Degrees of Hope

by Catherine Winchester

  “I hear that you are quite political as well,” Martha added.

  “I believe in the emancipation of all men,” he answered honestly.

  “But not women,” Hope added.

  James smiled awkwardly at her.

  “I realise that as a member of an inferior group, having your shortcomings pointed out is uncomfortable, but the reality is that women are not as robust as men. Of course, there are areas where your natural talents surpass men, such as your ability to nurture, but I'm afraid that does not have much of a place in politics.”

  Martha couldn't help the amused smile that formed on her lips as she caught Hope's eye.

  When Martha was 10 years old she had gone into service in this very house, working from 5a.m. to 10p.m. The work wasn't easy either, with lifting, carrying, scrubbing and buffing par for the course. She doubted that a gentleman such as James had ever worked so hard, so the idea that he was more robust than she, was amusing.

  “You are laughing at me.” James noticed their smiles.

  “I'm sorry, I do not mean to be unkind, James,” Martha said, “However, it seems clear that you know very little about the issues of which you speak.”

  “Then perhaps you would enlighten me. I am a voracious reader but I have never read anything that puts a different point of view.”

  “My dear boy, you only need to look around you to see how very wrong you are.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “What I mean is that my scullery maid, who is but thirteen years old, does more work before you rise in the morning than you probably accomplish in a whole month.”

  “Come now,” he said with a rather patronising smile. “I hardly think you know of what you speak.”

  Martha was silent for a moment as she considered how to handle this. She was used to being underestimated but in this case, she simply couldn't allow this man to go on being so prejudiced and blind.

  “Are you a betting man, James?” she asked.

  “Not really, although I have been known to have a flutter.”

  “Then I have a wager for you. I will bet you 10 pounds that you cannot perform the duties of my scullery maid, the youngest member of our household staff, for one day.”

  James smiled, clearly sensing victory.

  “Very well, you have a deal.”

  Martha shook his hand to seal the bet.

  “When do you want to do this?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Martha said. “I suggest that you return this evening with some work clothes.”

  “Can I not just come over tomorrow morning?”

  “The scullery maid rises at half past five and her duties begin at 6a.m. If you feel that you can be here and ready to work for that time, then by all means, feel free to come tomorrow morning.”

  “Very well.”

  “I would bring a change of clothing for the next day however; I don't believe that you will feel much like returning home when you are finished.”

  Honoria and Hope shared a look. Honoria looked worried for her brother but Hope was pleased that he was about to be taken down a peg or two.

  Wanting to lighten the atmosphere in the room, Honoria decided to announce her good news.

  “I have some happy news,” she said.

  “Oh?” James turned to her looking quizzical, so he clearly hadn't been let in on the secret.

  “Yes, I am with child.”

  “That's marvellous news,” Martha said, rising to kiss Honoria's cheek.

  “Indeed!” James reached over and took his sister's hand, squeezing it.

  “I'm very happy for you,” Hope said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, for she did not think it a very happy event at all. Perhaps a child would give Honoria someone to love, who could love her in return, but it would also serve to bind her even more tightly to Malcolm and that, in her book at least, was absolutely not a good thing.

  Still, she kept her smile in place and made the right noises at the right time.

  When Honoria and James had left, Hope breathed a sigh of relief and retired to her room, whilst Martha headed down to the servants hall, knowing that they would be having afternoon tea.

  “I do apologise for interrupting you, I won't be long” Martha said, well aware that the mistress's presence at these few times of respite was not welcome, but she needed to speak to them all together. “I would like Emily to have the day off tomorrow, as James Ashdown will be performing the duties of scullery maid for the day. Please do not be unkind to Emily over this, for I am certain that his work will not be up to par, and poor Emily will have to work twice as hard the next day.”

  Emily looked terrified.

  “Would you like her to supervise him?” Mrs Lassiter asked.

  “No, let her have the whole day off. I will arise early, so you need not attend me as you normally do, and I shall supervise his activities throughout the day. I ask you to please treat him as you normally would any member of staff, which is to say, be understanding if he has a few shortfalls because he is new to the job, but do not be afraid to chide him if he should do wrong.”

  Mrs Lassiter had heard of James Ashdown's attitude to women, and whilst the butler looked aghast at the idea of a gentleman acting as a servant, Mrs Lassiter was all for it.

  “Of course,” she smiled at Martha.

  Martha was waiting at the front of the house at five minutes to six the following morning but sadly, James was ten minutes late.

  “I'm sorry I'm late,” he said as he got off his horse. “I'm not used to rising so early.”

  Martha didn't look impressed but she didn't press the matter.

  “You will be behind all day now, but there is nothing we can do about that. Follow me.” She turned and entered the house.

  Contrary to her instructions, James looked to be dressed in his usual clothes, which were far too good for the work he was about to perform, but he couldn't say that she hadn't warned him.

  “Where do we begin?” he asked rushing to catch her up.

  “In the kitchen, you must stoke the range in the kitchen, and then set the water boiling.”

  Stoking the range wasn't as easy as it might sound and involved cleaning out the old ash, then shovelling in fresh coal and using the bellows to revive the fire. By the time the coal was burning brightly, James was sweating and a little dirty.

  The other servants had begun to arrive by the time they were finished, so Martha left the range in their capable hands and led James up to the servants' quarters, where she instructed him on how to properly empty and clean the chamber pots.

  He really didn't like that job.

  Next he had to help the lower servants prepare tea for the upper servants. When that job was done, Martha directed him to the bucket, soap and scrubbing brush, leaving him with instructions to clean the pantry, kitchen and all passages leading from or to.

  “Do you have a watch?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. You have until seven thirty to finish.”

  “Seven thirty! I can't get all this done in that time!”

  “But you must,” she assured him. “A thirteen year old girl manages it every day, without fail. You wouldn't want to be outdone by a woman, and a child at that, would you?”

  That seemed to put some fire into him and she left him scrubbing the floors like a man possessed.

  She returned at seven thirty to find that he had done an appalling job and wasn't finished.

  “You'll have to finish later,” she informed him. “Now you must set the servants' table for breakfast.”

  He did as he was told, but it was clear that he had already worked far harder than he had expected to.

  After breakfast he washed up the dishes, scrubbing the pans until they shone, as per Cook's exacting standards. That meant that he wasn't available to help Cook and the kitchen maid prepare lunch or dinner, a fact that they were not happy about, but the pans they kept giving him were so hard to clean! And they just kept com
ing, pan after pot after pan.

  He wasn't able to take morning tea with the servants because he was still so far behind.

  At noon he was finally given a break to eat his lunch, alone, because he would be needed to watch over the family's luncheon while the other servants ate their lunch. He had an hour off in total, which he needed. His muscles were already aching badly and his knees had never felt so sore after kneeling on the kitchen tiles all morning.

  When his lunch hour was up, he returned to a new mountain of washing up, from the family's and the servants' luncheons.

  He got stuck in, wondering if his hands would ever properly dry out after all this time in water.

  At half past two, the scullery maid usually had an hour off if her duties were done, but James was too far behind to take that additional time off. At three thirty he set the servants' table for tea again.

  Cook was beginning to get quite sharp with him about his standards. He didn't clean properly; he didn't set the table properly. What did it matter if a knife or fork was slightly out of place? These people had arms didn't they? They could reach for an implement!

  Cook was having none of it, and Mrs Lassiter had to be called to calm the pair down. She explained to Mr Ashdown that standards were standards and if they let things slip in the servants' hall, how long would it be before things were slipping above stairs?

  He didn't agree with her, but at least she wasn't chiding him like a child. She helped him to set the table, explaining how and why everything had to be just so.

  After tea he had no time to wash up, as he had to help prepare the family's evening meal. Instead he spent his time running around after Cook and the kitchen maid, doing whatever they told him to; all the while watching his pile of washing up grow bigger and bigger. He scrubbed, peeled, washed, sliced, diced, rinsed and did anything else that was required of him.

  Martha kept checking in to make sure he wasn't causing the servants any problems and each time he saw her, he continued with a renewed vigour, unwilling to lose this bet as a matter of principle.

  Finally he was free to get back to the washing up, which he hated but got stuck into. Some of the dirt seemed to have been baked on over years, but he had seen most of these dishes earlier, and so he knew that they had been perfectly clean then. He just didn't understand how they got so dirty so quickly.

  Once the family's dinner was served, the kitchen maid took pity on him and helped him to wash up, just as she would if there was a dinner party and the workload was greater than usual.

  When that was done, he once again had to clean the kitchen, pantry and hallway floors. His arms screamed in pain as he scrubbed at the floors, not to mention that his knees didn't much like being pressed into the cold, hard tiles.

  As he got up for the third time to change the water in his bucket, he couldn't help but sit down on the stool in the washhouse for a few minutes. He had never been so tired in his whole life and he just needed a small break.

  The servants noticed that he had gone, but it was not until Martha came down at nine thirty, when he should finish for the day to eat with the servants, that anyone bothered to look for him. She tried to rouse him from his slumber but he was so tired that he seemed to be in some kind of stupor.

  She got the footman to help her, and together they hauled him up to the guest quarters.

  His clothes were filthy and he needed a good wash, but there was little that they could do about that now. Martha left the footman to remove as much clothing as he could, before leaving James to sleep.

  Earlier in the day, Martha had sent a note to Honoria, informing her that her brother would be staying overnight and requesting a change of clothes, which was duly sent back, so she knew that they would not be worrying about him. She returned to the parlour, where the family was gathered.

  “Is everything all right?” Lucien asked.

  “Oh yes. I found him in the washhouse, out like a light! Abrahams helped me put him to bed.”

  Hope and the other children grinned at their mother's success, but Martha didn't feel as clever as they thought her to be. The life of a scullery maid was hard and although she had done her best to ease the duties of all the servants here since she had become mistress, after today it was clear that they still worked much harder than was fair.

  Martha had spoken to Mrs Lassiter about it that afternoon as they decided on the next week's menus, but Mrs Lassiter had assured Martha that they had ample staff. Martha had taken her at her word, for they had four more staff than a house of this size would normally employ, and they were much less demanding of their staff than many masters. Now however, Martha wasn't so certain that they couldn't employ a few more people.

  Lucien understood that this had been about teaching James a lesson, rather than about winning and he could understand that she took no pleasure in seeing a good man worked to exhaustion. As she sat down, he took her hand and squeezed, offering her a comforting smile.

  Since Martha had also risen much earlier than usual, Lucien suggested an early night for them and by ten thirty, the family was all tucked up in bed as well.

  Chapter Eight

  When James awoke the next morning, his first thought was that he must have been drinking the night before, since every muscle he had seemed to scream in protest as he tried to move. When he opened his eyes however, he had no headache, so he reasoned that it must be something else causing him such pain.

  He didn't recognise his bedroom, so it took him a while to remember what had happened the day before and why he was here.

  He groaned when he did remember, but he had little choice but to face his defeat like a man.

  He checked his watch to see that it was just after 9 o'clock; he'd more than slept the clock round! Still, he couldn't go downstairs like this, so he hauled himself from bed and rang the bell. The shirt he was wearing was filthy but he could see that fresh clothes had been laid out for him.

  He had to admire Lady Beaumont, she had known that he wouldn't be up to the task and although he hated to admit it, she had been right.

  The Beaumonts were usually early risers but in light of yesterday's bet, Martha had instructed the kitchen that breakfast would be later this morning and that lunch would just be sandwiches, which would allow the staff time to do the jobs that James hadn't got around to, or that hadn't been done properly the day before.

  As such, whilst the others were just finishing breakfast when James appeared at half past nine, they were all still seated at the table.

  Martha smiled as kindly as she could as she greeted him, because she could see that even walking was difficult for him today.

  James wished a 'good morning' to those present, then Lucien directed him to the buffet table, where the food was kept hot with candles below the serving dishes, for the family to serve themselves from, at their leisure.

  Martha directed the children to leave. Charity expected to go to her lessons, so she left happily; the boys were also happy to go out riding and although Hope looked disappointed, she went with them.

  James was ravenous but he tried not to put too much food onto his plate, lest he appeared rude.

  “Take as much as you'd like,” Lucien said, knowing that James had missed dinner. “We've all finished, so it'll go to waste if you don't eat it.”

  James piled his plate higher and Martha was pouring him a cup of tea as he sat down. She then refilled her and Lucien's cups.

  Martha and Lucien made small talk about the estate whilst James ate so that he didn't feel uncomfortable, but when he had finished eating, he broached the subject of the bet.

  “It appears I owe you an apology,” James said graciously. “And 10 pounds, of course.”

  “You can leave aside the money, if you can tell me that you have learned something from yesterday's exercise.”

  “You are absolutely right,” he said. “Women obviously are much stronger than I have given them credit for. Work such as that would quickly do me in, I'm sure. I can hardly believe that
a thirteen year old girl can manage that.”

  “And the workload of our servants is actually lighter than it is in other houses.”

  “Really?” he looked surprised. “I have to say, I am quite shocked. I don't believe there is one man of my acquaintance who could do such work on a regular basis.”

  “Of your class perhaps,” Lucien interceded. “Unless you know no working men at all, I assure you that you do know some who work just as hard, perhaps harder.”

  “Yes, I suppose farm labour must be intensive,” James agreed. “I must say, I find this all fascinating. Every gentleman should be required to do some manual labour. We don't really know that we've been born.”

  “Have you revised your opinion on the vote for women at all then?” Martha asked.

  James sipped his tea to give himself time to think.

  “I must confess, Martha, I still do not believe that women have the intellect to make important decisions for themselves.”

  “Would you call me unintelligent?” Martha asked.

  “Well, no, of course not, but then you are an educated lady. Most women do not have your brains, even if they can work as hard as a man. I dare say that the work I did yesterday would surely be as hard on you as it was on me.”

  “That's where you're wrong,” Martha said seriously. “I first entered this house when I was ten years old, and I was the scullery maid back then. I worked that job for two whole years before I was moved up.”

  “You worked as a scullery maid!”

  “Indeed. I have the manners of the gentry only because I practised, and I never went to school or had a governess; my education is all self-taught, through reading.”

  James tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he wondered if she were teasing.

  “It's true,” Lucien agreed with Martha. “She is as fine a lady as I have ever met, but she has not an ounce of blue blood in her.” He smiled over at Martha and she returned the smile, because she knew his words to be a compliment rather than an insult. He despised the women of his own class, who were little more than compliant slaves to duty and any male in the vicinity.

  “But you are the illegitimate daughter of a Scottish Lord, are you not? Descended from Charles the First?” James asked.