by John Patrick
Ten year-old Samuel slouched against the gatepost of 28 Monnington Street. He knew he should be going about his work but the day was hot and packing was tedious.
'We should be gettin' back inside Sam.' his older sister Mary grumbled. As servants' children, she knew that they were lucky to be employed alongside their parents. She also knew it was a privilege that could very easily be taken away.
They'd been stood idly at the front of the house for almost half an hour, watching carriage after carriage rumble by. They'd never seen traffic like it. There was no break between them; one after another they rattled past the house, each one groaning under the weight of passengers and crates, their drivers shouting at each other and jostling for position. Pale, nervous faces peered out from carriage windows whilst servants clung on amongst the luggage on the roof. The breathless summer air was ripe with the sweet smell of horse manure and alive with swarms of frantic black flies zipping between swiping tails and slapping hands. It seemed that the whole of London had packed its bags and was leaving for the country.
Samuel pulled his catapult from the back of his trousers and looked at Mary with a smirk. He knew how to break the boredom.
'No Sam, you mustn’t!' But the twinkle in Mary's eye said something different.
Samuel knelt down behind the wall. He waited until a carriage was right in front of the house, pulled back the strap; and fired.
'Shit!' Samuel hissed, dropping the catapult to the floor and shaking his hand. 'I shot me friggin' finger!'
Mary fell to the ground giggling. 'Your ‘opeless Sam, give it ‘ere!' Mary grabbed the weapon from his hand. She glanced back towards the house to make sure they hadn't been spotted. In a moment she'd sneak back into the kitchen before anyone even missed them. She peeked over the wall and took aim at a passing carriage. She drew back on the strap; then hesitated.
'Go on you chicken, fire!' urged Samuel.
'I will, I will!' replied Mary, beginning to wish she hadn’t been so bold. She aimed again.
'Mary Young!' The voice screeched behind her. 'What the ‘ell are you doin’ girl?'
Mary knew the shrill, angry voice of Miss Pewtersmith, the plump, short-tempered cook, all too well. Her heart jumped, her knees went weak and her grip loosened. The stone slipped from her fingers and took flight, hurtling straight as an arrow until it slapped into the rump of a horse pulling a fine red carriage. The horse screeched. Mary glanced back to see Miss Pewtersmith standing on the house steps, arms in the air and mouth gaping. Back on the road, the animal reared up and began to bolt. The carriage lurched forward; a coffin-sized trunk tumbled from the back and exploded across the road. Boxes and cases tumbled after it; the servants clung on for their lives as the carriage took flight. A wall of traffic blocked the horse's path, but the beast charged on, smashing into a rickety wooden cart. Wood cracked and splintered, the wheels fell away and a small wagon with family atop collapsed to the floor. The horse came to a panting halt. The driver of the red carriage jumped down and calmed his animal. When he finally satisfied himself that his horse was unhurt, he turned to deal with Mary. He stormed over the broken cart towards Number 28.
Mary’s gaze darted between the angry driver and the horrified Miss Pewtersmith behind. Samuel was still sniggering.
'Samuel you bloody idiot! What we gonna do now? You’re gonna get us both killed!'
'Don’t blame me Mary! You fired it!'
The door of the carriage swung open and a man’s head poked out. 'Andrews, Andrews, what are you doing man? Forget them! Just get us out of here for heaven’s sake!'
The driver hesitated for a moment, glaring at the children. How he would love to give them what they deserved. But this was no time to be risking his job. He gritted his teeth and turned away.
Mary jumped up and tried to run but Miss Pewtersmith was already on her. Her pudgy hand reached down and grabbed her ear. Mary squealed but there was no escape. With her other hand she grabbed hold of Samuel’s mousy hair and dragged them both to the house.
'Wait 'til the master 'ears about this! You wait! You’ll be for it. Be out on your ears, all o' ya! You mark my words. Serve ya bloody right it will! Lazy good for nothing trash the 'ole bloody lot o’ ya!'
She hauled them up the stone steps to the main door of the house.
The house stood at the end house of a fine terrace of modern brick homes, each one fronted by neat a hedge and garden. At the side of number 28, a gravel drive lead down a gentle incline to a small stable for housing horse and carriage. Not counting the attic, the home boasted two storeys at the front and three at the back by virtue of the slope, allowing room for a basement kitchen that opened onto the drive.
The cook dragged the two children through the front door into a hallway stacked with wooden trunks and bulging bags. Furniture and pictures were hidden under white cotton sheets. A slender white cat lay on top of a pile of cases, spying them through one lazy eye. Miss Pewtersmith dragged the pair to the drawing room door. Muffled voices came from beyond.
'Stand ‘ere!' the cook barked. She tapped gently on the door, cleared her throat and waited. There was no response. She tapped, again, a little harder then gently eased open the door. Inside the drawing room, the master of the house, Mister William Jarvis, stood with his manservant pointing at more trunks, crates, piles of clothes, crockery, pots, jugs and, it seemed, the entire contents of the house. He was sweating, his hair and clothes unusually unkempt.
'We can’t possibly take all of this Lancaster. We must be more selective. Get some of these pots and plates taken back to the…'
Miss Pewtersmith coughed gently and waited, head bowed.
'What…what is it? What now?' Jarvis grumbled, not bothering to turn his head.
'Sir, I found these two urchins causing terrible trouble, they was….'
'What? I’ve no time for this now Miss Pewtersmith. Go about your duties. Go on now.' He continued ticking off the list in his hand.
'But Sir, they was…'
'For heaven’s sake!' He slammed the piece of paper onto the drawing room desk. 'Go away, right now Miss Pewtersmith. I don’t...I don't expect to be questioned in my own home.' he stammered. 'Is that clear? Find them... some chores or something. God knows there’s enough around here to be done.'
Miss Pewtersmith shrivelled. She backed out of the door. 'Yes Sir, most sorry Sir.' She closed the door gently behind her and then turned on Mary and Samuel.
'You little barstards! Serve ya right if the 'ole bloody lots o' yers got plague! I 'ope 'e leaves y'all be'ind while we goes to the country!' She shook a chubby fist in the direction of Mary. 'Where's that useless mother of yours? If she don't thrash yer I'll do it me bloody self, I tell yer!' She thrust a hand into each of their backs and shoved them towards the basement kitchen stairs. 'And then yer can scrub that kitchen floor 'til it's spotless!'
They were marched down a narrow flight of stone stairs to the kitchen. The tables and benches would usually be spotlessly clean and organised but today there was clutter everywhere. The floor was covered with a maze of crates and cases, even the iron cooking range was hidden behind a tower of boxes.
'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Where are ya?' screamed Miss Pewtersmith. 'Elizabeth!'
The children's mother came out of the pantry, dusting flour from her skirt. 'Is there a problem Miss Pewtersmith?'
'Problem! I should say there's a bloody problem!' Her face glowed scarlet as she spat the words out. 'These two urchins of yours was tryin' to kill people they was! Shootin' at carriage drivers an' horses. Caused a big smash, wrecked a bloody carriage! Who's gonna pay fer that? You? They need a damn good floggin' they do! An' if you don't do it, I’ll do it me bloody self!'
'Thank you Miss Pewtersmith. I’ll deal with them, I assure you.' Elizabeth ushered the children into the large walk-in pantry and closed the door. 'What on earth are you two doing?' she snapped.
'We were just watching the carriages leavin'...' Samuel started.
'Just watching! What do you mean just watc
hing? What about your work? Look at you both, ten and thirteen years old and acting like street urchins - and today of all days! You’re both grown-up now, so start acting like it!' She took a deep breath and composed herself. 'Come on, we’ve got to show Mister Jarvis that he should take us with ‘im. We mustn’t get left behind ‘ere.' She licked her fingers and smoothed down Samuel’s hair. He recoiled. 'Mary, go find your sister, she’s with Ann from the kitchen next door, and Samuel, go out to your father, carry luggage and make sure you're seen, work hard. Go on now both of you.' She opened the door and waved them out.
Elizabeth's husband, James, came inside from loading the carriage. He was a tall, gaunt man, dressed in work clothes and black boots. 'Lizzie, he wants to speak to us now, in the drawing room.'
Elizabeth felt her heart quicken. This would be the news they'd been awaiting. Two weeks earlier Mister Jarvis had announced his intention to flee London, just as soon as he could get his affairs in order. Ever since, they’d been waiting nervously, not daring to ask if they’d be going with him and escaping the plague.
Elizabeth followed her husband silently up the dark stone staircase to the main house. When they arrived at the drawing room, the door was open and Mister Jarvis was still struggling to decide what to leave behind. James and Elizabeth stood quietly at the door and waited to be noticed.
'Oh, there you are! Come in. Take a seat.' He pointed to the sofa. Elizabeth and James were taken aback. They looked at each other hesitantly. 'Sit, sit!' encouraged Mister Jarvis. 'Lancaster you may leave.'
Miss Pewtersmith was sitting at the kitchen table wrapping provisions. Samuel trudged in and out lugging boxes and making faces behind her back. He lifted another crate from the corner of the kitchen. Half a dozen mice scurried away. Samuel stamped a foot and trapped one by the tail. He looked back at Miss Pewtersmith making herself busy at the table. This was his chance for revenge. He crouched down and cradled the mouse into one hand before creeping silently behind the cook. He gently placed the little rodent onto the back of her dress then kept on walking. Miss Pewtersmith was still wrapping. She wriggled a bit, had a scratch at her back then carried on with her work. But then the mouse found a route down the back of her clothing and burrowed its way between her shoulder blades. She jumped up and screamed. She writhed and wriggled, shoving both her arms into her clothes. Samuel couldn't hold it in; he erupted into a fit of giggles. The mouse finally found an escape from Miss Pewtersmith's dress, shinned down her leg and ran away to safety. The cook turned to Samuel with a vicious scowl.
Samuel backed towards the door still sniggering.
'You evil little rat!' She charged after him and slammed the door shut before Samuel had a chance to get through it. She seized him by the back of his neck. 'You’ve gone too bloody far this time! Too bloody far!'
She opened the door to the stairs and threw him upwards. He fell against the steps and tried to scramble away but she grabbed him again by his shirt. She hauled him up the stairs and pushed him across the hallway until they were stood once again outside the drawing room door. She stopped, brushed down her pinafore and straightened her hair. 'This time I’m gonna make sure ‘e knows what you lot are like. You ain't gettin' away with it again. Not this time boy. I want you an' your family sacked an' out o' this 'ouse.' She took a deep breath and raised her hand. She was about to tap when she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Soft voices leaked out through the crack. Miss Pewtersmith pressed her chubby face to opening.
Mister Jarvis was stood in front of the fireplace and before him, sitting on the sofa were James and Elizabeth. Servants sitting whilst the master stood! What was this? Miss Pewtersmith was stunned. Favouritism! It must be! She cursed silently and eased the door open a fraction more. Elizabeth sat with her head bowed, face buried deep into her hands. James was sat facing away from her.
'Look,' said Mister Jarvis with a tremble in his voice that Miss Pewtersmith hadn't heard before, 'we can’t all fit in the carriage. That's a fact. And someone needs to stay here and look after this place. I'm putting all my trust in you. You have the run of this house ‘til I return. It’s a great responsibility. I'll pay you good money to be here and I've spoken to my physician. I've asked him to provide you with medicine and advice whenever you need it.'
'Please Mister. Jarvis, we can work for no pay, we could sleep in the barn.' pleaded Elizabeth.
James sat in silence, his despondent face pointed to the floor.
William Jarvis looked down at his two staff members. He'd known them for many years, since before the birth of their children. He'd meant to speak to them a long time ago but hadn’t quite found the time or courage. Now when he was about to leave and had no option, he had finally steeled himself. But it was no easier than he’d expected.
'Look, you keep yourselves locked in here, keep others out, take the physic and you'll be fine.'
'If you can’t take us Sir, take our children. They'll be no trouble. Mary and Samuel are strong workers now, and they’ll care for their young sister. They are old enough now. An' if we're gone when you get back they could take our place. They can raise young Alice to work for you too Sir.'
'Elizabeth, your children need you, this is no time for a family to be split.'
Elizabeth sank to her knees and reached for his hand.
Jarvis shrank back. And anyway, he'd made up his mind and this was no time to back down. He pulled his hand away and clenched his fists behind his back. He returned to his script. 'The children will stay with you here. James, I will show you my pistols and my sword in case you need them. You may order whatever provisions you need for the house and yourselves on my account, or if that fails, use this.' He handed James a small leather purse. 'But I want all of it accounted for when I return. Have nobody else stay in this house while I'm away. Nobody.' Much as he was trying to be cold and distant, Jarvis could hear the weakness in his own voice, and to his annoyance, his eyes were starting to fill.
'Thank you Sir.' James whispered as he took the purse.
'But Mister Jarvis...' Elizabeth started again.
'That's all.' Jarvis turned and walked briskly out of the room, pushing past Miss Pewtersmith and Samuel in the doorway without a glance.
Miss Pewtersmith gave Samuel a toothless grin. 'Ha, that's justice, that's what that is! 'E knows what you're like! You'll be stayin’ 'ere. God'll be punishing you, boy. You and your family are gonna pay while we’ll be living it up in the country. Ha!' She released his shirt and walked away with a broad smile across her round face.
Chapter 4
