didn’t particularly like what she saw. It looked a dark, sinister place. She could see metal bars across the many windows, and here and there a spiral of smoke rose into the winter sky from the chimneys. The house was built of grey stone and all around it grew tall leafless trees, as if they were standing guard over it. Maria took a deep breath and ploughed on. She had not come this far to turn back now.
Once she reached the house, she climbed the steps leading to the enormous double doors and tugged on the bell-pull hanging at the side of them. The snow had muffled all other sounds and the clanging of the bell within the Hall seemed very loud.
There was the grating of heavy bolts being drawn and a young girl in a mob cap opened a door and peered out at her.
‘I have come to apply for the position that is vacant,’ Maria told her with her head held high.
‘Then you’d best go round to the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper will see yer then.’ The young woman, who looked very pale, waved her hand in the general direction Maria was to take before closing the door firmly in her face without another word.
Maria began to walk around the outside of the house. At the back of it was a large stable-block and a dairy, and eventually she spotted what she hoped was the kitchen door.
This time when she knocked it was answered by a stout rosy-cheeked woman, and when Maria explained what she was there for, the woman ushered her inside immediately, saying, ‘Why, you must be froze through, lass. You are brave to venture out on such a day. I’m the cook by the way, Mrs Bunting, but it’s Miss Belle you’ll be needin’ to see – she’s the Housekeeper.’ Then, turning to a young girl who was scrubbing a mountain of dirty pots in a huge stone sink, she told her, ‘Nancy, run an’ fetch Miss Belle. She should be in her sittin’ room.’
‘Yes, Cook.’ The girl, who was painfully thin, instantly swiped her hands down the front of her apron and scuttled away as the cook waved Maria towards an enormous scrubbed table that stood in the middle of the room.
‘Sit yerself down, she shouldn’t be too long,’ she told Maria pleasantly enough, then lifting a large knife she went back to peeling a huge pile of vegetables. Maria took the opportunity to look about her. The kitchen was the size of her own home all put together, she was sure. Great gleaming copper pans hung above a large cooking range but other than that there were no homely touches about the place. But then she supposed that was to be expected. She was in an asylum, after all, not a coaching inn.
‘Do you happen to know what the job I am applying for entails?’ Maria asked after a time.
The cook raised an eyebrow. The lass was nicely spoken, there was no doubt about it. She glanced towards the door before answering in a hushed voice, ‘I heard as there’s a new resident on the east wing as needs a lady’s maid.’
‘A
lady’s
maid?’ Maria was puzzled. ‘But I thought this was a lunatic asylum?’
‘It is, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye.’ The cook paused. ‘The east wing is reserved for gentry, an’ not all of them are loonies if yer get me drift.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
The cook sighed. ‘Well, let’s put it this way then. There are certain young ladies that find themselves in . . . shall we say
a certain condition
– an’ o’ course it wouldn’t do fer them to have a child out o’ wedlock, so their folks pay fer them to come here till the birthin’ is over. I have to prepare special meals fer them, though the rest o’ the poor sods have to eat what’s given to ’em, an’ between you an’ me it ain’t much better than pigswill. Not that many of ’em know the difference.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Maria had sat there for some minutes mulling over what the cook had told her when the green-baize door suddenly opened and the young maid reappeared, closely followed by a middle-aged woman with a stern face. The woman was tall and thin, smartly dressed in a full-skirted pale grey bombazine dress that matched the colour of her hair, which she wore in a tight bun on the back of her head – a style that did nothing to enhance her appearance. Maria thought briefly how colourless she was; even her eyes were grey and they were now raking Maria from head to foot.
Nancy returned to washing the pots and the cook kept her head down as the woman spoke. ‘I believe you have come to apply for a position?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Maria stood up and gazed back at her solemnly as the woman continued to stare at her.
Could Maria have known it, Miss Belle was actually quite pleased with what she saw. The girl looked clean – well, cleaner than most from these parts – and although she was wet with snow, the woman could see that she was tidy. The last girl she had employed from the village had been infested with headlice, which had led to many of the inmates having to have their heads shaved.
‘Have you had any experience of working in places such as this?’ she enquired now.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Maria admitted. ‘I have been working in the post office in the village.’
‘And may I ask your name, girl?’
‘My name is Maria Mundy and my father is the preacher at the chapel in Chapel End.’
‘I see.’ The woman stared at her thoughtfully, then lifting her skirts she instructed her: ‘Come through to my sitting room and we will continue this conversation there.’
She moved away and as Maria followed her, the cook gave her an encouraging wink.
Maria soon found herself in a room that appeared to be almost as bleak as the rest of the place, save for a fire in the grate and a comfy chair at the side of it. A bed, which was neatly made, stood in one corner and there was a small table and chair where Miss Belle sat to read and eat her meals. On another wall stood a plain wardrobe and a chest of drawers. There was also a well-stocked bookcase but Maria noted that the floor was bare, and despite the fire in the grate the room felt cold.
‘Now then,’ Miss Belle said when she had closed the door. ‘Let me tell you about the job. First of all, I would have to have your solemn promise that you would never speak to anyone outside these four walls about anything or anyone that you see here. Would you feel able to do that?’
When Maria nodded solemnly she hurried on, ‘We have a certain new er . . . resident who is expected to be here for a few months. The lady in question is of good family and therefore she will need the services of a lady’s maid to assist her with dressing, bathing, et cetera. Again I must stress that your discretion would have to be without question. Your wage would be eight shillings and sixpence per week and you would get free meals. You would also be issued with a uniform. You would be given each Sunday afternoon off, but other than that you would not be allowed off the premises. How does that sound to you?’
‘It sounds perfectly satisfactory,’ Maria assured her calmly. She had only been paid five shillings per week at the post office, and had to go home for her meals.
For a moment the woman surveyed her thoughtfully. Then, making a decision, she told her, ‘Very well, I am happy to offer you the post. If you are agreeable to the terms, I will ask you to sign the employees’ register.’
Maria nodded as the woman marched away to return with a large ledger.
‘Put your mark there. A cross will do,’ she instructed, dipping a quill into a small inkpot that stood on the table and handing it to Maria.
Maria took it from her, and as she neatly wrote her name the older woman’s eyes stretched.
‘You can write!’ Her voice betrayed her amazement.
‘All of my family can write – my father taught us,’ Maria answered proudly. ‘Now when would you like me to start?’