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.
“I know Mr. Bartel (for such was Ned’s name), that it was really stupid of me to have wanted to eat blue apples; but don’t you agree that the wigging I received for watering a sapling with dye was punishment enough? My mother didn’t – she made me dye my favorite pink frock with the remainder of the blue colour to remind me, err, about the proper uses of dye in a household!”
The giggles turned into open laughter on hearing this. By showing her audience that she was pleased rather than offended by the situation, she had earned their approval as a lady who had no airs about herself and soon, Rachel was bombarded with conversation from all the corners of the room. Though it gave her the stigma of being a shallow and gossipy young woman in Mr. Meekers’ mind, his opinion was no great loss since he never really thought well about anyone other than himself, anyway. Sally was also huffy that the newcomer was too forward by half, laughing and talking away with abandon without so much as a by-your-leave. For everyone else, Miss Warren had just had an auspicious debut with the company below stairs.
Xxxxxx
The next morning saw Rachel discussing her proposed curriculum with her new scholars. To her distress, she discovered that they were lamentably backward in sensible though ‘unladylike’ subjects like arithmetic, geography and current politics, and their knowledge about English and French literature was sketchy at best even though they were conversant in both the languages. The only classics on the cobwebby shelves of a tiny cupboard housing the school supplies were Milton’s Paradise Lost and Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream which, Diana admitted, was the only one of the Bard’s plays which they had read so far. They were unacquainted with Latin and Italian as of yet, and their previous governess Miss Timbley applied more energy in teaching them how to net purses and write a beautiful hand than in expanding their education.
Her disapproval of etchings and narrative art had stunted Alicia’s artistic tendencies and was the reason why the child was drawing with her school pens rather than charcoal the first day; she had never been taught to use the latter at any point of time, and therefore had to manage with the scratchy effects produced by a pen. Alicia had a collection of oil paintings done at Miss Timbley’s instigation that were beautiful and technically correct, but lacked the fire which seemed to come out only in black and white for the little artist.
Perhaps Miss Timbley’s greatest crime in Rachel’s eyes was that she did not encourage the Herringford girls to widen their scope of music, citing the necessity of learning only songs which could be played in genteel drawing-rooms. “But surely you were taught some classical pieces?” she exclaimed exasperatedly. “You are both interested in music, and surely that is a pursuit ‘ladylike’ enough to satisfy your former governess’ feminine tastes!”
Barely able to repress their giggles at the ire being displayed by their usually calm teacher, the girls answered together that Miss Timbley was not very musical herself, and therefore was unable to give them much guidance in the field; and since she had not suggested it to the girls' father, he had never thought of securing a master in music for them. Rachel inhaled deeply for a few seconds to cool her uncharacteristic irritation with the absent Miss Timbley. The woman’s sole concern had been performance before an audience; imparting actual education to her students possibly did not concern her. Having had to educate herself by scrounging materials by any means available during her childhood, Rachel could not countenance the wastage of opportunities by people who could afford the best of everything.
“It’s no wonder that these two girls are as unwilling to study as they are, if these materials are anything to go by,” she told herself. Well, this situation must change now.
By the end of the morning, she had made arrangements with Mr. Herringford to borrow any books required for the girls’ education from his library, and even got his permission to plan a trip into London two days hence to buy sheets of music and drawing charcoal for them. Though Ashford was much nearer to their little village than London, Mr. Herringford was determined that his children would be supplied with nothing but the best; and London would give the girls a wide range to select from. As she told Diana and Alicia later, “And now, we must thoroughly clean the cupboard and get it ready for receiving the intellectual bounties we will be showering on it.”
Xxxxx
Rachel got a chance to speak more with Rosie when the latter brought her dinner that night. Tired out with the cleanliness drive of the morning and the hours spent on a library ladder in the afternoon selecting the books best suited to her students, she had opted to eat in her room rather than join the staff downstairs. On being asked, Rosie shyly agreed that she would be able to stop a while to talk, as her chores were over for the moment and the staff dinner was not to start until a while later. Rachel was soon chatting away with her easily about their respective jobs and lives.
While Rosie was rather reticent about her life before coming to Denbries, Rachel gathered that she was an only child who had recently become orphaned. She had served with Lady Miranda de Manley as her personal maid a few months before the lady disappeared sensationally in the middle of the night, and Rachel suspected that the amount of unwanted attention which she had had to bear at that time made her cautious about imparting personal information. Unlike most of the maids Rachel had come in contact with, Rosie was naturally reserved; but she was a friendly girl for all that and a willing listener to the governess’ racy details about her day’s battle with the spiders in the schoolroom cupboard.
Just before Rosie got up with the dinner tray to leave, Rachel asked her innocently, “Rosie, are you great friends with Sally? I was wondering last night about the disapproving looks which she was directing at me. Did I do something wrong?”
Rosie smiled slightly. “No Miss, you did not do anything wrong at all. Sally …believes a lot in her own importance as the head parlour-maid. The previous governesses have never interacted with the staff, as far as I can make out. Since you came down and won everyone’s attention so easily last night, I believe she feels a bit unkindly towards you. As it were, Miss,” here she stopped for a moment, and then said with a rush, “I can’t say that she is very friendly towards me either; not really.”
Rachel nodded, and then moved in for the really important question. “And what about Mr. …Fairfax, wasn’t it? Are you on good terms with him?”
She watched the colour rise slowly in Rosie’s cheeks even as the maid averted her eyes to the sampler hanging on the wall.
“Mr. Fairfax is an affable gentleman and, being a newcomer like myself, sort-of took me under his wings at the beginning of my job here. He is certainly a good friend to me. As are Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott,” she added a little defiantly.
Rachel smiled, and added casually, “I was quite impressed with his diction and bearing when I saw him first at the station. Is he well-educated? Mr. Herringford is lucky to have such a smart man in his services.”
f anything, Rosie’s blush deepened. “I…I do not know about his education, Miss. But I find him to be as normal as any young man of my acquaintance, and I never found him affecting to be superior to his station in life. If you will excuse me, I …I believe that was the dinner bell. Good night, Miss.” She all but ran from the room.
Rachel’s eyes followed her hasty exit. The girl is certainly smitten with Mr. Fairfax! But is there nothing else to his story? There was a contemplative frown on her face for a long time afterwards.