A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Kit was about to follow when her eye caught the table decoration again and, overcome by the injustice of its purpose, she grasped the vase, moving it almost a foot to the right, before racing gleefully after her sister who was totally oblivious to the misdemeanour.

  On their way to the upper floor they encountered a young fellow whom Kit had little difficulty in identifying as Master Eustace. No amount of fine tailoring nor grooming could equip this unfortunate chap for the role of master. The vacant expression on his pimpled face displayed to all that for the rest of his life he would need instruction on everything that normal folk took for granted.

  Seeing the new maid with Amelia, he faltered, smoothed his hair – though it was already flattened heavily by grease – then continued to walk towards them, though in a reserved and apprehensive manner, chin tucked into his chest. Kit issued a cheery hello as he passed, incurring censure from Amelia who told her she must only speak when spoken to.

  ‘Poor thing.’ Kit looked over her shoulder and was surprised to see that the young man had turned and was now walking in the same direction as she, though still with his eyes fixed shyly to the carpet.

  Amelia snatched a backwards glance too. ‘Aw no, you’ve done it now! He’s taken a shine to you. We’ll have him following us round all day.’

  ‘Don’t they take him to London with them?’

  ‘Would you put a gargoyle on a Christmas tree?’ demanded Amelia. ‘Now, this is one of the bathrooms, there’s another on the next landing, and here’s the master’s room.’ She went in and took a jug from the dresser. ‘This is usually the housemaid’s job but we help out if they’re busy.’ She carried it to the bathroom to fill with hot water whilst Kit merely goggled at her luxurious surroundings – the willow-patterned toilet bowl and sink, the mahogany seat, the brass fittings – casting the occasional nervous glance at Master Tish, who hovered in the doorway.

  As had been predicted, he followed the young women everywhere, watching furtively, waiting for them to finish in one room and then rushing on ahead so as to beat them to the next, all the while saying absolutely nothing. Amelia ignored him, though Kit began to find his presence unsettling.

  When each sumptuous bedroom had been supplied with water, Amelia gave more instruction, evidently enjoying her role now. ‘While the family’s at luncheon you sneak back up here and empty the jugs, then later this afternoon you can put a hip bath in each of the rooms.’

  Having been greatly impressed by the plumbing, Kit frowned. ‘But if they’ve got two bathrooms why don’t they use them?’

  ‘Cause they’re too bloomin’ nithering – at least they are in winter. Come to that, nobody seems keen to use them now it’s summer either. I think they’re just for show. Don’t ask me, I’m only the lackey.’ Abruptly, she changed the subject. ‘I like the way you’ve done your hair.’

  Kit smiled at this rare compliment. ‘I had more time this morning. Normally I just scrag it up. There’s some wonderful styles I’ve seen in books but you need to be an octopus to do them – or hire a lady’s maid, and there’s not much chance of that for thee or me.’

  ‘Would you help me do mine like that for my wedding?’ asked Amelia, and donated a broad smile when Kit said that of course she would – although, looking at her sister’s frizz, she was privately not sure how to achieve a similar result with such poor foundations.

  ‘I can think of a lovely way to do it, with flowers in it and everything!’

  Alarmed that Kit might go overboard, Amelia said hurriedly, ‘Well, nowt too fancy—’

  ‘Master’s here!’ A breathless Ivy appeared at the top of the staircase. ‘Mrs Grunter wants everyone in the hall!’ Without waiting for an answer she ran down again.

  Thus summoned, Amelia snatched a quick inspection of her sister, pulling the other’s clothes into place as if she were organizing a child, then the two of them went towards the back staircase. Tish had overtaken them. His face brimming with anticipation, he was careering down the main route to the hall.

  Once assembled at the centre of the house with the rest of the servants, mostly unfamiliar to her, who stood on either side of the wide staircase and Mrs Grunter taking senior position on the landing, Kit waited nervously, head and shoulders above anyone to right or left. The master and mistress were as yet outside, lending time for further appraisal. The hall was more like a cathedral, with thick timber rafters arching overhead, pilasters and corbels, an iron chandelier suspended by a chain that must be thirty or forty feet long, an enormous stone fireplace carved with Latin inscriptions, above which was a tapestry depicting knights in armour and above that a great arched window with elaborate segments of stained glass the colours of which were reflected on the wall, plus oriels and nooks and a plethora of ancient weaponry.

  There was a ripple of apprehension through the ranks as Geoffrey Dolphin and other members of his family appeared in the vestibule and finally entered the great hall, preceded by Tish, who had run out to meet them and was now behaving like an excited infant, the young man’s boisterous antics obviously an embarrassment to his mother.

  Apart from a few nods and smiles there was no other greeting from their employers who, along with their daughter and two of their sons, went directly up the staircase to be received by Mrs Grunter, who waited to accompany them to their rooms. After a brief glimpse of a smartly dressed but rather unattractive man with dark hair and whiskers above a starched collar, and a very plain and ill-at-ease mistress, Kit’s lasting impression was the rustle of Mrs Dolphin’s silken bustle as it ascended the staircase, before she and the other servants were sent about their business.

  Luncheon followed, though Kit was uninvolved in the serving of it. She became, however, privy to the servant hierarchy when the lower orders were about to take their own lunch at one o’clock, a meal consisting of a roast and vegetables to be followed by apple pie. Mr Todd, the steward, she discovered, was even more of an authoritarian than Mrs Grunter, and she was glad to hear that she would not have to share a table with these tartars, for they and Cook ate their meals in the steward’s room along with the head gardener, the two lady’s maids and the coachman. As yet, Cook had not joined them but was still in the kitchen where Kit stood feeling ill at ease whilst people swarmed around her with pans and plates. Her discomfort came from the fact that there were more males around now and all seemed taken with her appearance – grooms of the chamber, an under butler, footmen – all remarking on the new girl’s stature. Luckily the instruction was given for them to move to the servants’ hall at that point, so deflecting their attention.

  Before they had exited, however, a tall good-looking footman rushed in, tugged off his boots and, to female screams, ripped off his pantaloons and was about to drape them in front of the fire when the obese Mrs Hellawell bellowed at him.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at, Algernon Boggs?’ Whilst others tut-tutted she seized the offending garment and flung it back at him. ‘I’m not having them dangling in my way.’

  ‘Aw, take pity, Mrs H!’ the good looking man beseeched her. ‘There’s no fire in our room.’ Being the height of summer the only grate alight was in the kitchen. ‘I’ve spilled wine all over ’em and I need them dry for this afternoon.’ He tugged distastefully at the red stain on his underpants.

  ‘And do you think these respectable girls want to eat their dinner alongside a man with no breeches?’ Mrs Hellawell kicked his boots out of her way. ‘Haven’t you got another pair?’

  ‘Aye, but I’ve ripped the arse out—’

  ‘Language!’

  ‘—and nobody’ll mend them for me! These are the only ones I’ve got.’

  ‘I don’t care, you are not hanging them in my kitchen!’

  Still half-clothed, Algernon strode briskly to his room; this being nearby he reappeared mere seconds later with his other pair of trousers. ‘There! I’ve hung ’em in me room but they won’t be dry for ages. How do you expect me to do my job in these?’ He stuck his finger thr
ough a ripped seam, and waggled it beseechingly at the other women in the room. ‘Aw, won’t one of you lasses help me?’

  ‘Don’t think you’re taking any of my girls away from their work!’ chastised Mrs Hellawell, whilst others tittered over his rather obscene gesture. ‘And pick up those boots!’

  Clamping the boots under his arm, Algernon continued to beseech every female in turn; all refused. Then his eyes fell on the new girl. ‘You look as if you’ve got more about you than this cruel lot. I’m going to get into awful ructions if somebody doesn’t help me.’

  ‘Tell him to sew them himself,’ advised Amelia.

  ‘I can’t sew! What d’you take me for?’

  Kit ignored his half-dressed state, concentrating on his smart upper half with its dark blue tail coat, starched collar and white bow tie, the brown hair immaculately groomed and parted in the middle around a face that could almost have been termed patrician, had it not been adopting such a contorted look. Appraising the worried expression, she took pity and, in bluff manner, grabbed the pantaloons.

  ‘Let’s have a look at ’em. Oh, that’s nowt of a job – I’ll do it after we’ve eaten.’

  Mrs Hellawell was scathing as she went off to eat her luncheon. ‘And here’s me thinking you’ve got an ounce of intelligence. If you’re daft enough to let Algy get round you on this score, there’ll be no stopping him when it comes to you know what.’

  ‘Ooh, the things she says!’ Upon assistance, Algernon had immediately turned genial and, still in his wine-stained underwear and stockinged feet, joined the exodus to the servants’ hall, putting his arm around Kit’s waist as they went. ‘You’re a good looker, if I might make so bold. What’s your name again?’

  The recipient of his praise turned coquettish and provided her name, enjoying the contact and not the least disconcerted by his state of undress for her brothers often walked around thus.

  ‘Have you met my little twinny?’ He drew her attention to a man of similar proportions with whom he linked his other arm, adopting a coy and mincing walk. ‘Allow me to introduce you. Kit, this is Charles, my twin – almost as handsome as me, is he not?’

  Kit studied the pair, both striking in looks. ‘You’re very alike.’

  Amelia tutted. ‘He’s having you on, dopey, they’re not twins. They were only chosen because they match each other – both got big heads.’

  ‘Ooh! Listen to her, twinny,’ scolded Algy, still affecting his effeminate manner in a parody of his accuser. ‘Leastwise we were chosen for our beauty.’

  In the servants’ hall, his masculinity restored, he insisted that Kit sit between him and Charles, and was most attentive, telling the youth who served them to give her the best portions, thereby helping to make Kit more unpopular than she already was with the other females over the way she had jumped the queue for the position of parlourmaid.

  Lily in particular harboured resentment, muttering gruffly, ‘Isn’t it enough that you’ve taken my job without hogging all the food as well?’ Kit, desperately wanting to be accepted into this new family, prevented the youth from overloading her plate and said earnestly, ‘I did mention to Mrs Grunter that you were first in line, Lily, but she said you were such a tremendous help in the kitchen that she knew Cook wouldn’t want to spare you. I can’t cook for love nor money. This is a wonderful roast! I really admire Mrs Hellawell.’

  ‘I cooked it,’ said the pug-jawed Lily, bridling. ‘Mrs Hellawell was too busy doing the master’s luncheon.’

  ‘Truly?’ Kit looked amazed, though she had known all along. ‘Well, I don’t know why you wanted to be a parlourmaid with skills like this. I think you’re marvellous.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ But the look on Lily’s face showed that the rift was on the way to being healed.

  Kit shared a conspiratorial glance with her sister. Then, whilst lifting another forkful to her mouth, she noticed someone watching her from across the room, an elderly woman she had not encountered before who ate her luncheon from a tray on her knee. She voiced a greeting.

  The woman, clad from head to toe in black, merely issued a smiling nod and continued with her meal.

  Amelia turned her head to inspect the old retainer. ‘You won’t get much out of Mrs Garbutt. Poor old soul – she’s almost ninety, you know.’

  ‘No, she isn’t, she’s ninety already,’ interrupted Lily.

  Ivy supported her friend. ‘No, she’s not ninety till next month.’

  The three took to squabbling as if the subject of their argument were not even present.

  Kit adopted the same attitude, speaking not to Mrs Garbutt but to the self-appointed spokeswomen. ‘What does she do?’

  ‘Nowt,’ answered Ivy. ‘They just keep her on to save her from the workhouse. Mr Dolphin inherited her from his parents – she were ancient then. Never shifts from that chair, apart from to do the obvious. Just sits and watches the world go by. Listens to all our grumbles and groans.’

  Kit chewed thoughtfully. ‘It must be awful to be so old, mustn’t it?’

  Pondering on the battered face and its network of lines, the chin studded with polyps, the neck hanging loose like a turkey’s, the young women agreed, all oblivious to the great beauty and experience that shone from Beth Garbutt’s eyes.

  ‘I sometimes feel a hundred, working under Mrs Hellawell,’ sighed Lily.

  Kit sympathized. ‘At least we don’t have to eat with her.’

  ‘Not our main course, no,’ said Amelia, ‘but we always take our dessert together in Mrs Grunter’s room.’ She laughed at Kit’s groan.

  ‘So better look sharp with your needle and thread,’ inserted Algy, indicating his undressed state. ‘I don’t want Mrs Grunter ogling me bag of goodies.’

  * * *

  After rushing the last of her meal, Kit found needle and thread and swiftly inserted a number of stitches into Algy’s ripped pantaloons in time for the upper-house servants to move to the housekeeper’s room for their pudding. Having been coached by Sarah, who was herself an expert seamstress, it took under a minute for the repair to be made.

  ‘By, that didn’t take you long!’ Algy looked delighted as he slipped into his pantaloons.

  ‘It’s easy when you know how,’ smiled Kit.

  ‘Oh, an expert on men’s breeches, are you?’ The man bent to ram his feet into his boots, grinning up at her. ‘Well, I’ll take mine off for you any time.’

  Taken aback by this indecency, Kit blushed, but was secretly pleased at the attentiveness of such a handsome man as she and everyone else, barring old Beth Garbutt, moved to the housekeeper’s parlour. Here, under Mrs Grunter’s fish-like eye, the atmosphere was more constrained and there was no opportunity for further liaison between Kit and her admirer – though she hoped there would be later.

  What came later, however, was a reprimand. The plates had been cleared and the upper servants were preparing to go about their business when a query was relayed to the servants’ zone: who was responsible for the laying of the table at luncheon? In particular, who had taken charge of the flower vase? Whoever it was, the mistress wanted to see them – immediately.

  At the ominous note, Amelia and Kit exchanged glances, the latter wearing a guilty expression that told her sister exactly what she had done. ‘You moved that vase!’ the elder hissed. ‘After I told you how important it was!’

  Kit prepared to own up. ‘I’ll go and apolo—’

  ‘No!’ Amelia’s tone was censorious. ‘You’ll only get the sack and our Monty’ll have to put up with you again! I’ll go tell the mistress it was my mistake. It doesn’t matter if she sacks me, I’m leaving soon anyway.’

  ‘You mean she’d dismiss you for such a paltry thing?’ Kit looked shocked.

  ‘It isn’t paltry in her eyes! That what I was trying to tell you, if only you’d listen.’ Highly annoyed, Amelia turned on her heel. ‘Anyway, just stay where you are and try to do as you’re told in future. Get those baths ready to take upstairs.’

&n
bsp; Kit went to find the hip baths, opening and closing cupboard doors. It was as she was investigating another that she was pushed inside, the door was slammed, but she was not alone.

  ‘Ooh, Kit, I think you’re lovely!’ murmured Algy, his breath warm on her neck, his hands kneading her buttocks, lifting her skirts. ‘So cuddlesome and generous. I’ve never met anybody like you before, you’re so different to the other girls. Will you let me kiss you? Go on, let me, just a little kiss.’

  Overcome by shock and prone to his flattery, Kit scarcely had time to say no before his lips closed on hers. Robbed of breath, she was forced to inhale rapidly through her nose, taking in a combination of smells – tobacco, hair grease, polish and a tang of masculinity – whilst her hands scrabbled to prevent his from wandering all over her ample dimensions.

  Aroused, he spoke into her mouth, the words muffled by passion whilst his victim half-heartedly struggled to free herself. ‘Oh, you’re so sweet, my darling, so desirable …’

  Panic increased her heartbeat, caused both by wrongdoing and passion – he was a very appealing man. But the housekeeper’s warning was fresh in her mind. She could not lose this job so soon. ‘Algy, Mrs Grunter might find us!’

  Encouraged by her lack of struggle, Algy grew bolder. ‘That dried-up old stick’ll never know what this feels like!’

  Kit squeaked in horror and tried to withdraw her hand that Algy had pinioned against his groin. Inexperienced in the ways of men, she was thrown into confusion. ‘Oh, don’t! What are you doing?’

  He gave a triumphant little laugh. ‘Feel it – that’s for you!’ Then his mouth closed on hers again.

  The warm dry lips now oozed saliva. Repelled, Kit writhed to be free. Algy let go of her hand then, but only in order to pull up her skirts, and continued to press his ardour, breathing lascivious encouragement, layering her with wet kisses, inching her petticoats higher and higher, telling her how gorgeous she was.