But the truth was, some days you just wouldn’t know what to expect from missus. I got to realise this after a few weeks. One minute she was good as gold, you could not have asked for a more pleasant employer, the next she would fly into a rampage and yell at you. Then just when you got used to her acting the Mogul she would change again and go all distant. She’d talk to you in the flat voice asking you to do things that didn’t seem altogether necessary like she’d tell you to take the pips out an apple and then leave it for you to eat, or make you draw some water and then just pour it away into the dirt. If you asked her what you had done wrong and why she was angry she would smile at you very kind and say she wasn’t angry. And all the time she was watching watching watching you and afterwards she would scuttle up to her room and for a long time you would hear not a peep out her. About an hour later she would emerge looking much restored, I used to think she had been laying down for a nice nap.
I always did my best to please her. Once or twice more in that first month she bid me sit on the straight back chair and told me to close my eyes and then it was the old game of stand up sit down stand up sit down, flip me could I see the sense in it, could I chook but I went along with it as far as I was able. The 2nd time she asked me I went up and down 10 times but more than that I would not do. On the 3rd occasion, I got to 26 times but on the 27th something in me rebelled and like the broken horse, I went down but would not get up. She was always pleased with me though and said encouraging things like, “Well done, Bessy, you are a good girl,” then tellt me to go back to my work.
Despite these fickle moods, I was enjoying my new life, for it was as much of an adventure and as exotic to me as if I had travelled to live in the jungle of South America. We was right as rain, me and missus, rubbing along on our own together with work in the day and then at night punctuation and I fair tore through the reading books she give me.
Bleak House, Great Expectations, Pilgrims Progress, Justified Sinner,
I went through them all and more besides. Missus usually went to church of a Sunday and sometimes a Wednesday, truth be told she was C. of E. but the only congregation in those parts was “You Pee‘ and she only went for appearances sake. Needless to say I was not welcome, being R.C. and not one of the Chosen Ones, if I or any other ”Taig’ had walked into the church service at Snatter GOB KNOWS what would have happened. I expect the roof would blow off, the place explode and old Scratch himself climb up into the ruins and show everybody his jack and jewels and make them smell his bottom. (That’s probably what the locals thought anyway.)
On the rare occasions I had no other chore to do, I used to keep missus company by walking her down the lane to church. I’d wait outside until the service was over and then walk home with her. Which was fine and nice except for when Biscuit Meek would come out at the end of the service and give me filthy looks. I knew now that he looked after the plough and horses at Castle Haivers and drove the carriage and he was a fierce man for his worship. It was a shame that the Lord never saw fit to give Biscuit a chin seeing as how he was one of his staunchest. He had a mouth built straight into his neck and his lips was always frothy and wet and turned down at the corners like he had just took a swig of the buttermilk but really all that froth and wet was just a sign
of religious fervour.
Apart from him, there was not too many farm servants. It didn’t take long to work out that master James did not keep enough staff. In the house, they should have had a cook and probably a butler, a ladies maid and a housekeeper all this, but there was only me and I had so much to do, I hardly ever seen the other servants. I learned from missus that Alasdair the foreman ran the estate for master James. This Alasdair was married to Jessie the milkmaid and they lived in the farm up the back lane, along with her sister Muriel. Biscuit and Hector and any temporary workers that were hired stayed in the bothies beyond the woods. The only person I seen with any regularity was Hector when he came to the house to run errands. Once or twice I caught sight of the Curdle twins going up the lane or crossing the yard. But apart from that I was on my own. Or if I was lucky, with missus.
Mostly I worked like a man with 6 arms. My mother used to say hard graft was for fools but with the help of missus I began to see that this was not necessarily the case. For one thing there was always a purpose to the day and I found I liked that. I enjoyed working up an appetite especially when I could get out into the fresh air to look about nie for missus said it put roses in my cheeks. It was not long before I had fine muscles forming in my arms from all the lifting and carrying, I tell you this I could have held a horse down in a gale.
“Parte pas les mains vides’ was
one of missus favourite sayings and she taught me how it was said and spelt in French. It means ‘Don’t go empty handed” and it is a good motto in life for you will find there is always something to be carried from one place to another and if you are in the country it is usually manure. But I didn’t mind that. The missus admired my muscles because she said that a servant girl
should
have strong arms, it was nothing to be
ashamed
of and she often asked to measure them to see how they were progressing.
I do believe there was times, even in amongst the shite (excuse me but no other word will do) when I was fillt with a kind of Glory, was it God himself had entered me or was it the missus? Or was it in fact just fresh air and exercise, who could say?
Most of all I began to think that if you could make someone happy with a good job well done, particularly someone as special as
my Arabella
(which was how I had already come to think of her—only never out loud!) then was that not worth something?
There was this one time, I found a horse chestnut in the yard it was a beauty about the size of a babys fist so I polished it up with butter and a cloth and give it to the missus and she said she liked it very well and would even display it on her dressing table.
Encouraged and delighted by this response, I spent the next two evenings secretly carving her name on a
1/2
of a raw potato, it looked quite good when it was done except the last “L‘ and ”A’ was squashed where I realised I was running out of spud. The missus liked this present very well too, she said I was clever and that you hardly noticed the squashed letters. Only she didn’t think it was quite healthy to keep a potato in her bedroom so she put it on the kitchen shelf where we could
both
admire it while we ate our meals.
* * *
One afternoon, missus rang for me to come to her room. She was sat by the window gazing out at the darkening horizon, perhaps a little sad. But she brightened up when I come in.
“Look!” she says and gestured at the dressing table. Sure enough there was the horse chestnut I had give her proudly on display. I felt very pleased about that.
“Now, Bessy,” she says. “Why don’t you open up my press?”
I thought she might want me to brush down some of her clothes so I did as I was bid without thinking. I’d seen inside the press before, she had about 1/2 a dozen gowns on the shelves in there, all in soft shades of blue, grey, lilac and green.
“Which do you like the best?” the missus says to me.
“Oh I don’t know,” I says. They was nice enough clothes all right but perhaps not
exactly
to my taste—in those days I was young and preferred brighter colours and satin and more trimmings.
“How about the aquamarine?” she says. “I’ve heard you admire that before now.”
I looked at it—it was the one she had on the day I arrived and for that reason I did hold it in especial esteem.
“I suppose that
might
be my favourite, marm.”
“Try it on.”
I looked at her. “Marm?”
She smiled and her dimples appeared, it made you long to bite her cheeks (though of course I would never have done it!).
“Bessy dear,” she says. “You’ve been a good and a true friend to me and look what you have done, given me a lovely horse chestnut, so I must give you something in return.”
“And your potato,” I says.
“Yes, of course, my potato,” she says. “All the more reason. So take off your frock and put on mine.”
Well what could I do but what I was bid. I found that her frock was a little tight for she was more slender than I was and not as big in the tit but it was not
too
bad.
Missus stood up and looked at me with her head on one side. “My goodness, Bessy, one might almost take you for the mistress of the house!”
She watched me as I strutted about in front of the looking glass, admiring myself. Then she says, “Bessy, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”
“Yes marm?”
“You will be—discreet won’t you, dear?”
“About what, marm?”
About—certain things that have—certain things I have asked you to do.“
I thought a moment. “You mean like my little book, marm?”
She says, “Yes, that would be one thing. And also—other things.”
“You mean like getting me to stand up and sit down all the time? And letting me put on your frock?”
She blinked or maybe it was a wince. “Yes,” she says. “I think it would be for the best if you didn’t mention any of that to anyone— anyone at all.”
“Och I will certainly be discreet, marm,” I says. “You don’t even need to mention it. I would have done it anyway.”
She took a deep breath and smiled. Clearly she was most relieved.
“Good girl,” she says.
“It’s no bother to me at all, marm.” And then I blurted out, I can’t remember the exact words but it was something like, “I would do
anything
for you marm,
anything
at all, you only need to ask me. You’ve been awful good to me and—well a fair exchange is no robbery”
The missus seemed took aback, or you might almost have said a bit alarmed.
Well, that’s—that’s—good to hear,“ she says and then she patted the empty shelf of the press and I took this as a sign that our dressing up game was over.
I didn’t realise at the time that she was probably worried about her husbands return. Indeed, I’d almost forgot he existed. A few letters “ad come from London, where (apparently) he was on business. But missus kept no likeness of him and barely mentioned him. He was not part of our lives. The imaginative side of me occasionally wondered whether she might have done away with him. Sometimes, as I lay in bed at night I tried to guess where she’d put the body. Would she have buried him in the vegetable garden for instance? Or hid him in the attic? And would his blood drip through the ceiling and make a stain? And how long before he began to stink?
But as I found out ere long the master was alive and well and not at all stinky. The very next day after she let me try on her frock, missus lost her thimble and sent me down to the village to buy another. Reverend Pollock was emerging from the shop as I approached. There was no escape, since he stood in front of the door, blocking my way, hell roast him.
Ah-haah“ he goes. Then he fished a pamphlet out his pocket and pressed it into my hand. ”I have been saving this for you, girl,“ he says.
I glanced down and seen that it was a tract, entitled,
“Dear Roman Catholic Friend.”
Before I had a moment to be irritated about that, he spoke again, waving a hand in the air.
“Read it at your leisure,” he says. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have. Of course, you’ll be rushed off your feet now your master is come home.“
“You are mistaken, sir,” I says. “Master James is not at home.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “I thought you would know all about the comings and goings at Castle Haivers. But perhaps your mistress does not much confide in you. I think you’ll find that James arrived back today”
He sauntered off, very pleased with himself. I crumpled up the tract and could have thrown it at his flipping head but had to content myself with waiting until he was out of sight and tossing it over a hedge.
Of course it was still possible that he was wrong but as soon as I got back to the house I seen a portmanteau stood in the hallway. And the missus was shut in the parlour, talking with a man, in low voices. It was him, the master. Returned! The Old Bollix had been right. I have to admit I was a bit put out that my Arabella hadn’t even
mentioned
to me that her husband was expected home, for I had the impression she told me everything. It was a little upsetting. It even occurred to me that she had sent me to the shop to get me out the way while she welcomed him home. But I convinced myself that she must have just forgot and tried to put it out my mind. Besides I was more than a little curious to get a look at this husband. So after a moments hesitation I knocked at the parlour door and waited for her to say “Come!” as usual.
Instead there was a pause, then she opened the door a crack and peered out. I give her a nice low curtsey. She frowned at me. “What is it now, Bessy?”
“I have your thimble for you, marm.” It was hard to see past her because she had only opened the door a few inches and she was stood right in the gap.
She held out her finger under my nose. “Well?” she says after a moment.
“What?” I says.
“The
thimble
, please Bessy.”
I slipped it onto her finger.
“Thank you,” she says and started to close the door.
“Will you be needing anything else, marm?”
“No thank you,” she says firmly. “We will ring soon and then you can bring us tea.”
We.
And then she shut the door in my face.
I did not have long to wait for about a 1/2 hour later the bell rang. Once the tea was ready I set everything on the tray and carried it through. This time when I knocked on the door the missus bid me Come!“ and so in I went very careful not to drop the tray or spill anything or trip. A fine introduction that would be, me falling across the threshold, tea things flying whoops-a-daisy everything all over the place and me on the floor with my skirts up around my waist and the master staring at my drawers! That would never have done, I wanted the missus to be proud of me so I made sure not to rush and held onto the tray very tight.