The footman made sure I removed my muddy boots at the door before he turned and led the way into the house. As we left the servants’ quarters and entered the main rooms, I caught my breath in wonder. I’d rarely seen such affluence. Furnishings, hangings, chandeliers, and carpets; all were new and looked costly. I stepped nervously, hoping no straw or manure was clinging to my clothing to soil such splendour.
I’d been at Deerhurst Park a week, but this was the first time I’d been into the house itself. I’d spent my days and my nights in the stables; most of my waking hours had been devoted to mucking out and cleaning tack.
The footman paused outside a heavy oak door and cast a disparaging eye over me. I probably had dirt on my face and looked disreputable. I’d been given no notice of this summons, but had been fetched directly from mucking out stalls. I removed my cap, smoothed my shorn hair nervously, then quickly replaced it, worried that it was a girlish habit and would give me away.
The footman was still looking down his nose at me. From his expression, I guessed I smelled bad. With a disapproving ‘Ahem’, he knocked and opened the door. ‘The new lad from the stables, Mr Lawrence,’ he announced in a voice of doom.
I stepped nervously into the room, but there was nothing within to terrify me. The room was an office. There was a small fire in the grate, casting a cheerful glow over the panelled room. A few bookcases stacked high with ledgers and papers drew my eye, as did a huge mahogany desk covered in more paperwork. My grubby, stockinged feet sank into a thick carpet that hushed the sounds of the fire and the door closing behind me.
Lawrence was writing at a desk, but looked up as I came to stand before him. His expression was friendly, so I had a glimmer of hope that I hadn’t been brought here to answer for any misdeeds.
‘Charlie,’ he greeted me, laying down his pen. ‘Are you settling in well?’
I grinned nervously in relief and, belatedly remembering my manners, whipped my cap off my head. ‘Thank you, sir. Yes, I am.’
‘Good. It’s a fine place. I hope you’ll be happy here. Any problems, you can always speak to Bridges or Steele. I’ve just spoken to Bridges and he tells me you’re shaping up well.’
I cast Lawrence a look of disbelief. ‘I don’t get the impression Bridges trusts me with the horses, sir,’ I said respectfully. ‘He sets me to clean tack and muck out mostly.’
Lawrence frowned. ‘Of course you’ll have those duties too, but the priority is the new pair. I’ve ordered you a set of livery too. Those clothes will do about the stables, but if you’re to accompany me out or if visitors are to come, I’ll need you looking smarter.’
I nodded, aware that the process of being measured and fitted for livery might present a new danger to me.
‘In fact a good wash wouldn’t go amiss,’ Lawrence added dryly.
I hung my head. I’d been too exhausted after the long days of work followed by time spent with Pitch and Belle to either get up early or stay up late to wash in private.
‘We have high standards here,’ he added. ‘And that includes personal cleanliness. I’m sure there is a bath night for the stable hands.’
I gulped and nodded. He himself was impeccably clean, his clothes neat and pressed, not a hair out of place in his neat wig. He was clean-shaven too, not a mark or a smudge of dirt anywhere about his person, save a little ink on one finger. I felt suddenly disgusting.
‘At least I see you have no fresh bruises. No visible ones in any case. I hope that means you’ve so far refrained from brawling with the staff here?’
I wasn’t completely sure whether he was telling me off or teasing me. His voice was stern, but he didn’t look cross, so I risked a grin. I had a reputation to maintain. ‘So far, sir,’ I said.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he replied sternly, but slight creases around his eyes told me he was amused. ‘Please continue to restrain yourself! I’ve told Bridges that you’re in charge of gentling that stallion. Spend as much time as you can with him. I’ve also told Bridges he is to teach you to drive a horse in harness. And I’ll see … ’
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. The footman opened it and an elderly man looked in. He was bent with age, leaning on an ebony cane, but I could see he had once been a tall, strong man. His shoulders were still broad, though stooped. He was dressed in black satin breeches, a fine embroidered waistcoat, and a green velvet coat that looked like it cost a year’s wages at least, plus a quantity of costly lace. His eyes, in his lined face, still burned bright and fierce and he wore a very grand, long powdered wig.
The man looked past me at Mr Lawrence. ‘I say, John, have you heard that that damned fool … Good God!’
The elderly man wrinkled his face in disgust and producing a large lace-edged pocket-handkerchief, held it to his nose. He regarded me over it with considerable displeasure. I could smell the lavender scent it was drenched in from where I stood.
‘What the devil is this?’ the elderly man demanded.
‘Our newest acquisition, my lord,’ replied Lawrence. ‘This is young Charlie. I’m planning to make him my personal groom once Bridges has trained him up. He has quite a gift with horses.’
‘He looks far too young to me! And what the devil is he doing in my house? Can’t you speak to him in the stables if you need to give him instructions? He reeks and I daresay he’s dirtied the carpet besides.’
‘I removed my muddy boots,’ I offered, then blushed, realizing I shouldn’t have spoken uninvited. ‘Sir!’ I added belatedly. It was clear to me that this was the master of the house; the owner of all this grandeur.
‘You are to address Lord Rutherford as “my lord”,’ Lawrence informed me. ‘He is the gentleman who will be paying your wages.’
There was a slight laugh in Lawrence’s voice, but I didn’t dare respond to it. Instead I bowed and said earnestly, ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’
‘There you are you see,’ said Lawrence. ‘He’s perfectly civilized. And he took his boots off,’ He looked amused again, his eyes on me rather than his employer. ‘You may go now, Charlie. I daresay I’ll see you in a day or so. Remember to spend time with that stallion!’
He nodded to dismiss me, and I slipped thankfully out of the room. The cooler air in the corridor was soothing to my hot cheeks. The old man stuck his head out of the door. ‘Make sure you escort him right out of the house,’ he said to the waiting footman. ‘Keep an eye on him!’
The suggestion that I would steal valuables from the house was deeply offensive to me. But I bit my lip and kept quiet, following the haughty footman down the carpeted corridor and back to the kitchen.
A buxom cook asked me my name on the way out. ‘I’m Charlie,’ I told her.
‘New are you? Here you are then, Charlie,’ she said in a motherly way, and pressed a hot bun into my hand. ‘I know boys your age are always hungry and you’re far too thin!’ I smiled and thanked her. There were distinct advantages to being a boy.
I was eating the bun and, mindful of my instructions, heading for Pitch’s box to spend some time with him when Bridges spotted me. ‘Boy!’ he called. ‘There’s a harness needs cleaning in the tack room. Off you go!’
I hesitated a moment, wondering whether I should remind him of both my name and the duties Lawrence had just given me. The look on his face was forbidding, however, so I turned and made meekly for the tack room instead.
Ben was already in there, soaping the harness that had been used when the gig had been sent into the Bath for supplies. Items such as candles, sugar, oil, and wine had to be bought, but I’d learned that a great deal of the food eaten in the house was grown here on the estate. There was a thriving home farm just across the valley. The farm my mother wrote her letter from, I thought.
I picked up the heavy collar and began to soap it beside Ben.
‘You didn’t get notice then?’ said Ben, an impish grin on his face.
‘Not this time,’ I told him.
‘So what did he want to see you for? They
don’t usually send for us lads. The grooms give us our orders.’
‘He just wanted to ask if I was settling in and give me instructions,’ I told him, a frown on my face.
‘Cleaning tack?’ said Ben, perplexed. ‘He called you in to the house to tell you to clean tack and muck out?’
‘No.’ It occurred to me Ben might be able to advise me. ‘I’m supposed to be gentling the new stallion,’ I said. ‘And learning to drive. But Bridges puts me to mucking out and tack cleaning.’
Ben grimaced. ‘You’re junior, you got to do what he tells you.’
I sighed. ‘I think so too. But what happens when Pitch is as wild as be-damned next time Mr Lawrence takes him out?’
Ben grinned ruefully. ‘You get blamed,’ he admitted.
‘Tell me, Ben,’ I asked, ‘when are bath nights?’
‘Saturdays,’ said Ben, his face lighting up. ‘They draws us warm water and pours it in a tub in the room where we has our meals. The older men gets first wash, but then the three of us boys gets the water. Four now you’re here. We have a laugh splashing and making a mess. It’s grand.’
He grinned. I tried to smile back, but I wouldn’t be able to take part in bath night any more than I could pee in the midden next to them.
We were interrupted by voices in the yard. Ben peeped out, his hands covered in saddle soap. ‘It’s His Lordship and Mr Lawrence,’ he said. ‘Calling for riding horses. Now why can’t they send an order from the house before they come to the stables? ’Cos they don’t like waiting.’
Steele called for Ben and two other grooms. Bridges was also out there. It seemed I wasn’t wanted, so I kept cleaning. I had finished the collar and began cleaning the bit. I became aware that a shadow had fallen over me. I jumped and looked up.
‘As my personal groom-in-training, I would have expected you to be saddling up my horse,’ he remarked. ‘Under Bridges’ supervision, of course. There must be other boys who can clean tack.’
I met his eyes squarely and took a breath. ‘I think the feeling here is, I should be starting from the bottom and learning the job that way.’
Lawrence looked back at me. ‘I see,’ he said curtly and left again.
Did he really expect me to insist on precedence in a stable hierarchy where I was both new and extremely junior?
The water in the bucket was ice cold and I had to brace myself as I dipped the rag into it and wrung it out. Shunning bath day was necessary to keep my secret, and this was the only alternative. First I dipped my head into the water, gasping, and rubbed at my short hair, soaping it, rinsing, and shuddering with cold. At least this might ease the itching I’d had over the past weeks. Next I scrubbed my face with the cold water. Then, checking I was still alone in the hayloft, I stripped to the waist and soaped and scrubbed myself, shivering violently. It was late and the night was cold.
My top half clean, I dried myself on some rags and pulled on a fresh shirt. We could have our clothes laundered here; a great luxury. My spare shirt had been washed and had come back smelling of soap and rosemary. Next I repeated the washing process for my bottom half. The dirt on my feet was so ingrained that a bit of cold water made little impression. They needed a soak in warm soapy water. I sighed. And shivered again as I rubbed myself vigorously dry and pulled my filthy breeches back on. I had no spare pair.
My teeth chattering, I crept back down into the stables, emptied the bucket onto the cobbles and entered Belle’s loose box. I crawled under the blanket in the corner, shivering.
Belle moved restlessly in her box, looking out over her half-door and then turning back to me. Putting her head down, she snuffed at me. I stretched a hand out and stroked her beautiful face. She lipped at my fingers, hoping for a treat. I felt safest here in her box at night, away from the other boys. It also had the advantage of being open to the yard and the fresh air, while the stalls were enclosed within the stable block and by morning the smell of horse piss was enough to make your eyes water.
Lying under the blanket, my skin tingling from the soap, cold water, and the rough rag, I hoped I was cleaner now. In my mind, I could still see the look of disgust on the old gentleman’s face when he smelled me. Lawrence had been more polite, but he must have felt the same way.
I was growing warmer now. Belle’s steady presence beside me in the darkness was soothing. Tomorrow, I needed to get up early and spend some time with Pitch. My last thought as I fell asleep was the look of disappointment on Lawrence’s face as he left me in the tack room. I wanted so much to please him. I wasn’t doing as well as I’d hoped.
I touched the fine clothes reverently and looked up at the sewing woman. ‘These are really for me?’ I breathed.
‘Not for mucking out the stables in!’ she said. ‘They’re only to be worn when you accompany any of the family out in the carriage. They’ll stay hanging up unless you need them. Mr Lawrence asked that you have another set of clothes made too, for everyday. His lordship likes everyone to be clean and smart. They’ll be yours to own and the expense will be taken out of your wages. The livery is not yours. It remains the property of the master; no wages you could earn would pay for it.’
‘I should say not,’ I said, touching the fine wool. Even as an officer’s daughter, I’d rarely, if ever, worn anything so fine. My father had always lived on an officer’s pay; it had provided the necessaries of life, but no luxuries.
‘Well, go on, try it on then!’
I glanced around me uncomfortably. I’d been measured without being found out as a girl. But stripping off was another matter.
‘Lord love you, boy, I’m old enough to be your mother,’ the portly woman sighed. ‘And you ain’t got nothing I ain’t seen on a boy before.’ Nonetheless, she heaved herself to her feet pulled a folding screen out and set it up in a corner of the room. I slid behind it, clutching the clothes and slipped off my own grubby garments. I was glad I’d washed again last night. It wouldn’t do to put such fine clothes onto a filthy body.
The dark-blue woollen breeches fitted perfectly. The linen shirt felt cool and soft against my bare skin. It was made very large, presumably to allow growing room, and hung almost to my knees. I sighed with pleasure as I fastened it and tucked it in. The coat was of blue wool to match the breeches. The cuffs and collar were large and of a pale blue, while the coat was edged and embroidered with silver thread, and silver buttons fastened it. Finally there were fine stockings, garters, and a pair of neat leather shoes fastened with little black buttons.
I emerged from behind the screen to be pushed in front of a looking-glass. I could scarcely believe the reflection in the spotted glass. The clothes looked so fine. I hoped Lawrence would think so too. However, my grubby face and tufty hair ruined the vision before me. I hadn’t seen myself in months and was not impressed with the urchin look I’d acquired.
The seamstress clearly thought the same. ‘You need a proper wash,’ she remarked. ‘We have a standard to keep up here. His lordship doesn’t buy costly livery for your benefit, but to show the world what a wealthy and important man he is. A dirty face is not acceptable.’
‘I understand,’ I said, my voice low. I had washed, but cold water was not ideal for cleaning off the greasy dirt of horses and stables.
‘Good. You’re wearing your master’s livery now. Everyone who sees you knows where you're from. Do you see this dark blue and the pale blue here? They are from his lordship’s coat of arms.’ She pointed at the arms, which were displayed above the fireplace in the room we were in. Dark blue background; that gives you a dark blue coat. The pale blue chevron gives you the cuffs and the silver is the silver of the stag. You’ve seen the arms before of course?’
I nodded. ‘On the door of the chaise,’ I replied, and she nodded, satisfied. ‘So there you are then. You understand you’re representing the family, and how important that is. Now, here are your new everyday breeches and shirt, and a new waistcoat besides. Put those on now and give me back the livery. I can see I need to adjust the coa
t in the waist. You’re a skinny thing!’
I disappeared back behind the screen and changed obediently. The new clothes were a huge improvement on my brother’s old garments, worn to death in the last months.
‘Now, before you can try the wig, you need to get that hair shaved off,’ said the woman as I emerged once more. ‘You’ve lice in there, and we don’t want those in the wig. Steele is the man to see; he will do it for you.’
‘Shaved?’ I gasped. ‘Must I?’ I touched my ragged hair, stared at the mirror and tried to imagine myself entirely without hair. It had been bad enough cutting it short.
‘Mr Lawrence’s orders. You’ll be more comfortable that way, quite apart from ridding yourself of the lice,’ she said, shepherding me out of the room. ‘Off you go now. Come back tomorrow!’
I felt very subdued and forlorn after Steele had shaved my head. I was now less a girl than ever. Somehow, all my femininity had been stripped from me with the last of my hair. The joy of my new clothes had drained away, leaving me feeling low.
‘Hey, that’s a haircut!’ exclaimed Ben with a grin, as I walked into the yard. I gave him a wavering smile.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked surprised. ‘It’ll grow back soon enough.’
I tentatively touched my naked head. ‘Oh, I know.’ I replied, trying for nonchalance.
Belle put her head over her loose-box door and whickered softly at me. I walked over to her, and felt comforted as she nuzzled my new waistcoat and nudged me. She was most firmly my friend now, though I wasn’t officially in charge of her. I longed to ride her, but one of the older grooms had the task of exercising her each morning. I always watched him ride her out of the yard with a jealous eye. I pulled her dark ears gently, talking to her, and rubbed her neck. Her head dropped lower in pleasure, her eyes half-closed.
From this pleasant occupation I was startled by Bridges’ voice behind me. ‘You’re not paid to pet the horses, boy. There is plenty of work to be done.’
Runaway Page 8
