“Yes’m.”
“And don’t get above yourself, just because his lordship thinks your idea worked for Lady Caroline. He can’t see that it was just a way of trying to better yourself.” Mrs Hargreaves thrust her sharp features close to Sarah’s face with undisguised malevolence. “It didn’t help poor Lady Royston, did it, Miss Clever? You’re nothing more than a cowgirl and never will be!”
She straightened and sniffed contemptuously. “But there’s no dissuading his lordship. You’re here, so you’d better follow me and I’ll take you to Lady Caroline.”
It was two months since Sarah had come boldly to Abbeyford Grange. Lady Caroline had recovered from the smallpox and, to Lord Royston’s mind thanks to Sarah Miller, would be very little scarred. But three weeks after Caroline had first become ill, her mother, Lady Royston, had contracted the smallpox and, despite the attendance of three physicians and the further use of red flannel, on the ninth day of her illness Lady Adeline Royston had died.
Meekly Sarah followed the housekeeper up the back stairs and through a door on the first-floor landing which divided the servants quarters from the rest of the house. Silently now on the thick carpet they walked along the gallery overlooking the main staircase. Heavy chandeliers hung from the ceiling and tapestries lined the walls. In the north wing of the house Mrs Hargreaves paused, rapped sharply on a door and when she was bade, “Come in”, opened the door and ushered Sarah into the most beautiful bedroom the girl had ever seen.
Sarah Miller, born and raised in a cottage, had never imagined such luxury even existed. The white plaster ceiling was embossed with figures of cherubs playing various musical instruments, the pink-flowered wallpaper complemented the pale pink flower-sprigged silk of the bed canopy and drapes. The fireplace was marble with embossed decoration picked out again in pink. The chairs and dressing-stool were upholstered in pink silk brocade and the whole effect was utterly feminine and luxurious.
“This is Sarah Miller, Lady Caroline. Your—er—personal maid.”
The young woman sat up in bed, yawned, stretched and smiled a little wanly at Sarah. “ Thank you, Mrs Hargreaves, that will be all.”
“I have explained her duties to her, and …”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Caroline said a little impatiently.
“Lady Caroline,” Mrs Hargreaves said stiffly and, as the door closed behind the rigid figure of the housekeeper, Lady Caroline held out her hands towards Sarah.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she told the surprised girl. Closer now, Sarah could see for herself that, though at present Caroline’s skin was not as clear and smooth as it had once been, the pock-marks were such that would soon fade and she would bear only one or two scars—easily disguised—on her lovely face.
“This is the first time I’ve been allowed a maid of my very own,” Lady Caroline was saying, stretching and running her fingers through her tumbling auburn hair. “ Until now my life has been ruled by nannies or governesses. Of course, my mother …” Her voice broke a little for the loss of her mother was still very new and painful. “… always had her own maid. Do you know it has taken me a whole year to persuade Papa to allow me a maid of my very own?”
Sarah smiled. Lady Caroline was only a year or so older than Sarah herself and she was relieved that her attitude towards her maid was, though perhaps a little unconventional, more friendly than Sarah had expected. It helped to lessen the hostility in the housekeeper’s eyes.
“Well—you might as well start right away. Did Mrs Hargreaves show you your room?”
“No, m’lady. She b-brought me straight up here.”
“Never mind,” Caroline waved her hand airily. “ Take off your cloak and put it over there.”
As she did so, Sarah listened to Lady Caroline’s instructions. “ I take a bath every morning at eight o’clock. The housemaids bring up the water, but you should be here to see that everything is prepared just as I like it, and all my garments ready for the day. I usually go riding most mornings before I have breakfast at nine-thirty, but recently, since my illness, I’ve risen later. Papa thinks I am well enough to go out a little now and this afternoon I shall drive over to Lynwood Hall. Lady Lynwood is—was—a dear friend of Mama’s and—and I should like to see her.” There was a wistfulness in the girl’s voice. Then, with a determined effort to be more cheerful, she added, “And you shall come with me. After all, you’ll be replacing old Ropey as my companion.”
“Who—who was old Ropey?” Sarah dared to ask.
“Miss Roper—my governess.” Caroline sat down on the silk-covered stool before the dressing-table, picked up a hairbrush and began to brush the tangles from her long hair. “Here, you should be doing this now.”
Sarah took the brush her mistress held out to her and with trembling fingers began to brush Lady Caroline’s hair with tentative strokes.
“Harder, Sarah, harder. It must be smooth and shining. One hundred strokes a day, old Ropey used to say.”
Sarah obeyed.
“That’s better,” Lady Caroline murmured and with her first words of praise Sarah’s confidence began to grow.
That afternoon Sarah found herself seated in the gig, bowling along the country lanes, the reins in the confident, expert hands of Lady Caroline. As they neared the ford in the road, Sarah’s tongue ran round her lips fearfully and she found her hands gripping the side of the vehicle. But Lady Caroline merely gave a sharp slap of the reins, the horse quickened pace and they splashed through the water safely. Then they were climbing the hill.
“That’s the road leading to the Manor.” As they reached a fork in the lane, Lady Caroline pointed to the left. “But we take the right-hand road to Amberly and then on to Lynwood Hall.” They reached the top of the hill and passed beneath the trees of the wood. “Have you been this way before, Sarah?”
“Only to Amberly, m’lady. I walked it once with Henry.”
“Who—is Henry?”
Remembering Mrs Hargreaves’s warning against ‘followers’Sarah imagined Lady Caroline’s question to hold an ominous note. Swiftly she assured her, “ Oh, he’s only a distant cousin, m’lady.”
Beyond the wood they left the boundary of Lord Royston’s lands and entered the Lynwood estate. They passed through the village of Amberly. On either side now Sarah saw fields of waving, golden corn. In one field she could see a line of reapers rhythmically swinging their sickles as they moved slowly forward, the corn falling with each cut. Then other men were loading it on to a waggon, pulled by four huge shire-horses, their harness glinting in the sunlight. Several children followed the reapers and Sarah allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction to think that she was riding beside her mistress instead of bent double in the cornfield.
Skilfully Lady Caroline turned the gig through the gates leading to the parkland of Lynwood Hall and they followed the winding driveway leading to the house itself. Deer, grazing in the meadows on either side, raised their heads to watch the gig rattle past.
Ahead of them Sarah could now see a vast, square mansion of three storeys, the ground floor being set halfway below ground level. A straight balustrade of pinnacles surrounded the flat roof. The smooth lawn before the main entrance was completely encircled by the driveway and, to the side of the house, the ornamental gardens led down to a lake where swans swam upon the water, their white plumage shining in the sun. Fountains played in the gardens, the shimmering water cascading like silver.
“It’s even bigger than Abbeyford Grange,” Sarah said, forgetting her shyness in her wonder.
Lady Caroline laughed, for the moment her recent suffering and bereavement banished from her mind. “ Don’t let my Papa hear you compare Abbeyford Grange unfavourably with Lynwood Hall. He and Lord Lynwood used to argue constantly about the relative merits of their estates and houses. But they were the best of friends really,” she added, jumping down from the gig as they came to a halt outside the main steps of the Hall. Awkwardly, unused to riding in such a grand manner, Sarah climbed d
own and followed her mistress.
They were shown into Lady Lynwood’s small sitting-room, Sarah hovering uncertainly in her mistress’s wake.
Briefly, with a wave of her hand, Lady Caroline dismissed her. “Sarah, go with the footman. He’ll take you somewhere you can wait until I’m ready to leave.”
“Yes, m’lady.” As she turned to follow the liveried footman, Sarah saw Lady Lynwood rise and move forward to greet Caroline.
“My dear Caroline, how wonderful to see you well again!” Lady Lynwood was a handsome woman, with bright, merry eyes and black hair with a single streak of white rising from the centre of her brow and sweeping over the crown of her head. Her figure was still slim and surprisingly youthful. As Sarah followed the footman, she passed a young boy of about fourteen hurrying to enter the room she had just left. He was a good-looking, fair-haired boy, but he spared not a glance for Sarah.
“Who was that?” she whispered to the footman.
“That was Francis Amberly, Lord Lynwood. He’s a bit partial to Lady Caroline. Very forward for his age, is young Francis!”
“Is he a ‘lord’? He dun’t seem old enough for a title.”
“Young Francis succeeded to the title three years ago when his father died. Age has nothing to do with it.” The footman laughed derisively. “ You don’t know much about the nobility, do you, miss?”
Sarah coloured and said, hotly defensive, “I am Lady Caroline’s personal maid.”
The footman bowed towards her mockingly. “ Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am!”
He opened the door leading to the servants’ domain and they clattered down the stairs, the warmth and noise from the busy kitchens rushing up to envelop them.
“Here’s Lady Caroline’s personal maid come to honour us with a visit,” he announced as he ushered her into the main kitchen. Three pairs of eyes were turned upon her, but the work did not pause for an instant. The cook continued to beat batter in a large bowl, the kitchen-maid continued to chop vegetables and the housemaid’s duster never faltered over the spoon she was polishing so vigorously.
“Come away in, my dear,” the cook smiled kindly. “Take no notice of young William, he’s a big tease, ain’t he, Martha?”
The housemaid nodded ready agreement. “A sight too ready with his tongue, if you ask me.” And she cast a withering glance towards the young footman, but he only laughed, bowed mockingly once more but this time to include all of them and left.
“Sit you down, me dear. What’s your name?” the cook continued, still slapping at the batter in her bowl with uninterrupted rhythm.
“Sarah. Sarah Miller.”
“You been with Lady Caroline long?”
“This is my first day.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes. To tell you the truth,” she felt the urge to confide in the friendly cook, “it’s all a bit strange.”
“Ah well—you’ll soon settle in. We’ve all got to start somewhere.” She nodded her head towards the silent kitchen-maid. “ I started as a kitchen-maid, like young Annie here. You think yoursel’ lucky to have got a job as personal maid already. How old are you?”
“Seventeen. Well—nearly.”
“There you are then! Lucky, you are. Annie’s a year older ’n you and still a kitchen maid. A bit slow, she is, but she’s willin’, aren’t you, Annie?”
The girl nodded and smiled, not in the least insulted.
“You work hard and you’ll go up in the world, young Sarah, mark my words. And Lady Caroline—she’s a lovely girl. Ah, but we was that sorry to hear poor Lady Royston had gone. As I tell Annie here, mebbe we sometimes envy the folks we works for, but for all their riches it don’t stop ’em havin’ troubles sometimes just like the rest of us, do it now? But you’re lucky, an’ no mistake, young Sarah.”
Yes, thought Sarah, she was lucky, very lucky, but she couldn’t help wishing that this kindly body was in charge of the staff at Abbeyford Grange instead of the sour-faced Mrs Hargreaves.
The days passed into weeks and the weeks into months and, once the period of mourning was over for Lady Royston, Sarah began to find out what it was really like to be a ‘lady’s-maid’. Even when, on her days off, she visited her family, she could hardly wait to climb the hill once more back to Abbeyford Grange.
Her mother revelled in her good fortune, but Joseph Miller said little. Henry would tease her about her lofty position.
“I mun doff my cap when I speak to you soon, young Sarah.”
At first his teasing was good-humoured, but gradually, as her family were subjected on her every visit to her ceaseless recounting of what Lady Caroline said or did, how things were done at the Grange and how her mistress depended upon her so, Henry’s words began to take on an unfortunate ring of truth.
“You’re getting above yoursel’, young Sarah,” he told her soberly as he walked her up the lane in the dusk of evening on her return to Abbeyford Grange after a visit home.
Sarah tossed her head. “ I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Henry,”
“Look,” he stopped and took her by the shoulders forcing her to stop and turn to face him. “It’s time we got things straight ’atween us. You’re seventeen now and I want to speak to your pa about us.”
“About us? What d’you mean?” She pretended not to understand him.
He gave her shoulders a little shake. “You know very well. Sarah. Don’t play fancy games wi’ me. It’s time there was an understanding ’atween us. You know I want to marry you …”
Sarah’s eyes widened and she blurted out. “They don’t allow no followers, Henry. You know that.”
He gave a little click of exasperation. “They needn’t know. They’ve never said anything about me seeing you back at night on your days off, have they?”
“No,” Sarah said doubtfully, “but …”
“Well then, they wun’t know no more than that. Come on, Sarah, what about it?”
Sarah wriggled to escape his grasp. “ I’ll think about it, Henry. I’m fond of you, you know that, but …”
“But what?” His face darkened with hurt pride. “Not good enough now, aren’t I? For Lady Caroline’s lady’s maid!”
Sarah was silent. She could not deny that since living at the Grange she had begun to notice the vast difference between her own background and that of Lady Caroline’s upbringing.
Sarah’s own rough edges were automatically being smoothed by her new environment, so much so that her family’s coarse manners, rough ways and poor circumstances grew daily more apparent—and more abhorrent—to her.
“Don’t despise your own folk, Sarah,” Henry said as a parting shot as he swung open the wrought-iron gate for her to pass through into the grounds of the Grange. “‘Pride goeth ’afore a fall’ as Parson’s allis tellin’ us.” he added darkly and swung the gate shut with a heavy clang.
He stood watching her walk up the drive realising that not only the ironwork of the gate physically between them separated their two lives now.
Chapter Three
Sir Matthew Trent leaned back in his leather chair, and, fingertips to fingertips, eyed the red-faced Joseph Miller standing before him.
The difference between them was marked. The ‘master’ was elegantly dressed in tight-fitting pantaloons, a striped silk waistcoat over which he wore a tailed coat. A silk cravat nestled against his throat and his own hair, still a rich red colour with scarcely a speck of grey, was worn long and tied at the nape of his neck.
In contrast Joseph Miller wore rough knee-breeches, a loose, open-necked shirt and stout, home-made boots. His wiry hair, once black, was now completely grey; his face was weather-beaten and lined by the years of hard work. Whilst the master’s hands were pale and smooth with a signet-ring on his fourth finger, Joseph Miller’s hands were gnarled and dirty.
But he stood before Sir Matthew with no feeling of inferiority. Joseph Miller was a proud man, despising Sir Matthew for the way he made his living— by the labour of
others.
“You’ve already taken away the land we cultivated, now you’re trying to take away our grazing rights on the common waste.”
“Not quite, Miller, not quite. The wastes must be enclosed. Each man must pay his share of the legal expenses and enclose his own allotment with fences or hedges and ditches.”
“Not one of us villagers could afford to do that,” Joseph Miller growled.
Sir Matthew shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands, palms upwards. “That is hardly my concern. Lord Royston is willing to buy out any man who cannot afford to do the necessary …”
“You know well enough there’s not one amongst us who can,” Joseph Miller stormed. “ It’s just a way to get ownership of all the land around here, to say nothing of our homes.”
“The war with France has compelled us to increase food production—quickly. Now, be reasonable. This area is excellent for cattle-rearing and I propose to increase the size of my herd considerably. What do you say to becoming my head cowman, Miller?”
“Bribery, is it?” Joseph Miller thundered, forgetting the need for caution. “You take away my livelihood with one hand and offer me work with the other.”
“So? I fail to see what is so wrong with that.” Sir Matthew, with a supreme effort, retained his patience. “ ’ Tis nothing to be ashamed of to be a good, honest working man.”
“What of those men who lose their grazing rights and yet have no work? I canna see you being able to employ all the menfolk of the village.”
“Perhaps not, but there is work a-plenty in the cities. The textile trade in Lancashire is undergoing a vast change. Exciting changes, my man …”
“These are country-bred folk an’ want naught to do wi’ cities and manufactories.”
“Well then, I’m sorry,” Sir Matthew said curtly, his pale blue eyes hard and cold. “There’s work to be had if they’re enterprising enough. But as for the enclosure of the common land—it will become law very soon and there’s nothing you nor I—nor anyone else—can do about it.”
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