Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part

by Margaret Brazear

  Tomorrow, she would get the train from Cambridge to London, find somewhere to stay and hopefully, armed with the Earl’s recommendation, find a job as a maid somewhere. That would be live in, so she wouldn’t need to spend money on rent or food.

  It wasn’t what she had dreamed of when she was walking out with Simon, before he knew he was so ill, but it was how it had turned out and she had no choice but to make the most of it.

  ***

  Cecily met Catherine at the weekly Saturday market where she was walking arm in arm with her new husband. Catherine was aware that eyes were turned on them, that people were wondering why she was walking here, in public, with Michael Kimpton, the black sheep of the village, when they had all heard one set of banns read linking her to Paul Jameson.

  She showed her wedding ring to everyone, even went out of her way to approach some of the gossips, waving her left hand.

  She had always been friends with Cecily. Not like she was with Jessica, but Cecily was so clever and so determined to be independent, Catherine could not help but admire her.

  Cecily’s smile was warm and genuine and she ran to Catherine and took the arm that wasn’t linked through Michael’s.

  “What happened?” she said. “Your parents have been furious and they were on the verge of going to the police to find you. I heard that the banns had been read in church for you and that new estate manager.”

  Cecily never went to church, even though people disapproved of her. She was a scientist and didn’t believe in religion.

  “My mother jumped the gun,” said Catherine. “So I left.” She waved her wedding ring for Cecily to see. “We went to Scotland, got married.”

  Cecily looked at Michael and gave him one of the smiles she saved for friends. He might not have realised how honoured he was, but Catherine did.

  “Where are you staying?” Cecily asked. That was a question no one else had asked.

  “We’re with Michael’s parents for now,” said Catherine. “They’ve been so kind.”

  “They have my cousin’s baby as well,” said Michael. “So it’s a full house.”

  He thought he would drop that piece of information into the conversation, while two of the older ladies of the village were within earshot. Might as well get it out there and from what Catherine had told him about Cecily Eames, she wouldn’t be the one to spread it about.

  Cecily only smiled. She had no idea about the Kimpton’s family and it was none of her business anyway, so she wouldn’t ask questions and babies were not a subject that interested her very much.

  After the market, they walked down the High Street and past the Simmons’ little cottage, just to see if they would see them and come out. They both saw the curtain twitch in the downstairs front room, but nobody came out. No congratulations would be forthcoming from that quarter.

  But the door to number one did open and revealed Pauline Atkin – or Milligan as she now was - who beckoned them over and drew them inside.

  “Jack wants a word,” she said.

  He was sitting at the table, having just finished an early dinner, and he sipped his tea as he looked at them. Nobody invited them to sit, so they stood in the doorway and waited.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Jack said, his angry gaze on Catherine.

  “Why didn’t who tell you what?” she replied.

  “You know,” he said. “Why didn’t Jess tell me she wasn’t courting the Earl? Why did she let me make a fool of myself?”

  Since she had been married, she no longer felt the need to show undue respect to her elders, especially when she didn’t feel that respect. The only people she respected now were the Kimptons, and they had earned it.

  “She didn’t tell you,” said Catherine, “because you didn’t ask. By the time she realised what you thought, you had already told half the village. She couldn’t find the right moment to tell you after that.”

  “It was your own fault,” said Michael. “You can’t blame Jessica.”

  Jack glared at him, blushed. It seemed he realised he had no business blaming Jessica.

  “Where is she?” he demanded. “Where’s she been all this time? She’s got no business going off and leaving everything to Pauline here.”

  Catherine’s hand tightened on Michael’s arm; she had promised her friend she would tell no one and she was never comfortable with lying.

  “I don’t know where she is,” she said. That seemed to satisfy both dilemmas; she didn’t know where she was, even though she did know where she had been. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  Jack was quiet for a few moments, then he cast his angry gaze at the couple and gave a loud grunt.

  “Well,” he said. “If you hear from her, you can tell her from me that she won’t be welcome back here.”

  I’m sure she’ll not be too concerned about that.

  Catherine didn’t voice the words; there was no need to start a row, not in someone else’s house.

  “Well then,” said Michael. “If there’s nothing else we can tell you, we should be getting back. My father needs help with the horses.”

  ***

  The address the Earl had given to Jessica was in Regents Park, but her first stop was the shop with the three giant gold coloured spheres outside. It was just across the road from Kings Cross Station and she headed there straight away in the hope of getting a decent price for her jewellery.

  Her mother had told her it was all real, at least the gold was, and that it had been passed down to her from her mother. Jessica was never very interested, but now she hoped she had not been lied to, that the jewels were worth something.

  The pawnbroker took a tiny little magnifying glass from his pocket and carefully scrutinised each piece, while Jessica tried to keep her feet from moving from one to the other. This was so tense, waiting to see if this man would give her enough for the Hackney fare to Regents Park.

  At last he looked up and smiled.

  “Do you have proof that this is yours?” he asked.

  She’d never thought that would be questioned and no, she had no proof.

  “I don’t,” she said. “My mother gave me all of this; she said she had inherited it from her own mother.”

  He smiled gently. He seemed to believe her and she didn’t know whether it was because she looked like she felt, nervous and helpless, or some other reason.

  “I’m going to give you a good price for it,” he said. “It is real and worth a lot of money. Do you want to sell it outright, or pawn it?”

  Jessica shrugged.

  “What’s the difference?” she said.

  “Well,” he said, “if you pawn it, I lend you the money until you can buy it back, but if you do that, you have to buy it back within four weeks and I will charge you interest on the loan. If you don’t buy it back, it’s mine to sell.”

  Jessica was wondering if she would ever have enough money to buy it back and she wouldn’t know that until he told her how much he would give her. She didn’t even think she wanted it back; it held no sentimental value, not for her; her mother had certainly done her no favours.

  “And if I sell it outright?” she asked.

  “If I buy it, it will be slightly less than I can sell it for, but it will be mine to sell now, right away.”

  She didn’t have to think about it.

  “Ok,” she said. “What will you give me?”

  Holding her breath, she watched as he opened a drawer and counted out four hundred pounds. Her eyes widened; she had never seen that much money. That was more than a whole year’s wage for a housemaid. Much more.

  “It’s a lot,” said the man. “I tell you what, there’s a goldsmith next door; it’s run by my brother. Just keep a couple of pounds and give him the rest to keep safe for you. It’s all above board, I promise. But if you keep this much money with you, or even the jewels, you will be robbed.”

  She nodded, took the money and went outside to look up at the sign over the goldsmith next door. She stood there for some
time, wondering if she was doing the right thing, wondering if the pawnbroker was trying to cheat her. But if he had wanted to do that, he didn’t have to tell her how much the jewels were worth. She obviously had no idea.

  At last she made up her mind, went inside and deposited all but two pounds with the goldsmith, who gave her a receipt and told her to keep it safe. Her money would be there whenever she wanted it, except on Saturdays.

  “What’s wrong with Saturdays?” she said.

  “It is the Sabbath,” he said. “We are closed.”

  “Sunday is the Sabbath,” she argued, the words out of her mouth before she realised.

  The goldsmith smiled; he had heard this many times before.

  “That’s because you are a Christian,” he said. “I am not. I am of the Jewish faith and we rest on the Sabbath, which to us is Saturday.”

  “Oh,” she said. “So, if I want my money on Sunday, you’ll be open?”

  “I will.” He turned to gesture at the massive door behind him; it looked to Jessica like a huge, iron cabinet. “Your money will be in there. It is my safe and no one can open it without three keys. I only keep one; my brothers keep the others.”

  “Thank you,” she said at last.

  “Keep that receipt safe,” he said.

  She nodded vigorously, suddenly feeling rich and happy for the first time since Simon had died.

  “I will, Sir,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She stepped out onto the pavement into a sudden burst of winter sunshine and hailed a Hackney cab to take her to Lady Seymour’s house in Regents Park. She was rich! She had four hundred pounds, almost enough to buy a house. Half inclined to change her mind about applying for employment, thinking she had enough money, she talked herself out of it. That money needed to stay put, needed to be there in case anything went wrong.

  Things might not work out with Lady Seymour. Jessica had never worked in service before; cleaning the great hall in Knight’s Castle wasn’t the same thing at all and Jessica had always managed her own affairs. She hadn’t liked taking orders from Miss Jensen at Magpie House; she might find it too difficult to take orders from more senior servants.

  The house in Regents Park wasn’t nearly as big as Knight’s Castle, but it was a mansion with about fifty rooms, arranged over four storeys. Jessica knew she shouldn’t knock at the front door, although how she knew that, she couldn’t have said, but it took her a little while to discover the whereabouts of the back entrance.

  The houses were all joined together in a sort of arc that overlooked the park. In that park were nannies walking babies in prams and men and women enjoying a day’s outing with their children.

  She could hear the animals in the zoological gardens, could hear roaring and a loud trumpet sound which made her jump. She found out later that it was an elephant.

  She walked along until she found what looked like the edge of the house where there was a wide passage and she made her way along it until she found the servants entrance, down some steps at the back of Seymour House.

  She presented herself at the back door, where a stiff and proper butler took her reference from Lord Harrisford and nodded, beckoned her inside and told her to wait, but didn’t offer her a seat. He wasn’t gone long before he returned to lead her up the spiral staircase and to the parlour on the ground floor.

  Lady Seymour was just as Jessica imagined. She was probably about forty, but had apparently made a great effort to look younger. She was seated on a silk covered chaise longue, blue with an intricate pattern woven into it, and she was holding the Earl’s letter when Jessica entered. She managed a quick curtsy, although it went against the grain. She might feel obliged to curtsy to the Queen, but no one else.

  “You have an excellent recommendation, here,” said Lady Seymour. “I shall give you a trial. Your name is Jessica?”

  “Yes, My Lady,” said Jessica.

  “Good,” said Lady Seymour. “Mr Merton here will show you your room and tell you where everything is.”

  She returned to admiring her reflection in a little gold hand mirror; recalling the Earl’s advice, Jessica turned back as she reached the door. If she was wrong, well, they could only throw her out and she had that money to fall back on.

  “You look lovely, My Lady,” she said.

  Lady Seymour turned sharply and smiled, nodded a silent thank you. She noticed the butler’s little grin as she followed him from the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Twin

  Having a decent amount of money with the goldsmith, gave Jessica more confidence in herself than the other servants. It was that that made her feel secure and able to talk to Lady Seymour, to say more than ‘yes, My Lady, no, My Lady’. She was able to flatter her, to tell her how lovely her gown was, how the colour suited her, how glossy her hair looked today.

  The Earl had been right about that and his advice had seen Jessica through the first few weeks of her new position. She never allowed the other servants to witness such familiar language, though. She didn’t want any resentment which might cause friction in the servants’ hall. She was only a housemaid, and she did the job efficiently without complaint, even using the new electric iron that plugged into the light fitting. That was some sort of miracle to Jessica; no heating the irons up in the fire, being careful not to get burnt. Life would have been so much better had she had one of those to use on her father’s shirts and collars. It was bliss.

  She didn’t like the hierarchy among the servant classes, but she kept her head down and did her work, knowing it was the first step back to respectability.

  She had been there almost a year when she heard about the new year ball. This new year was 1900, a new century, and somehow that brought new hope for the future. All the rich and titled people would attend. It would mean a lot of extra work, getting the house ready, and extra cooks were being brought in to help in the kitchen. Of course, the head cook was always Mrs Cooper, the regular cook; it was her kitchen and she would stand no nonsense. Everyone had to do what she said.

  It was hard work, but Jessica found it exciting. It was a change from the usual routine and there was talk of the Prince of Wales coming and everyone speculated about which of his many mistresses he would bring.

  Lady Seymour sent for her on the day before the banquet. She was sitting at her mirror, her long dark hair tumbling down her back and staring glumly at her own reflection.

  She eyed Jessica in that mirror as she entered and curtsied. She didn’t turn as she spoke.

  “Jessica,” she said. “Are you any good with hair?”

  “Hair, My Lady?” said Jessica.

  “Yes, hair,” snapped Lady Seymour. “That wretched woman, that Matilda, has gone and got herself married, and just when I need her for the banquet and ball tomorrow. I need a new lady’s maid. I thought you might suit.”

  So, Lord Harrisford’s advice to flatter the lady had worked.

  “I don’t know, My Lady,” she replied. “I could give it a try.”

  Lady Seymour held up a comb, inlaid with mother of pearl, and waved it above her head. Jessica could only assume she wanted her to use it so she stepped forward and took the comb.

  It was a beautiful thing; a matching brush rested on the dressing table and now Jessica picked it up and began to use it on the thick, dark hair of Lady Seymour. She noted a few grey strands among the dark, but she said nothing. Her Ladyship was a vain woman who would never want to be told she was going grey.

  She spent an hour styling the hair into fat curls that sat upon Lady Seymour’s head, increasing her height by some six inches and the brushing had brought shine to those curls.

  Lady Seymour smiled at her reflection.

  “Would you like to be my personal maid?” she asked.

  “Yes, My Lady,” said Jessica. “I would like that very much.”

  She wanted to object, to say she was only a housemaid and others had more senior positions and had been here longer, but why should she? This was her big
chance, possibly the only big chance she will ever get; she had to think of herself first, like everyone else appeared to.

  “Good,” said Lady Seymour. “You can start by helping me to dress for dinner and tomorrow you can lay out my gowns for the banquet and the ball, and work your magic on my hair again.”

  Jessica curtsied again and hurried from the room, feeling very pleased with herself. Personal maid to Lady Seymour! That was a senior position, the most senior in the household apart from the butler, but lady’s maid was a position on its own. She would answer to no one except Her Ladyship and it would mean a higher wage.

  She would save that, add it to the money she already had with the goldsmith. One never knew when life would change, just as it had that afternoon. Matilda Rogers had got married and changed Jessica’s life.

  Everyone seemed pleased for her, even the parlour maids who should have had first chance at the position. Most of them didn’t want to get that close to Lady Seymour and they didn’t have the gift of flattery that Jessica had made good use of.

  Tomorrow, when all their duties were performed, all the servants would have their own little banquet before watching from the balcony when the guests arrived, especially watching for the Prince. It was very invigorating; she wished Catherine could see it with her. But thoughts of Catherine always came to her along with thoughts of her own little baby and the pain that also came with those thoughts. She pushed the images away as she leaned over the balcony.

  What made it worse, if that were possible, was not being able to talk about her. Nobody could know about Virginia, that Her Ladyship’s new maid was an unmarried mother. She would be turned out straight away.

  So she banished the memories as she leaned over the balcony to watch. All Jessica could see were the tops of heads, so she went stealthily half way down the stairs to get a closer look. The Prince hadn’t arrived, not yet, and no one was really sure if he would come at all, but there was one face in the crowd that Jessica did recognise and her heart almost stopped. She clung to the banister rail to keep from falling and slid down to sit on the stair.