by Hilly Mason
“You would be lying,” Joyce said doubtfully.
“It’s not the worst thing I’ve done.” Sophia paused to think. “How about changing my name to Susannah? I’ve always liked that name. Susannah Markle. Yes, that’s lovely.”
“All right,” Joyce sat up and took out her writing supplies, wetting the pen with ink. “But you mustn’t be so choosy this time. You seem to hold a grudge with many families.”
“Why don’t you send the correspondences without me seeing the names? I’ll choose the first estate that accepts me.” Sophia said. She stifled a cough.
“Need another lozenge?”
“No, I will be fine.”
After finishing the letters, Joyce sent them off before the post office closed. Sophia almost expected she would still not get a response, so it was a surprise when, days later, Joyce came running in with a sealed letter in her hand.
“No, I still don’t want to see where it’s from.” Sophia exclaimed, covering her eyes. “I want to be free of any judgment whatsoever.”
“Oh fine,” Joyce said and sat down to read the letter. Her eyes lit up immediately. “Well, you’ve been accepted,” she said excitedly. “And he wants you to begin next week.”
“Next week?” Sophia gasped, which turned into a cough. Her mild sickness had turned into the flu a few days ago. “Where are we going then? The estate is in London, correct?”
The smile faltered from her face. Joyce shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s in Surrey.”
“Surrey?” Sophia exclaimed. “Well, at least it’s not York.”
Joyce laughed. “It’s not that far from London,” she said. “A two-hour ride at most.”
“What is the closest town?”
“Chertsey, I believe,” Joyce replied, staring at the directions written in the letter.
“I haven’t heard of it,” Sophia said. She leaned back onto her pillow and sighed. Just as she was taken from her life in warm and humid India to be plopped in the middle of dreary England, she was now going to be taken away from her beloved London to live in some rube’s estate in Surrey. At least in London there were enough distractions to allow her to forget the gloomy weather. There was absolutely nothing in the countryside save for sheep and hay bales.
Still, she knew better than to pass on the opportunity.
“Let’s pack up our things, Joyce,” she said.
Chapter Six
“Do you have everything, Sophia?” Joyce asked as she scanned her surroundings.
“I believe so.”
Miss Baxter was still asleep upstairs; they could hear her snoring, loud enough that it sent the jars shaking on the shelves below.
“I will not miss that,” Joyce said, shaking her head.
“You mean you won’t miss a grumpy old woman waking you up in the wee hours of the morning?” Sophia chuckled. “Me neither.”
“I do feel like we should say goodbye to her.”
“And risk her wrath after waking her up from her nap?” Sophia shook her head. “She knows we’re leaving.” She put a hand against the wall to steady herself as she coughed.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Just a few sniffles, and a persistent cough. It’s not enough to keep here any longer. Come along; I believe I hear the coach pulling up outside.”
As they walked over to the front door, Sophia tripped over Soot, whose dark fur had blended into the dim lighting of the shop. Sophia uttered a curse as she caught herself from landing onto a shelf and spilling its contents. Soot, not liking to be disturbed by her ritual grooming, let out an outraged meow before continuing to wash her ear.
“Let us by, Soot.” Sophia said, stepping over the creature to open the door. The cat let out another yowl and slipped outside before she could close the door in time.
“Oh no! Soot!” Sophia cried, as the ball of fluff disappeared around the corner.
“I believe she was a stray anyway,” Joyce said from behind her. “Miss Baxter didn’t seem to care for her much.”
“Oh, well, I hope she will be all right on her own,” Sophia said. She had taken a liking to the creature, and rather enjoyed having her as a foot warmer during some of the colder nights.
“Ye’re leavin’ then?”
They turned to Miss Baxter, who was standing at the top of the stairs in her night clothes. The dress only came down to mid-thigh, revealing one knobby knee, and one wooden stump. Her skin was so pale that Sophia could clearly see the veins that ran like tangled roots down her limbs.
“Thank you for allowing us to stay with you, Miss Baxter,” Joyce said.
Sophia waved her hand in farewell. Despite what she thought about the lady, she was grateful she had allowed them to live in her shop for the past few weeks. The old woman gave them the slightest nod before turning back into her room and shutting the door.
It looked to be a warm day. There were hardly any clouds in the sky, and the sound of birdsong was a strong promise that rain would not likely be in their near future. Sophia breathed in deeply, trying to remember the city’s scent: food baking in the oven, the murky Thames, and the thousands of city dwellers who carried with them pleasant and not-so-pleasant aromas. All of it made up the city of London, the place Sophia fell in love with after being torn away by her home in Calcutta.
And now, once again, she had no other option but to leave the place she loved.
The coach was waiting on the side of the road a few doors down from the apothecary. The driver, a man in his early twenties, jumped down from his seat and bowed to them. He then took a step back and stared openly at the approaching women. They weren’t exactly in rags, but even after a few washings Sophia’s gown was still stained at the hem and had lost some of its flounce. Before they left the apothecary, Sophia had tried to tame her wild, curly blonde hair up into a bun, but without a looking glass she knew that there were strands here and there sticking out haphazardly.
With his nervous glance, Sophia began to suspect that the footman would refuse his service, but after blinking at them for a moment he straightened up and gave them a nod.
“One of you must be Susannah Markle, correct?”
Sophia nodded. “Yes, I am her. This is my faithful maid, Joyce. It was said in my acceptance letter that she could come with me.” It really did not say anything of the sort, but she would deal the repercussions once she got to Chertsey.
The driver picked up their meager possessions, loaded them into the storage compartment, and then helped the women up into the coach. Sophia sighed as she settled into her seat, running her hands down the fabric. The seats were made of velvet, and the curtains were silk. Wherever they were going, the man was rich, and hopefully would pay her handsomely. She imagined having the money to buys new dresses and silks, and perhaps some new lace for her hair. It brightened her spirits, and made her look forward to traveling into what was really the unknown to her.
She had been in London for most of her adolescence and into adulthood, with various trips to the countryside now and again. The open space of the country unnerved her. It reminded her of the expansive ocean. It was when she had made that voyage from India to England that she finally realized that there was more to life than Calcutta. And now that she was traveling to the countryside, she was reminded again of how big the world was, and how her social standing at London parties meant nothing in the larger scheme of things.
What then would she live for?
The thought terrified her. She felt safer in the confines of her city—her own microcosm where she could forget about how fleeting it all was.
The coach began to move. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophia caught the flash of fur and a familiar-looking fluff of a tail.
“Soot!” she exclaimed, causing Joyce to jump in her seat. She stuck her head out of the window for the driver to hear. “Stop this carriage at once!”
“But ma’am!”
“That’s an order!”
Her authoritative voice must have worked for the coach drew to a su
dden halt. Sophia jumped down from the carriage and squatted to the ground to be at eye-level with the cat.
“Come here, Soot,” Sophia said to the cat. The feline seemed to be deciding whether or not to flee into a bush. “Come with us to Chertsey. I promise it will be much more pleasant than trying to forage for food in the alley.”
She felt a bit ridiculous talking to a cat in the middle of a busy London sidewalk, but mostly she did not care. The concept was thrilling to her. She cared not what people thought! As Soot finally walked over to her, she swiftly scooped the little beast into her arms. Pedestrians shot her curious glances and gave her a wide berth as she grinned at them.
“What, never seen a woman talk to her cat before?” she asked them. Of course, nobody responded.
Sophia stepped back into the waiting coach.
“Well, it’s lovely to see you again, Soot.” Joyce said, patting the cat’s head.
Sophia settled the cat between them and leaned back into her seat. “I would have felt guilty leaving her behind,” she explained to Joyce.
“Yes, I can clearly see that.”
She made a face at her maid and turned toward the window.
“Goodbye, London,” she whispered as the gray buildings drifted by them. Hyde Park—her favorite place to stroll in the mornings—slipped by like a fleeting memory.
“Don’t worry so,” Joyce said, noticing her melancholy. “It’s not like you’ll never return here. This job can be a temporary thing, until perhaps you find a man to marry.”
“I do not desire to marry again,” Sophia said contemptuously, recalling Miss Baxter’s premonition. “Maybe I am destined to be a governess for the remainder of my life.”
What other options did she have? She could be a shopkeeper like Miss Baxter, but... She shuddered to think of turning into that witch!
No, she didn’t know what she would do, but she knew she would not once again be a victim to a man’s inattention to money. Who decided that men should be the one to inherit money and property anyway? It didn’t seem like they ever did a good job managing it!
The dark buildings of London swiftly turned into the idyllic landscape of the English countryside. The estate was about twenty miles away, and as Joyce predicted, took a little over two hours to arrive. Sophia nodded off a few times; once she had seen a sliver of the English countryside, she had seen it all.
“I’d imagine Chertsey is also infested with sheep,” Sophia said dourly after a pothole jolted her awake. She was greeted by a flock of the fluffy beasts outside her window.
“There are towns out here,” Joyce reassured her. “Of course, it isn’t London, but people do have parties and social events out here. It’s not just restricted to city folk.”
“I’d imagine they hold parties and balls in a barn.” Outside she heard a sheep bleat in response.
In the mid afternoon they arrived at the estate. A large pond greeted them at the beginning of the driveway, where two swans glided effortlessly in a figure-eight. A large, abandoned house stood a few yards from the road.
“Don’t tell me that’s Ramsbury,” she muttered, staring up at the shuttered windows.
“No, ma’am. Ramsbury House is just on the other side of the lake.” The footman pointed vaguely in front of him. As he continued to drive down the road, Ramsbury finally came into view.
Sophia craned her neck out the window and sucked in her breath at the size of the house. It looked be as big as six town houses put together, with three floors of arching windows, and a massive lake out front, its waters reflecting the building as clearly as a looking glass. Verdant hedges lined the walls of the house. At the stairway leading up to the front entrance, a circular fountain sprayed water ten or so feet high from a conch held in the hands of a Grecian god sculpture.
It was definitely not the farm house Sophia expected.
The coach pulled up at the front steps of the entrance door, and the footman hopped off his seat to help the women down.
“My master is not yet home. He will be in later this evening with his sister, but I was told that you are to make yourselves at home in the servants’ hall.”
“Am I not to be living in your master’s main house?”
The footman shook his head.
“I was not given those orders, Miss Markle.”
“Well,” Joyce said, under her breath. “You are a servant now... Susannah.”
Sophia clenched her jaw. “Thank you,” she told the footman. He bowed slightly and held out his arm to direct them to an elderly man waiting for them near the entrance to the house.
As Sophia and Joyce grabbed their bags and walked over to him, he gave them both a slight nod of his head.
“Welcome to Ramsbury House,” he said. “My name is Giles, and I am the butler of this estate. I assume one of you is the governess Susannah Markle?”
“Yes, and this is my maid, Joyce,” Sophia said. Giles narrowed his eyes.
“I was not informed that you would have a maid accompany you.”
“Well, tell your master that I require it.” She felt a swift kick to the side of her leg. Joyce’s eyes bore into the back of her head. “Please,” she added. Lord, she really needed to learn how to hold her tongue.
“I will talk to the master about it when he arrives home,” Giles said tightly. Although his duty was to remain polite and courteous, Sophia could tell right away that he disliked her. That was just as well; she wasn’t here to make friends anyway.
“Come this way, please,” the butler said. Instead of walking through the entrance door, they were taken around the back of the building to a side door--which was decidedly less glamorous than the entrance. It was a small wooden door painted an alarming shade of red with a stone step leading up to it, worn from years of use. Giles led them through the door and straight into the heat of the kitchens. It was a large kitchen—much bigger than Comerford’s. The stove, oven, and sink were all in one corner of the room, out of the way of a large, banquet-sized wooden table in the middle. About a dozen or so servants were gathered around a wooden table, eating their midday meal. They stopped to look at the two of them curiously.
“What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” one man asked. He was covered head to toe in dirt, with a few leaves sticking out of his hair. Sophia guessed him to be the gardener. Or a vagabond.
“This is Susannah Markle,” Giles told the small crowd. “She is to be the governess for Lady St. George.”
St. George?
The surname jolted her a bit, but of course it was a common enough name. She glanced at Joyce, wondering what her reaction would be, but of course Joyce would have no knowledge of the history behind that name. She had come to Comerford after Sophia had married Lord Gibbs and Sophia had never told her about her past.
Perhaps it was only a distant relation.
Perhaps she actually should have known who she was sending her application to.
The servants quickly lost interest in the new visitors, and turned their heads back to their food. However, a woman with graying brown hair stood up from her seat. “My name is Isabel, the head maid at Ramsbury House. Let me show you to your rooms,” she said, setting down a serviette that had been resting in her lap. She brushed her hands down her legs to smooth her skirts. “Come along now.” she said briskly. “I’m busy, so we must be quick.”
Sophia glanced at Joyce, who shrugged. Sophia didn’t expect a warm welcome, but a little smile wouldn’t hurt.
“What are your names again?” Isabel asked as she led them up the stairs, passing by a few closed doors. Her voice was kind enough, but whenever Sophia looked into her eyes, she saw something that seemed to resemble anger.
“My name is Susannah and this is my maid, Joyce.”
“A governess with her own maid?” the woman asked, raising her eyebrows with interest.
“Is that unheard of here? It is a common thing for governesses to have their own maid in London.” Sophia said glibly, ignoring Joyce’s worried look.
�
�Is that so? Who did you work for before you left?”
“Well,” Sophia began, struggling to come up with a plausible story. She coughed involuntarily, which at least allowed her to have more time to think. “This is my first time teaching. After my father died, his estate went to my cousin, as I was his only child, and I was left with almost nothing...”
“Never you mind,” Isabel said quickly. “I’ve heard of many governesses who used to be ladies. I don’t need to hear this story again.”
Sophia’s jaw dropped at her rude interruption. “Excuse me...”
“We are also very good friends,” Joyce swiftly interjected. “I would follow her anywhere.”
“How very admirable,” the woman said. “But from now on, Joyce, you will be working for me, and you are to do the duties as a scullery maid.”
“She is my maid,” Sophia insisted. “She is to work for me.”
“The last time I checked, I was the head maid at Ramsbury,” Isabel said. “Not you. It is my job to decide what to do with all of the maids here.”
“But...”
“That’s all right, So—Susannah,” Joyce said. “Really, it is.”
Sophia was still in the mood for arguing, but knew Joyce was in the right to deescalate the situation. She did not want to make enemies on her first day here at Ramsbury. Although, perhaps it was too late, she thought, noticing Isabel’s disapproving gaze.
Isabel opened one of the doors in the hall and Sophia and Joyce peered in. It was a basic room, sparsely furnished with one large bed that she and Joyce would have to share, and a small writing desk. As they were underground, there were no windows; the only source of light came from a small lantern sitting on the desk. No wonder so many servants lingered in the kitchens; it was perhaps the only room that had windows. Sophia hoped she would be allowed to step outside every now and then for fresh air.
A tomcat waltzed past them, rubbing his body along all three women’s legs, unaware of the thick tension in the room. Soot started wiggling in Sophia’s bag. The tomcat stopped and sniffed her bag before letting out a long, low growl. The fur on his back stood on end and his tail puffed like a chimney brush.
