Authors: The Quincunx
At one o’clock the family returned and the carriage and horses were put away for their one day of rest. No drive in the Park or to pay visits took place in the afternoon and if any of the family went out, a hackney-chariot was ordered from the nearby stand.
Towards half-past three when the family had had their dinner and tea had been served, there came the week’s great event below stairs: “hall-dinner”. This was the single occasion — other than feast-days, when all of the servants (except for Bessie and me and our fellow crustaceans) dined together, and they all dressed up for it. The household’s coxcombs, the footmen, appeared resplendent in their full dress livery, Mr Thackaberry and Sir Perceval’s gentleman were no less smart in their best coats and waistcoats, while even Mr Phumphred and his grooms presented themselves in carefully waxed top-boots and freshly-laundered neck-cloths. The female upper-servants, of course, vied
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with each other to appear in fine gowns, and even the maids in their muslin dresses competed with each other in the area of bows and ribands.
A great deal of ceremony was observed. First of all the lower servants assembled in the hall, standing beside their places. When all were present Bob went to summon the upper-servants, reappearing a few moments later with a haughty and remote expression on his face as he flung open the door and they inarched in. Mr Thackaberry said grace and then the upper-servants seated themselves in places assigned to them — and the subject of much bickering — strictly in accordance with their rank. The butler occupied the head of the table with the housekeeper on his right. The rest of the servants sat in descending order of importance as the august presence of the butler grew remoter: first the upper servants with both sexes inter-mingled, then the livery-servants with the women first and then the men, ranked according to seniority. finally, the head-coachman, Mr Phumphred, having ceded his week-day position to Mr Thackaberry, fortified himself at the opposite end of the long table with one of his grooms on either side, resplendently clad in plush knee-breeches and gold-laced coat.
On this occasion Bob took his place at the table and it fell to Bessie and myself to serve everybody. During the first course the upper-servants made conversation amongst themselves, and their inferiors had to remain silent unless addressed.
While we brought in the second course, Bob served wine to the upper servants and Ned handed round porter for those in livery. As Bob poured a first glass for Mr Thackaberry that gentleman said affably:
“Come, fill the glass, Edward.” He turned smiling to Mr Sumpsion: “To stint the wine is to insult our employer with the implication of close-fistedness, don’t you think.”
He agreed. And now Mr Thackaberry began an animated discussion with the housekeeper concerning the scandalous price of oranges. (For in front of their inferiors, they treated each other with courteous geniality.) When everyone at the upper end of the table had had the chance to air his or her views upon this topic, and the right of the upper servants to ignore the rest of the diners had been demonstrated, the butler, with great condescension, then bellowed down the length of the table:
“Very fine weather we’ve been having, don’t you think, Mr Phumphred?”
“So it is indeed, sir, you’re very kind to say so,” Mr Phumphred answered, clearly embarrassed by the public part he was called upon to play. “I thought my lady looked remarkably well at church, Mr Thackaberry.”
“She did, she did,” the butler replied, turning to Mrs Peppercorn for confirmation.
“Indeed she did, bless her,” that lady sighed. “Especially when you consider how much she has to vex her.”
The top end of the table exchanged sighs. The collective curiosity of the lower end expressed itself in Mr Phumphred’s cautious query: “They say Mr David is causing her a great deal of consarn?”
Mr Thackaberry and Mrs Peppercorn smiled at each other and shook their heads.
“And that that’s why the family ain’t going down to Hougham this Christmas,” Mr Phumphred persisted.
Mr Thackaberry placed his finger beside his nose: “Ah well, verb sap, you 616 THE
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know, Mr Phumphred. There are various matters at issue here that I … in short, my lips are sealed.”
“Is there any news of the Chancery suit, Mr Thackaberry?” the head-coachman asked after a suitable pause. “They say it’s going against us.”
“Much more complicated than that, you know, Mr Phumphred,” Mr Thackaberry said briskly. “As you know, the Huffam heir has disappeared and it’s said that the judge is about to declare him dead.”
“And what would that mean for our people?” Mr Phumphred asked.
“It would be grave,” the butler answered, shaking his head and reaching for his wine-glass. “Very grave.”
“Why would that be, Mr Thackaberry?” Miss Pickavance asked innocently.
“Why, because … That’s to say … It’s a complicated matter of law, young lady, that I don’t believe you’d understand if I were to explain it.”
“Did you not meet the Huffam heir once, Mrs Peppercorn?” the head-housemaid asked sycophantically.
The housekeeper beamed at her: “Indeed I did. More than ten years ago when I was keeping house down at Hougham. In fact, I may justly say it was I that found the Huffam heir. He was a mere child at the time, of course, and living under an assumed name. But you know, I saw something in him that made me feel that he belonged to an ancient and honourable family. One can tell, I think, if one has spent one’s life among the gentry. I mean the real gentry.” (Here she glared magnificently at Miss Pickavance.) “And I was correct for he — or, rather his mother — was the last representative of the Huffam family from which Sir Perceval is himself descended. (For as you must know, Sir Perceval’s grandfather, Sir Hugo, married the daughter of Mr Jeoffrey Huffam.) But as for that little boy, he made such a great impression upon me that I told Sir Perceval about him and he guessed the truth, and this was how he and his mother were traced. Sir Perceval was most grateful. Most grateful.” She paused to let the implications of this sink in and then went on: “Though the heir has been lost sight of more recently, I am certain I would know him again for his nobility of bearing. But alas! he must have perished, poor child.”
“And the worse for the family if that is so,” Mr Thackaberry said, shaking his head.
When the third course had been removed Mr Thackaberry, after exchanging a glance with the housekeeper, rose — slightly unsteadily — to his feet, and this was the signal for Bob to jump up and hurry to open the door and for everyone else to stand. With an elaborate exchange of bows and curtseys on both sides, the upper servants now filed out of the room. The atmosphere instantly relaxed. Mr Phumphred moved to the top of the table, everyone made more room for themselves, and the conversation quickly became animated and unconstrained.
“Go on,” Bob said to me, seeing me still in the room after a few moments. “Dissart’s in the pantry. Git on and sarve it.”
I did as instructed and a few minutes later left the upper servants drinking and eating nuts and comfits as they gossiped and quarrelled all the more unrestrainedly after the united front they had just had to present. When I went back an hour later the ladies had withdrawn to the housekeeper’s room for their tea, but the gentlemen were still there and discharging devotedly their duty to demonstrate their employers’ open-handedness.
Their inferiors in the hall were just as jealous of the family’s reputation, A FRIEND ON THE INSIDE
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and by the end of the afternoon it was clear that very little work was going to be done during the rest of that day, except that Bob had one or two trays to carry upstairs. Bessie and I, however, still had to clear up and perform our normal duties. Under the conditions that now prevailed it was at least easier to obtain food, and Bob even pressed me, with uncharacteristic good humour, to eat some slices of boiled beef and the remains of a preserved damson-pie.
Meanwhile, the family consumed a cold supper which had been set out for them in the dining-room immediately after their luncheon, and so required no further work. I realized in course of time that on Sundays they either ate such a collation or dined out, for there was no parlour dinner and certainly no “company dinner” on that day. The effect of this was that on the Sabbath the majority of the servants had no further duties from shortly after midday, and they made use of this freedom in the way I have described. When I had cleared the hall and Bessie and I had washed the dishes, it was about seven o’clock and for the first time during the whole of that week I felt relatively free and unobserved. Consequently I was able, watching for my opportunity, to slip out into the lane at about half-past seven.
There I found Joey waiting and hugging himself with cold.
“What took you so long?” he demanded.
“How could I help it?” I protested. “I couldn’t get away any sooner.”
I told him that although I had made little progress, I was reasonably optimistic about my chances of acquiring the will; and I asked him for the spider. Before parting we agreed that I would try to meet him at about the same time on Sunday a fortnight hence.
“My dad’s about the same,” he said just as I was leaving him, for in my haste I had not thought to ask. I turned back but he hurried away.
In the week that followed I made no further progress, except that I came to understand more clearly how the household functioned. The following Sunday Bob had been more devoted than usual to the family’s reputation. When I went into the servants’-hall to remind him (on the instructions of Bessie) that it was time for him to take up the cold trays to Miss Liddy, Miss Henrietta, and her governess, Miss fillery, he stood up and staggered a few steps. The other footmen and maids who were in the room laughed.
“Dammit, give me a moment or two and I’ll be right as five-pence,” he protested, but at that moment he stumbled backwards and sat down heavily on the form. “One of you will have to do it,” he said, looking at his confrères.
“Well,
I
shan’t,” declared Will.
The others murmured agreement with this sentiment.
“It’s the boy’s place to take ’em up if you can’t,” Ned pointed out.
“Hear that?” Bob said to me. “Put on your pantry-apring and take them trays up. But don’t let no-one see you.”
“You’ll ketch it if she noses on you to Assinder,” Will said warningly to Bob.
“Who?” enquired Bob.
“Why, that b—,” he answered somewhat enigmatically, and the others muttered in agreement.
“Assinder!” Bob exclaimed. “Why, I ain’t a-feared o’ him. It’s he should be a-feared o’
me.”
The others laughed but not very affably for I don’t think that Bob was much liked.
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However, the upshot was that a few minutes later, laden with the three trays, some rather incoherent instructions from Bob and much advice from the footmen — most of it facetiously designed to set me disastrously astray — I ascended the back-stairs and passed through the baize-door onto the landing of the second floor. I felt a thrill of excitement at being for the first time alone on that side.
However, as I made my way along the passage I was alarmed to see the housekeeper coming towards me. She stopped and stared at me in amazement.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Please, Mrs Peppercorn,” I said; “it’s Mr Bob … I mean, Edward. He’s not well, so I am carrying the trays up for him.”
“Very well,” she said, “but I will speak to Mr Thackaberry about this, you may be sure. And do not forget to tell Edward so.”
She strode on, and a moment later I knocked on the door of the governess’s apartments.
“Come in,” said a commanding female voice.
I entered and found myself in the presence of a lady of middle years who was seated on a chair before the fire in a somewhat austere parlour. Sitting opposite her and therefore with her back to me was a young lady whom I dared not even glance at.
“Who are you?” Miss fillery said sharply.
“Please, miss,” I said, “I’m the new hall-boy, Dick.”
I noticed that the young lady turned her head to look at me when I spoke but I resolutely kept my eyes on the countenance before me.
“And why are you here?”
“Bob is not well, miss.”
“Bob? Whom do you mean?” she said with a shudder.
“Edward, miss.”
“How dare you come up here out of livery!”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not a livery servant.”
“Indeed? Then tell Mr Thackaberry that a servant out of livery must never be sent to attend upon me again.”
This revealed so mistaken a notion of the kind of relations I had with the butler that I felt I had to point this out: “Please, miss, I think you’d better tell him yourself.”
Her face whitened and her eyes seemed to become little points of darkness: “How dare you be impertinent!”
“I didn’t mean to be, miss. I just meant that Mr Thackaberry wouldn’t pay much heed to … ”
“I have no interest in hearing what you meant to say,” she interrupted. “And neither do I intend to bandy words with you any longer. finish your work and go. I shall report this to Mr Assinder himself.”
Now I knew whom the footmen had been referring to in such unflattering terms! I placed the two trays on the sideboard and took the covered dishes and the cutlery from the topmost one. As I began to place the articles on the table in accordance with Bob’s directions, the young lady rose and came across as if to seat herself at the table.
As she did so we exchanged glances and I recognised my solemn-faced little companion whom I had thrice encountered at Hougham and had glimpsed a few times entering and leaving the house when I had been watching in the street.
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She was almost my height and very slender. Her countenance — all the paler for the contrast with her black hair — had grown longer and thinner, though it still wore the same melancholy expression, and was a little too pinched to be called conventionally beautiful. She appeared to have looked at me with no more than idle curiosity and I felt a sharp sense of disappointment, but as she seated herself she put her left hand on the table and then looked directly at me and then down at her hand. To my amazement I saw that she had slightly raised one finger and was drawing to my attention the ring I had given her in the park at Hougham all those years ago. I glanced at her, keeping my face as impassive as I could and the look I received in return impressed itself deeply upon me. It was curious and speculative as if I offered some possibility of something. I wished I could acknowledge it but with the governess’s sharp eyes upon me, I dared not.