Rachel's Story

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Fastening a gardenia to her bun for adornment, Rachel made her way into the kitchen where she stood at the door, suddenly shy about what to do, and where to sit at the table. Naturally unsure about the sitting protocol among the servants of big houses, she was even more bemused by her own unique position there. Was she a guest, or will she be accepted as a member of the domestic staff?

Just then she was sighted by Rosie, who was bustling about with cutlery filling her arms. She let out a tiny squeak at seeing Rachel there and, cutlery and all, took her to Mrs. Hutchens who was sitting at the head of the table. The latter saw the unexpected addition to their numbers with undisguised pleasure, and quickly took Rachel’s hand before directing her to the seat placed at her own right.

“This is such a nice surprise, my dear! And on your first night here too, so to say. A good decision; you will get to meet everyone now at the table.”

Rachel’s quick eyes were already noting all the inhabitants of the room. Most of them she knew by sight, though a pontifical being had to be introduced to her as Mr. Garner the butler, and a slender man with ginger hair and a supercilious expression as Mr. Meekers (who seemed to have graced the gathering with his presence that night). The kitchen-maid Violet was serving the food that night, and turned out to be a mousy little thing with big eyes and adenoids. James the footman bobbed his head at Rachel and sent her a cheeky grin which seemed to bear out Mrs. Hutchens’ description of him nicely. She was informed that Mr. Roberts, the gardener and Brad, his son and the under-gardener, lived in their own cottage at the bottom of the garden and did not eat at the House.

The two maids were seated near each other, and she did not miss the curious stares which Sally was sending her way. Rachel tried to smile encouragingly at her, but it only had the effect of making her turn her head away with hauteur. Apparently, she did not take kindly to interaction without introduction, and Rachel was reminded forcefully of Ms. Hutchens’ description of her nature. Rosie, on the other hand, gave a cheerful smile to Rachel and went on talking with the person on her other side – who turned out to be Andrew Fairfax.

He was smiling at Rosie, and Rachel almost caught her breath at the charm lent to his face by an elusive dimple and the captivating sparkle in his jade-green eyes. He was bare-headed now and Rachel noted that he indeed had springy dark-blonde hair with a delightful kink in it, which prevented his head from being as well-groomed as (she giggled a little hysterically to herself,) the head groom should be.

But then she had to school her features in a hurry, as he was looking directly at her from across the table. She acknowledged the bow being directed at her with a smile of her own, and resolved in her mind to talk more with him later – when they were not separated by the length of the table. The distance between them frustrated all her plans of getting to understand him better, but she consoled herself that she will have ample opportunities later.

The table was currently divided into small groups which were discussing topics as varied as the near-mishaps which were averted while washing linen that day, to the new foal which might be born to the mistress’ favourite mare Galatea any moment, to the new governess (though certainly not within Miss Warren’s hearing distance). For her part, the lady currently being discussed by the maids regaled Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott with an account of her first day at work, especially her impressions about the girls and the house.

She was a natural raconteur with a sweet though compelling voice and soon, in spite of her low tones, most of the heads were turning towards her as she veered off into tales about her own childhood and some of the amusing things she had done as a child. She was almost unaware of the audience she had garnered, until she was startled by a snort from the bottom of the table. Bemusedly, she realized that her latest story about the apple tree and the bottle of dye had received the distinction of being honored with the boot-boy Ned’s approval, a personage not much given to jollity in spite of his tender years. Her look of surprise, coupled with Ned’s horror at his unprecedented behavior, was enough to send most of the people at the table into smothered chuckles and giggles. Her impish smile followed soon after, and the kitchen rang with her own low laugh.