Authors: Mari Griffith
Piers laughed at that, but Seth looked hard at Jenna, sizing her up. ‘‘Lookin’ for work, are you?’ he asked. ‘What sort of work? Most girls seem to want to work up at the palace for the gentry. Is that what you want?’
‘The palace!’ Jenna was astounded. ‘What would I do in the palace?’
‘Well, there’s kitchen jobs, for scullions and so on. You don’t need fancy ways for those.’
‘Jenna’s a dairymaid,’ said Robin firmly. ‘That’s what she’s told me.’
‘Yes,’ Jenna agreed. ‘I’d like some dairy work if I can find it. Is there any going round here?’
Seth whistled through his teeth. ‘Aye, there might be. We’ve got our own dairy herd to milk twice a day. Then, if the drovers bring any cows along with the fatstock herds, we’ve got to look after them, too. And that’s without all the other work we’ve got on the farm. So when we’re busy, Master needs extra people who know what they’re doing. You should go and ask him. He’s in there,’ he said, jerking his head towards a wooden building a little further along the lane. ‘He’s just finishin’ off milkin’ the last of our own neats.’
Jenna looked at Robin for approval. ‘What do you think?’
He shrugged. ‘You’re the one who needs the work,’ he said. ‘And William Jourdemayne is the Master hereabouts, the man you need to see. You might as well go and ask. You’re none the worse.’
‘I will,’ said Jenna, ‘thank you. And Robin, thank you for all your kindness. I won’t forget you.’
‘You won’t have a chance to forget me,’ Robin smiled. ‘Even if I don’t see you again before we start for home, I’ll be back with another herd in nine or ten weeks, an even bigger one, with animals to fatten up for the Christmas market. So I’ll see you around Martinmas, if you’re still here.’
‘If I am, I’ll look out for you, for old time’s sake. Look after the girls for me!’
‘Oh, Jenna,’ he called after her, ‘the girls will need milking later. Will you tell Master Jourdemayne? And tell him I’ll be expecting the usual tankard of ale later on.’ He paused. ‘Good luck to you!’ he added, watching as she set off down the lane. ‘And God’s blessings.’
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J
enna hesitated at the open door of the byre until her eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she could make out the shapes of empty cattle stalls. She could still hear the muted shouts of the drovers and the barking of dogs in the distance but it was very quiet in here, and very big.
‘And what can I do for you?’
The questioner’s low voice was muffled against the flank of a dun cow as his fingers pulled rhythmically at her teats. After a moment, the cow turned her head and regarded Jenna with an inquiring expression in her dark eyes as though she, too, expected a reply. Milk, squirting into the wooden pail beneath her udder, made the only sound in the warm byre.
‘Well? What can I do for you?’
‘Beg pardon, sir?’
The man’s voice came again, louder this time and with a note of tetchiness. ‘I said, what can I do for you?’
All Jenna could see of the big man who was crouching awkwardly on a three-legged milking stool was the back of his head. She had an impression of strands of grey in dark hair, powerful shoulders. She swallowed, suppressing a sudden wave of anxiety, but she really needed this job. If she said nothing she would likely gain nothing and that was not the way to start the rest of her life. She cleared her throat.
‘If it please you, Master Jourdemayne,’ she said. ‘I heard from Robin the Drover that you might be looking for someone to help with the milking and the running of the dairy.’
William Jourdemayne eased himself up from the low stool, stretching his cramped back as he stood. ‘Off with you, then, my beauty,’ he said, giving the cow’s rump a gentle slap to move her on, deftly removing the pail before she kicked it.
‘So,’ he turned towards Jenna, wiping his hands on a clean rag, ‘you’re looking for work, are you? And Robin’s told you I might be wanting some help around here. True enough. I wouldn’t be doing the milking if we weren’t short of cowmen. I’ve got better things to do. What’s your name?’
‘Jenna, sir. Jenna Harding.’
‘Hmm. And can you milk a cow, Jenna Harding?
‘Oh, yes, master. I have done it a thousand times.’
‘Good. And what about dairy work? Have you any experience of that?’ He raised his dark eyebrows as he looked down at her.
‘Yes, sir, in my stepfather’s dairy, ever since I started to work as a child. And I am now four-and-twenty years old.’
‘Four-and-twenty, eh! Is that so? Well, an older woman could be an advantage, I suppose, someone experienced who knows what she’s doing. Have you anyone to recommend you? Someone in Chelsea, perhaps? Knightsbridge?’
‘No. No one in any village hereabouts, sir,’ she replied, ‘though you could ask several people in Kingskerswell and I’m sure they would vouch for my honesty.’
‘Kingskerswell? And where might that be?’
‘Down Devon way, sir. Not far from Exeter.’
‘Ah, so that’s your accent; you’re a Devonshire lass. Well, that’s clever of you, Mistress Harding,’ William laughed, showing teeth which were still white and even, though Jenna judged him to be above thirty years old. ‘Do you think I’m going to go all the way to Devon to find someone to recommend you? Eh? Or could Robin recommend you?’
‘No, sir. I have only recently met Robin. So you must take my word for it,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m jonnack.’
‘I thought you said your name was Jenna?’
‘It is, sir. I’m sorry. I meant I’m jonnack, I speak the truth.’
He looked down at her again from under his eyebrows, his dark hair falling forward, blue eyes sizing her up. He was amused, but he had no wish to embarrass her.
‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t look like a liar. But I have only your word about your experience. What do you know of milk tallies? Could you keep account?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. I was nearly always the one who did that. And I was responsible for the cheese and butter, depending on the tally of milk.’
‘Didn’t your stepfather keep account?’
‘Yes, sir, to start with. But not after the parson in our village had taught some of us to reckon up numbers and to read a few words.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that you looked after the hens as well!’
‘I did, sir, geese too. The eggs fetched a good price.’
‘Then why, in Heaven’s name, did you leave? Seems to me you had good employment.’
‘I did, sir.’
William didn’t quite know what to make of this girl – this woman, rather. Her gaze was disarmingly steady, as though she was challenging him to ask her what had brought her here to Eye-next-Westminster. Perhaps she was one of the drover’s women? His friend Robin been known to boast of his conquests after a few tankards of ale; perhaps he wanted to keep this one here in Westminster, away from his respectable family in Devon. But, even if she wasn’t the drover’s woman, no doubt it was all to do with some man. It usually was, especially with the pretty ones, and this one’s eyes were as sweet and brown as chestnuts under her linen coif. And she had an appealing little way of cocking her head to one side when he questioned her, as though anxious not to miss anything he might say, eager to please. She was clearly intelligent and she looked strong, too, as though she wasn’t afraid of hard work. If she was telling the truth – and he had a shrewd idea she was – then she’d be an asset to the dairy at Eybury Farm.
But the dairy was rightly Margery’s responsibility. As his wife, her place was at his side, helping him to run the farm, not putting him in the position of having to do any of the milking himself. That was women’s work. If Margery did run the dairy, as she was supposed to, then he wouldn’t need to employ anyone like this woman. Nor have to pay for the privilege.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we sometimes have a vacancy for a dairymaid, but the running of the dairy is my wife’s responsibility, so I’ll speak to her first. Come back tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Master Jourdemayne,’ said Jenna, disappointed. ‘I’ll be here at first light. Do you think your wife might...’
‘I said I’d speak to her. If she wants to take you on, I’ll let you know tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Jenna said again. She was about to drop a curtsey when she remembered Robin saying that William Jourdemayne was no more than a tenant farmer, for all that he had complete responsibility for managing Eybury as a stock farm. So she simply took her leave of him and had turned to walk away when he called after her.
‘Have you somewhere to sleep tonight?’
She hesitated, unsure of his meaning, buying time. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘I said have you somewhere to sleep tonight? The drovers always sleep in the big barn, but there’s plenty of room in the hay loft. Make up a pallet for yourself and sleep up there if you want. At least you’ll have a roof over your head. Don’t worry, two or three of the younger girls sleep up there, too. You won’t be on your own, so the stable lads won’t trouble you. They’ll feel my belt on their backsides if they do.’
He smiled at her and she smiled shyly in return. He seemed a decent man and he did offer the realistic prospect of good, honest work which she knew she could do and do well. If there was a job – and she hoped there was – she resolved to do it to the very best of her ability.
***
T
he Duchess Eleanor had a niggling toothache again. Mercifully, the tooth was quite a long way back in her lower jaw so, even if it should become discoloured and unpleasant to look at, it wouldn’t show when she smiled or laughed her tinkling laugh. Nothing about her should ever appear unpleasant. She never forgot that her beauty had made her what she was today.
Hers had not been an easy position to achieve but she was still, even after seven years of marriage, the same beautiful woman her husband, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, wanted in his bed. That was all that mattered. Turning her head from side to side, she inspected her reflection in the ornate ivory-backed mirror on her dressing table, admiring the ruby earrings which had been a gift from her husband’s nephew, the King, pleased by the effect of their dark fire against a wing of her raven hair.
But the tooth still throbbed in her jaw. Pushing the mirror aside, she picked up the bell on her table and rang it. A young woman, scurrying in from the next room, dropped a hurried curtsey.
‘Sarah, fetch me Mistress Jourdemayne,’ said Eleanor. ‘And be quick about it.’
‘Yes, Your Grace. Where will I find her?’
‘How should I know? Just find her. Go to the farm first and see if she’s at home. Tell her I must see her.’
‘What if she isn’t there, Your Grace?’
‘Then find her husband. He’ll know where she is. Tell her I am plagued by the toothache and Canon Southwell has had no success in curing it, so she must attend me immediately.’
‘Certainly, Your Grace.’
‘And Sarah!’
‘Your Grace?’
‘Not a word to anyone, do you hear? Not a single word.’
‘Naturally, Your Grace. Not a word. Will there be anything else, Your Grace?’
‘No, nothing else. Now go, Sarah, and don’t loiter, gossiping with your friends. Go directly to the Manor of Eye and find Mistress Jourdemayne. It isn’t much more than a mile, it shouldn’t take you long.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
The girl backed hastily out of the room with her head bowed, groping behind her for the door handle rather than daring to turn her back on her royal mistress. Once the door had closed, Eleanor rose and went to her
prie-dieu
in the corner. She knelt on the richly embroidered cushion, bent her head on her clasped hands and prayed fervently to St Apollonia for deliverance from the infernal ache in her tooth. If the saint failed her, Margery had better be able to produce some tincture to ease the pain.
***
H
aving dismissed the young Devonshire woman, William picked up a besom, checked that the twigs around the base of its long handle were securely tied and began sweeping up. He shouldn’t have to do this, but there never seemed to be anyone else available. The truth of it was that he needed more help: the monks were expecting far too much for what they paid him. It was all very well for men of God to be at their devotions seven or eight times a day and saying endless masses for the souls of the dead, but they should show a bit more concern for those who were trying to wrest a living from the heavy clay soil of Westminster. If he wasn’t employed by a huddle of celibate monks, William reflected, there’d be sons and daughters of the family to swell the workforce but, as it was, there were fewer than thirty farmhands employed on the whole thousand acres of the demesne. There were sixty cows to be milked twice a day, and that was without having to look after the fatstock for market. Then there were back-breaking days in the fields, ploughing or reaping, stock-proofing fences or mending walls. He was grateful the sheep looked after themselves for most of the year, now that there was no longer any danger from wolves in the district. Moreover, sheep yielded a good-quality meat and their wool returned a handsome profit for the monastery.
The monks themselves did little or nothing that William could see, beyond wielding a desultory hoe in the Abbot’s garden from time to time before scuttling back to the chapel at the first note of the chapel bell. Or so it seemed to William. But William had too much to do.
He went outside and, shooing an indignant brown hen out of his way with the besom, he began brushing away mud and straw with long, rhythmic strokes, sluicing down the cobbles with pails of water from the big water butt in the corner of the yard.
‘I could do that for you.’
She hadn’t gone. Jenna Harding stood outside the door of the byre, watching him with concern. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘It will pay for my night’s lodging. And, if your wife will agree to employ me, then I might as well start today as start tomorrow.’
‘But ... but clearing out the yard would be no part of your duties.’ Surprised, William let her take the besom away from him without demur. ‘Your work would be in the dairy.’
‘But looking after the hens would be part of my duties, too, and I felt sorry for that poor creature you shooed out of your way,’ Jenna said with a shy smile. ‘I almost feel responsible for her! Her eggs could be worth four silver pence a year to you.’ She started sweeping the wet cobbles methodically, hoping he didn’t think her too disrespectful.