The Kitchen Maid

by Val Wood

  ‘Arabella doesn’t know that she’s illegitimate, and besides, you saw how she was. She’s desperate to have me home again.’

  ‘And would you go?’ she asked. ‘Would you leave here and go to your father’s house?’

  ‘No! Of course I wouldn’t!’ His eyes held hers. ‘My father would expect me to inherit and live there when he’s dead. But how could I leave this place, knowing that Agnes is here? But Arabella would live in hope that eventually we would go back.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Whereas I would only want the estate for my son.’

  We? she thought. It would mean that I’d be part of the Laslett family! But would his sisters resent me because of who I am, a mere nobody? Yes, they would. But if I had a son, they’d have to accept me, and, she thought, as a tingle of excitement ran through her, if Arabella should marry, perhaps then I would be mistress!

  ‘I need to think about it,’ she said. ‘It’s come as a big shock.’

  ‘Will you think about it?’ He looked amazed. ‘Heavens! I thought you’d be packing your box and leaving in the morning!’

  ‘Well,’ she said wryly. ‘You must be considered a good catch, Stephen, which makes me wonder why you don’t ask someone of your own class to marry you and give you sons? There must surely be plenty of young ladies around who would be willing?’ She recalled the score of eligible young women who were paraded before Christy.

  ‘I’m sure there are. Arabella would know of them.’ He smiled, but she saw the sadness written in his expression. ‘They wouldn’t understand me, Jenny. I’m a rough and ready kind of man. A peasant, my father called me. I wouldn’t behave as a young lady would expect. But you know how much Agnes has meant to me! I was little more than a boy when we first met, not much more than twenty, and our love sustained us through many difficulties. I couldn’t marry a giddy young thing who would expect undying love and devotion. You understand me.’

  He got up from his chair and stood in front of her. He lifted her chin with his fingers. ‘We understand each other. You have shared such love with Christy, which is what Agnes recognized. We are romantics, you and I, Jenny. We both believe that that kind of love comes only once and therefore would not expect more from each other than what we could honestly give.’

  She felt an overwhelming sadness for what might once have been, and, her mouth trembling as she spoke, said, ‘So – so you wouldn’t expect me to love you, but only to respect you as my husband?’

  ‘Exactly. It would be a marriage of convenience for us both. I can’t promise you riches at this stage, but you would have the advantage of being a married woman, and I would have the sons I’ve always wanted.’

  ‘I thought Christy’s child would be a son,’ she reminded him, and took out a handkerchief to blow her nose. ‘I wanted him to claim the Ingram name. But I had a daughter. What if I don’t produce a son?’

  ‘You will.’ He smiled. ‘Sooner or later.’

  ‘Do you trust me?’ she asked. ‘Once we are married I might not want to come to your bed.’

  ‘I do trust you, Jenny, but perhaps I should remind you, before either of us makes any kind of commitment,’ his gaze was penetrating, ‘that as my wife you would be bound to allow me my marital rights. It might be distasteful to you – to us both.’ He shrugged. ‘But until we have a son …’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand.’

  She barely slept that night. She turned over and over in her mind the complications that such a marriage would bring. I won’t ever love him, she deliberated, even though he is more considerate than I had previously given him credit for. I won’t ever love anyone again. Loving is not easy and I could not endure it again. It brings such sorrow. If I’d wanted to marry anyone, I reckon Billy Brown would have asked me if he thought he had a chance. But he knew that he hadn’t. But this is a chance for me. Should I take it? Grasp the opportunity to better myself? If I don’t, will he look for someone else to marry and give him sons? In spite of what he says, there’s bound to be a willing woman who would accept him as he is, for I understand perfectly well that in his society they do not marry for love but for status.

  She got out of bed, being careful not to disturb Christina, and, wrapping her shawl around her, went to the window. Snow was falling quite heavily, covering the ground and grassland with a dense whiteness. Without Stephen Laslett, Christina and I have nothing, she meditated. Nothing at all: no home, no money. I should have to go to ’parish for help if I left here. I could end up in ’workhouse.

  She heard a movement on the landing. Stephen, she guessed, wasn’t sleeping either. I’ll make us a cup of tea, she decided, seeing as we’re both awake.

  When she went downstairs, Stephen had already swung the kettle over the banked-up fire. He was wearing only his nightshirt, which because he was so tall only just covered his knees. His calves, she noticed, were hard and muscular. He was bleary-eyed and his hair was tousled.

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep either, Jenny?’ His voice cracked huskily with fatigue. ‘You don’t have to make a decision. We can forget I ever said anything. It’s offensive to you, I realize now, and perhaps –’ He hesitated. ‘Well, I’ve been wondering – Agnes was very ill. She might not have been thinking lucidly, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do know what you mean,’ she said softly. ‘And Agnes was perfectly right in her mind. She told me that she had asked you to promise something. She was quite clear about it.’

  He poured the boiling water into the teapot and then gave it a stir. He smiled. ‘Agnes showed me how to do this,’ he said fondly. ‘I’d never done it before. I’d always had a cook and a parlour maid to do such things. Agnes said that every man should know how to make his wife a cup of tea!’

  ‘She was quite right,’ Jenny responded and took the cup he was offering. She took a sip. It was hot and strong. Agnes had obviously not told him the cost of tea. ‘So as your future wife, I can tell you that you make a very good cup.’

  He turned to look at her. ‘What? You mean that you will?’ He shook his head. ‘Really? I never thought that you would!’ He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end so that he looked quite boyish. He took a breath. ‘I must tell you, Jenny, that I’ll never do anything to deliberately hurt you, and that when we have a son and my father accepts him, if you want to leave me I won’t stop you. You have my promise on that.’ He put his hand on his heart as he vowed it.

  ‘It seems very odd, doesn’t it?’ Jenny remarked. ‘That we can sit here in the middle of the night drinking tea and discussing our marriage!’ She pressed her lips together as she felt a raw emotion sway her. ‘It’s not as romantic as I might have imagined when I was just a young girl. Dreams don’t always materialize, do they?’

  He put down his cup and came across to her. He took her own cup from her and put it on the table, then he held her hand and gently squeezed it. ‘Sometimes they do, Jenny,’ he said softly. ‘And other times they don’t turn out the way we want them to. But you are still young. Keep your dreams for a little longer.’ When she shook her head, he added, ‘I know that being with Christy was your dream, but he’s gone, as has Agnes who was mine. Find another dream to cling to. I have mine now that you’ve agreed.’ He smiled. ‘I shall have a son.’

  He bent to kiss her on the cheek. ‘This is my marriage vow,’ he said.

  She gazed at him. That wasn’t unpleasant, she thought. He will perhaps be considerate in the marriage bed. She wasn’t experienced in such things; she had only known Christy and he hadn’t been experienced either. She blushed and stood on bare tiptoe to return his kiss. ‘And this is my promise,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to do next. After all I haven’t been in this situation before.’ Jenny started on a fresh sheet of paper. It seemed appropriate as she was about to begin a new stage in her life. ‘But Mr Laslett took charge, and it seems only proper that I call him by his surname until we’re married. I noticed when I worked at the Ingrams�
�� house that Mrs Ingram always called her husband by his surname, or at least whilst the servants were about. But as I say, Mr Laslett took charge of the arrangements and said that there was no reason for us to wait, but that we could be married immediately. He first of all wrote to his friend Dr Hill, to ask him if he would stand as witness to our marriage. Then he wrote to his sister Arabella to inform her of the situation, and ask if she would be willing to come and stay, and also be a witness. He told me that he had mentioned to her that Dr Hill would be at the ceremony, and was sure that she would be swayed by that intelligence.

  ‘As we were in the parish of Etton the banns had to be read in the church there. We went to hear them being read for the first two Sundays but didn’t get there again on account of the cow being sick. I had to stay with her whilst Stephen, I mean Mr Laslett, went to fetch the veterinarian. She was a good milker and we didn’t want to lose her.

  ‘Miss Arabella came as requested and braved the muddy roads, for after the snow we have had a good deal of rain, and she is staying with us until after the ceremony, which is to be in two days’ time. I think she will be better for knowing, though she is inclined to be conceited and pretentious, and likes her full surname to be used. Mr Laslett teases her about this and tells her that she is too proud. He has given her his bed and I’ve put clean, sweet-smelling sheets on it. He has been sleeping downstairs on the floor, which can’t be very restful. As the time for the ceremony comes nearer, I am becoming very nervous and apprehensive over what is in front of me. I have written at last to my mother and father to tell them of Agnes’s death, my daughter’s birth and my impending marriage, though I avoided telling them either the name of my future husband or where or when it would take place. They will be relieved, I think, to hear that I am married. I have made myself a new gown with some material I found at the back of a cupboard. It’s a pretty blue and came up looking lovely after I’d washed it to get rid of the fustiness.’

  ‘Jenny!’ Arabella called to her from the doorway on the afternoon before the wedding. Jenny was feeding a new young pig with old potatoes and scraps of food left from their midday meal. ‘Should you not be preparing yourself?’

  ‘What do you mean? Prepare myself?’ Jenny straightened up and climbed out of the pen. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Just look at you!’ Arabella pulled a face. ‘Covered in mud and an old sack over your head. You can’t get married looking like that! Whatever will Stephen think?’

  ‘I won’t look like this, I shall be clean and tidy.’ Besides, she thought, Stephen knows what I look like. He’s seen me knee-deep in dung and scrubbed clean on washdays, just as I’ve seen him. But Arabella doesn’t know that he’s also seen me giving birth, and would be shocked to the core if she should find out. Neither does she know that we are marrying for one purpose only and that is to produce a son.

  Nevertheless, that evening, after bathing in a tub by the fire whilst Stephen was out and Arabella had gone discreetly upstairs, Jenny washed her hair and cut her toenails, and then pampered herself with scented powder which Arabella had given her. She emptied the tub of water outside and then dried her long hair in front of the fire.

  ‘Will you let me brush it for you?’ Arabella asked when she came down. ‘It’s what my sisters and I used to do when we were all at home. I do miss them,’ she said plaintively. ‘It’s lonely being the only one at home with just my father and the servants.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Jenny murmured, cringing as Arabella pulled at her damp hair. ‘I have three sisters but none of them ever offered to brush my hair.’

  ‘Oh! And brothers? Do you have brothers?’ Arabella paused in the brushing, but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I would so like to have had more brothers. It would have been such a comfort to know that I could go to any of them, if for instance I don’t marry, though I do always hope to. It would have been impossible, of course,’ she confided, ‘to have come to Stephen when he was married to Agnes!’

  ‘Not sufficient room,’ Jenny agreed. ‘And not what you were used to.’

  ‘Oh, Father wouldn’t have allowed it,’ she asserted. ‘He had such plans for him, you see, and then that woman, as he called her, came along and spoiled them all.’

  ‘And what will he think now?’ Jenny asked uneasily. ‘I’m not Stephen’s equal, as I’m sure you realize.’

  ‘Oh, I told him that,’ Arabella said airily, ‘and Father said that Stephen obviously has a taste for the lower orders.’ She smiled sweetly and inoffensively at Jenny. ‘But I explained that although you were a plain girl, you were not at all vulgar, and, in your favour, being a widow with a child,’ she lowered her eyes modestly, ‘and therefore fertile, you might give him the grandson he wanted. He appeared to be mollified by that,’ she added, ‘and didn’t fly into a fury as sometimes he can.’

  This isn’t a role I ever envisaged, Jenny thought, staring into the fire as Arabella brushed and chatted, giving her opinions on this and that. A plain girl, able to produce babies for other people. She felt a tightening lump of anger in her chest. Is this what I have agreed to? To hand over my son to an arrogant landowner who thinks he can make rules to suit himself? I must speak to Stephen again before I take the final step.

  ‘Your hair is lovely,’ Arabella was saying. ‘So thick and shiny. Will you let me put it into rags for you, ready for tomorrow?’

  ‘Rags?’ Jenny asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To give it some curl.’ Arabella patted Jenny’s head. ‘It would suit you, I think.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Jenny said. ‘As you say, I’m a plain girl. My hair suits me perfectly well as it is.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Arabella pouted. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I shall go up, then. I have yet to decide what to wear for the ceremony. It will be a long day tomorrow I expect, with the service and everything – you have prepared food, I suppose? – and then I shall go home in the evening. I’ve asked Collins to collect me.’

  Jenny had prepared extra food, even though they would only have two extra guests. They had killed a pig a few weeks earlier, so she had cooked a ham, which she had boiled for two hours then studded with cloves and baked for another two; and she had made a dish of brawn, potted chicken livers and cooked a rabbit and bacon pie to eat cold. When Stephen saw all the food he had asked if she was expecting the whole of the county.

  After Arabella had gone upstairs she went to the larder, and was putting a cake which she had left cooling there into a tin, when Stephen came in. ‘Still busy, Jenny?’ he asked, taking off his heavy jacket. ‘Preparing for the big day?’

  He seemed a little edgy, she thought, as his eyes flicked over her, and she wondered if he was having second thoughts or maybe even thinking of his marriage to Agnes.

  ‘I want to say something,’ Jenny said nervously. ‘I’ve been talking to Arabella – at least, Arabella has been talking to me.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Arabella is good at talking. What has she been saying?’ He frowned. ‘Not upsetting you?’

  ‘No. Not really.’ Jenny wasn’t sure how to say what it was that was troubling her. ‘It’s just – she said that she had told her father – your father – about me, that although I wasn’t the same status as you, I might be able to deliver him a grandson.’ She swallowed. ‘I – I don’t want anyone to think that if I should give birth to sons I would ever give them up – hand them over – for I wouldn’t! They would still be mine, until they were older at least.’

  He gave a sigh, shaking his head, and came towards her. ‘Jenny! Of course not! That wasn’t my idea at all. How could I look after a child? A child needs its mother.’

  ‘But your father – what if he—’

  ‘No! It will be your child. Yours and mine. Though the law says a child belongs to its father.’ He looked down on her. ‘You can still change your mind, you know,’ he said bluntly. ‘You don’t have to go through with this if you’re not happy about it. I would understand.’ His eyes gazed into hers and
she thought how honest they were, though very searching. He bent towards her and wrinkled his nose. ‘You smell nice,’ he said. ‘And your hair – what have you done to it?’ He fingered it as it lay on her shoulders, unleashed from its customary plait. ‘It looks like polished mahogany.’

  ‘Only washed it.’ She blushed. ‘And Arabella gave me some scented powder. She wanted to curl my hair, but I wouldn’t let her.’

  ‘Quite right,’ he said gruffly. ‘It needs no addition.’ He let his gaze linger a moment longer before asking, ‘So! What is it to be? Do we marry tomorrow or not?’

  Jenny took a deep breath, and then nodded. ‘Yes. I think so.’

  She said good night and went upstairs to her room. Christina was sleeping soundly and Jenny turned to the window to look out as she always did before climbing into bed. It was raining, a steady drizzle from a low cloud which obscured the view, but she heard the clank of a pail and saw Stephen outside in the yard drawing water from the pump and guessed that he too was about to prepare himself for his wedding day.

  It was still raining when Jenny rose at five o’clock. The hens and pig had to be fed and the cow milked, and they all had to have breakfast before they set off to the church for eleven o’clock. Stephen was already outside and he gave her a cursory nod and greeting before handing her a bucket of pigswill.

  ‘This might be your life from now on, Jenny,’ he said. ‘I can’t promise you more. Are you sure it’s what you want? You might have a better chance with that young butcher in Beverley. He seemed taken with you.’

  She looked at him. He was older than her, handsome in a gaunt kind of way, and inclined to be impatient. Aristocratic and proud, she thought, as Arabella is. A different upbringing has made them what they are. But then, Agnes lived with him and married him. What was it that she had seen, to love him in the way she did? And he, giving up a position in society in order to marry her, what had he seen?