A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘No, she just thinks that! And Master Tish lets her. But when I’m on me own he comes and talks to me, using—’

  ‘Talks to you? I’ve never heard him say much.’

  Myrtle looked crafty. ‘He does when there’s only me and him about. He uses any old excuse to get down here.’

  Kit was annoyed but couldn’t quite reason why. ‘If you want me to help stop him pestering you—’

  ‘Oh no! He’s lovely. Well, I mean—’ Myrtle blushed and broke off.

  Kit was glad no one was around to witness her humiliation – even the imbecile fancied somebody else!

  She turned her wrath on Myrtle. ‘Well, just you be careful who you tell it to! There’s others who are not so understanding as me. They’ll say you’re showing off!’

  So consumed with annoyance was she over this that she forgot all about the master’s original instructions.

  In the absence of authority an air of indolence prevailed downstairs. Many of the servants sat gossiping, though this was sharply curtailed when Kit entered, verifying the fact that she was an outsider. ‘Fancy a game of cards before old Turd gets back?’ Algy asked the others, at which a pack was brought out and shuffled, no one asking if Kit would like to join in. Only old Beth Garbutt, reclining serenely in her rocking chair, offered any support in the form of a smile.

  Whilst the game of cards ensued, punctuated by oaths and cries of triumph, Kit was regretting her spiteful words to Myrtle, the only one apart from Beth to be nice to her. She determined to make it up to the girl later. It was ridiculous to be jealous of such a relationship. If Myrtle were lucky enough to attract a paramour then she was to be congratulated. At a loose end, Kit sat and pondered for a while, until a chain of thoughts finally jolted her into relaying the master’s orders. ‘Oh! Algy, Mr Dolphin says his members—’ She broke off and frowned, trying to remember, ‘What was it now?’

  ‘His member’s not as big as mine,’ Algy muttered this helpful suggestion to Charles, who sniggered, causing Mrs Hellawell to demand suspiciously: ‘What was that?’

  Algy lifted an innocent face from the cards in his hand. ‘I think what the newest employee is trying to say is that the members of the Board of Guardians will be arriving in …’ he cast a quick glance at the clock – ‘half an hour.’

  Kit exclaimed, ‘That’s it!’

  Algy ignored the ejaculation, a superior edge to his address as he prepared to lay his cards on the table. ‘Mrs Hellawell, would you be so kind as to inform our newest employee that Charles and myself are fully conversant with the master’s requirements and as I have now won this game—’ with great theatrics he displayed the winning hand to groans of dismay – ‘I shall attend to them forthwith. Come along, Charles.’

  Kit blurted, ‘He doesn’t want Charles!’

  The latter’s haughty mien turned to interrogate her.

  ‘No, I’m to go with Algy instead,’ explained Kit with a sinking feeling at Algy’s obvious disdain.

  ‘And who d’you think you are when you’re at home – Lady Effingham?’ Charles’s contempt was almost as great as Rosalind’s when Kit protested innocently:

  ‘It’s not my fault the master wants me!’

  Mrs Hellawell gasped at the audacity, setting her jowls aquiver.

  ‘Now she’s even got the master after her!’ scoffed Lily, tossing her losing hand on to the table in disgust.

  ‘I haven’t! He just said me and Algy make a handsome couple.’

  Rosalind almost upset the card table in her violent elevation from her chair. ‘How long have you been here – two days? And already you’ve got every man in the house throwing himself at you – that’s if we believe anything you say!’ Out of frustration she punched Algy – looked as if she might punch Kit too – then fled the room in order to hide her tears.

  His afternoon’s repair work undone, Algy beheld the culprit darkly, then grabbed a silver tray and strode off, leaving Kit to dither a moment before rushing after him.

  Trying to keep up with him along the back corridor, she protested that she had not meant to cause any trouble for him, that in truth it was all of his doing, he really shouldn’t have treated her with such low regard, but please could they start again and be friends? All fell on barren ground. Not one word did Algy utter.

  One by one the members of the Board of Guardians arrived. Algy announced each, then when all were settled he and Kit retreated to the kitchen to fetch refreshments. Still not one word did he bestow upon her, and nor did anyone else, Charles deliberately turning his back on her

  Whilst Kit and Algy were loading their trays the doorbell rang at the tradesman’s entrance. In imitation of Algernon’s announcement of the master’s guests, a youth performed a deep bow and introduced the bookie’s runner, here to collect the servants’ weekly wagers. Even better, he brought winnings for Algy – ten pounds!

  From being the most fiendish of sinners, Kit suddenly found herself elevated to the rank of angel as, being the nearest female to hand, she was seized, squeezed and whisked around the room in a frenetic waltz as Algy crowed of his good fortune.

  Laughing, Kit begged to be put down – only half serious – and was eventually released but not until Algy had planted a resounding kiss upon her cheek.

  ‘Now you know just how fickle he is,’ muttered Amelia when rejoined by her breathless sister. ‘A few quid and he’s anybody’s.’

  ‘Good to tell you haven’t won owt!’ he goaded.

  ‘I wouldn’t waste me money.’

  Algy pushed his face into hers, taunting her playfully with the ten-pound note. Kit tried to keep her face straight but could scarcely conceal her delight at being returned to favour. The bookie’s runner collected the latest bets and Kit was asked if she would care to speculate.

  ‘Ooh no! I don’t think our Monty would approve of that. I’m pleased for your bit of luck, though!’ she added just in case the others interpreted her comment as yet another aspersion.

  Mrs Hellawell curtailed the celebrations. ‘Hadn’t you two better get those trays upstairs?’

  With an eye on the clock that forecast the imminent return of the steward and housekeeper, Algy agreed. ‘Aye, better not let old Turd catch us – nor Rosie neither, else I’ll have to part with this.’ He kissed the tenner and shoved it into his pocket.

  ‘I’ll tell her!’ warned Mrs Hellawell, though Algy knew she wouldn’t. However, he was not so certain of others’ allegiance.

  ‘Suppose I’ll have to give you something to keep you quiet?’

  The question was directed at Kit, who was slightly hurt at this cynicism, yet pleased enough at her new success in the popularity stakes to issue blithely: ‘I’m not a big mouth! It’s nothing to do with me if you don’t want to share it with Rosalind. Though I think you’re very mean to use her so.’

  ‘I’m not using her!’ Satisfied with Kit’s reply, his own was more light-hearted now, almost playful. ‘She’d do anything for me and I’d do anything for her – within reason.’

  ‘Except marry her,’ accused Amelia.

  ‘I don’t think you realize how many women would be heartbroken if I were to do that.’ He embraced all the other maidservants in his cocky smile, being met by groans. ‘But if you play your cards right, Kit, I’d give good odds on you being Mrs Bogg.’

  There were guffaws. ‘Who’d want to be called Mrs Bogg!’

  Algy ignored this insult and drew Kit to him. ‘The master’s right, we do make an ’andsome couple, don’t we, Mrs Hellawell?’

  Cook regarded the evenly matched pair, a cynical gleam to her beautiful green eyes. ‘Some might say.’

  But Kit had learned her lesson. Wise to Algy’s game now, she felt confident enough to play along, and gave a mischievous bump with her elbow before picking up her tray and accompanying him back to the drawing room. ‘I’ll stay Miss Kilmaster if that’s all the same to you.’ Everyone went about their business, leaving only Amelia, Ivy and Beth Garbutt in the room. Amelia sagged and presse
d a hand to her brow. ‘Well, I, for one, am glad I won’t be Miss Kilmaster for much longer. I don’t know how I’ll last till September. Our Kit, she’s such an embarrassment.’

  Ivy agreed, patting her friend sympathetically.

  The elderly lady was more charitable and said, as she had done many times before, ‘She’ll learn.’

  As ever, both young women looked surprised at the interjection from one whom they regarded as part of the furniture. Amelia sighed again. ‘Happen she will, Mrs Garbutt, but I reckon she’ll inflict me with as many wrinkles as you’ve got before she does.’

  8

  What Kit had assumed to have been an accident on Wyndham’s part happened again the next morning. Just as she leaned over him with the cup of tea he ‘accidentally’ brushed her breast as he groped for the saucer. Alarmed, but too unsure of her position to take issue with the culprit, Kit hurried from the room and in shocked tone complained to her sister. Amelia showed little surprise, which to Kit illustrated that she had deliberately exposed her sister to Wyndham’s advances in order to avoid them herself. Amelia argued that this were untrue, Master Wyndham had never touched her and if Kit were receiving this treatment then she must be flaunting herself, as was her wont. Recalling Algy’s familiarity, Kit thought perhaps that it was her natural friendliness that had caused the wrong impression and so, the following morning when delivering Wyndham’s tea she tried to convey an air of aloofness that might put him off. Alas, it did not. Moreover, due to her previous lack of censure, the youth had grown quite blatant about his fondling, not even bothering to disguise the assault as accidental.

  Kit did not know what to do. It was one thing to complain to the housekeeper about a manservant’s lewd attentions, quite another to accuse her employer’s son. With no one else willing to take Wyndham’s morning tea, and Kit of too junior a position to argue, she must either put up with the indecent behaviour or leave – and she simply could not lose another job.

  Morning molestations, sedate luncheons, afternoon tea, evening dinner, bedtime cocoa; the rest of the week and indeed the rest of the month, was much the same, with Kit alternating between the two worlds, one sumptuous and genteel, the other unadorned chaos.

  On the first Sunday of the month, she and Amelia travelled home together to Ralph Royd chiefly to attend little Probyn’s baptism, and then it was back to her labours until the wedding. Any precious free time she might have was given to working on Amelia’s dress, using a paper pattern cut from a magazine. The labour of love this might have been was somewhat spoiled by Ivy, who, in her senior position, delegated all the tedious jobs to Kit, such as sewing a covering around each of the three cane hoops that would form the bustle, stitching tapes to each end of them, making the bustle pad itself out of cotton wool, covering buttons, when Kit would much rather be working with the other two on the expanse of russet velvet. Night after night the three laboured, inserting bones into the bodice, stitching dozens of hooks and eyes, buttons and buttonholes, adding flounces, embroidery, underskirts, overskirts, until the finished creation hung in all its autumnal splendour from a rail in Amelia’s room where she gazed upon it every night before going to sleep.

  One would imagine that with her days so crammed with work the time to Amelia’s wedding would fly past, but this was not the case for the bride who complained to her friend Ivy that it would be such a relief to get away from her sister’s embarrassing behaviour – though she was made to regret this as, when her leaving day finally arrived, Kit presented her with the most splendid pair of silver-plated candlesticks that must have cost most of her quarterly wages.

  ‘I’ll really miss you,’ Kit told her sister as they rode home together atop a local carrier’s cart, Kit being granted an extra day off to help with last-minute preparations for tomorrow’s wedding. ‘You’re the only friend I’ve got there.’

  Amelia had the grace to blush. ‘Ivy’ll look after you.’ Her friend would be travelling to the wedding tomorrow.

  Kit chose not to say that she couldn’t stand Ivy, her abhorrence reinforced by the girl’s unflattering comparison of their two wedding gifts. Ivy had donated a more practical selection of linen, remarking that Amelia must have had enough of cleaning silver at the Hall.

  ‘And the others aren’t too bad if you don’t try and get above yourself.’

  ‘I don’t!’ At her sister’s hesitation Kit asked, ‘Is that what they say about me?’

  Amelia showed a rare compassion and patted the larger girl’s hand. ‘No, I haven’t heard owt. Anyway, don’t let’s talk about that lot, we’re off to enjoy ourselves.’ She hoisted her shoulders in excitement. ‘I wonder what me cake’s like …’

  Sarah had made the wedding cake and a neighbour had iced it. In fact most of the neighbours had promised to make a contribution to Amelia’s big day, some of them bringing flowers from their allotments, others providing ham, pork, home-made wine and confectionery for the feast and yet others attending to the serving of it. It would indeed be a village affair.

  Kit cheered up. ‘Oh, it’s going to be a grand do! I wish it were me getting wed.’

  Amelia said kindly, ‘Your turn’ll come.’

  Kit bemoaned her unmarried status. ‘It’s rotten, being t’only one left.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be that far away.’ Amelia and her husband-to-be had acquired a mortgage on a small terraced property in Castleford. ‘I’m only over t’river. You can come and see me if ever you feel like a natter. Wait till I’ve got me house straight though. I want to get it just right before anybody sees it.’

  Kit agreed that this would be lovely. ‘It’ll make a nice change to be working for yourself instead of somebody else.’

  Amelia said she had little regret about leaving domestic service. ‘But I will miss going to London.’ In certain years she had been included in the retinue taken to the capital, and although her work forbade much sightseeing it had been an exciting change of venue.

  Kit had heard from her sister before about all the noblemen and women who had visited the house, the luxurious parties, the opulent clothes, and she was eager for adventure. ‘Ooh, I wonder if I’ll be allowed to go. What’s the house like?’

  ‘A lot smaller than Cragthorpe, but grand all the same.’ Amelia regretted the mention of it, dared not imagine what Kit would get up to if let loose in London. ‘Anyway, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be down there, I’ll be much happier having a husband and babies. You can take them out whenever you want – the babies, I mean.’

  Kit tore her imagination away from London. ‘Aw, thanks – I’m right glad for you. I’ll still miss your company at work though.’

  Swaying in her seat atop the cart, Amelia gave a warm nod. ‘I’ll miss you too.’ And she meant it.

  * * *

  When the girls arrived at Ralph Royd late on Saturday afternoon a twittering mass of girls rushed out to meet the cart, begging to be allowed to see Amelia’s dress, the gifts, and anything else pertaining to the wedding. Fighting a way through, a laughing Kit and a rather impatient Amelia carried the precious packages into the house, begging the youngsters to curb their curiosity. Beata came forth to greet her soulmate. Monty, too, looked in good spirits.

  Though continuing with her work, Sarah tossed a greeting at her sisters-in-law. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. They’ve been driving me mad with their wittering – and that one … !’ She gave a curt nod at baby Probyn, who grizzled and whined from his prison of cushions jammed around him on the floor to prevent injury. ‘He’s enough to test the patience of a saint. You can keep your boys, thank you very much. The girls were never half the trouble he is.’

  ‘Aw!’ Kit went straight to the baby, picked him up and cuddled him. ‘That’s all he wants, in’t it, me little honey?’

  ‘It’s all very well for those with nothing else to do,’ scolded the baby’s mother, though there was light-heartedness in the accusation. She grabbed a cup. ‘Here! If you’ve so much time on your hands you can get down to the Well
and fetch a nip of brandy. There’s threepence on the mantel.’

  Still cuddling Probyn, Kit feigned shock and turned to her brother. ‘Has your wife become a drunkard in me absence?’

  Monty looked grave. ‘Ar, it’s a turble thing when a woman gets a taste for it.’

  ‘Less of your cheek!’ Sarah pretended to swipe both of them as they shared a laugh. ‘It’s not for me, it’s for his highness.’

  Naturally, everyone looked at Monty whose Wesleyan beliefs normally forbade him to partake of strong liquor.

  Sarah pretended derision. ‘Oh no! You’re crediting the wrong person with the title. It’s not Monty who rules the roost now, nor him who the liquor’s for.’

  Kit jiggled the baby and laughed. ‘Who, then – this little thing? He’s taken it up early hasn’t he?’

  ‘I’m not having his demanding behaviour spoiling my enjoyment of the wedding. An ogre he is! A veritable ogre. Nag, nag, nag, all night long – well I’m not having it tomorrow, see!’ She wagged a finger at Probyn, who grinned and squirmed with self-importance, looking delighted with all the attention he was getting.

  All the girls laughed at his brazen display, Beata taking his cheek softly between her finger and thumb and telling him that he was, ‘Fond brussen.’

  Kissing him affectionately, Kit passed the baby to Amelia. ‘Here, get some practice in. I’ll go to t’Well – are you coming with me, Beat?’ Her niece, eager to catch up with all the news about Algy, made to accompany her.

  ‘Can I come?’ Alice grabbed the cup and got to the door before them.

  Not wanting to share Kit’s company, Beata asked if Alice wouldn’t prefer to inspect all Amelia’s gifts, for their other sisters appeared to be engrossed in these, but the little girl insisted on coming with them, thereby spoiling any intimate conversation.

  ‘You only want to have a laugh at Maid Marion,’ teased her aunt, but gave a relenting groan. ‘Oh, away then!’

  Swinging Alice between the pair of them, Beata and Kit pranced gaily along the street, past the allotments and down the slope towards the whitewashed public house on the main road. Entering the rear lobby of the Robin Hood’s Well, they waited at the counter, the elder girls sharing a private smirk at the barmaid.