by Jack Murray
At the foot of the stairs, Emily let go of Cavendish’s arm. ‘We know the way from here. What time are we expected for lunch?’
‘We’re looking to have a light lunch around midday or after and then we will make ready for the carols singing afterwards. Reverend Simmons will be joining us once again with some of the villagers. Afterwards we’ll serve mulled wine and mince pies.’ He added innocently, ‘I know how much you value this tradition, Emily.’
Emily smiled insincerely back at him and nodded.
Thirty-fifteen, Cavendish thought mischievously but not mean-spiritedly.
Henry passed by. He looked like murder.
Chapter 4
Kit lay on the large bed, bent double with laughter. Miller stood before him, arms spread wide, in his new livery. He was laughing also. The laughter was loud and continued for a minute before Kit finally sat up. Taking another look at Miller, he lost it once more. Miller turned and walked to a full-length mirror, turning this way and that.
‘It fits quite well, don’t you think?’ said Miller.
Kit managed to splutter, ‘Perfectly. You really must get the name of their tailor.’
‘Yes, I wonder if he’d do this in white also.’ This set off another round of schoolboy laughter from the two men.
‘Have to say, sir, I’ve done some things for you which were a challenge perhaps even foolhardy, but this really takes the biscuit.’
Kit looked more serious now. ‘I know, old chap. I can only apologise. If you wish I can say something to Lord Cavendish.’
Miller shook his head and then gave a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. He was not a grumbler by nature. His first instinct was usually to see the amusing side of any situation and he normally laughed at himself as quickly as he would make fun of others. Kit valued this, for he likewise, did not take life so seriously. How could they after what they had experienced, he thought. They had both survived, many had not. There was nothing to complain about. Both recognized this, neither spoke of it.
Kit joined Miller at the mirror. He was wearing a tweed suit and a green woolen pullover, checked shirt and tweed tie. Miller couldn’t resist one last smirk and shake of the head. His livery was a dark, long tailed jacket, matching dark trousers, silver waistcoat, a white shirt with stiff white collar and a black tie. Kit could not suppress a smile also.
‘I wish I’d given you better training for these situations,’ said Kit apologetically.
This made Miller laugh. ‘How difficult can it be, sir?’ responded Miller.
‘You’d be surprised, Harry. Listen carefully to what this fellow Curtis says. You can get into all sorts of trouble when you‘re serving luncheon and dinner. Really, I would not underestimate the challenges surrounding the serving of soup to lords and ladies.’
‘I shall bear that in mind. You’re sure you don’t want me to spill some soup on master Henry?’
‘Oh, why do you say that?’ asked Kit.
‘I gather he’s a real charmer,’ explained Miller sardonically.
‘Really, how interesting. I shall certainly make time for this young man.’
Miller could not decide if this was for amusement or if he had more noble motives in mind. With Kit, both could sit easily alongside one another. It was one of the reasons why he liked him as he did. He recognized it was also one of the reasons Kit had employed him.
Miller had admitted to a past that had been on the wrong side of the law. Far from being shocked by this, Kit had found it both entertaining and useful. Although he rarely gave the impression of assessing individuals, Miller recognized in Kit an acute sense of people. He also had a belief in the fundamental good of human nature. Miller suspected Kit might use some of his time over Christmas to get to know Henry Cavendish better and, perhaps, act as a mentor.
All in all, it was going to be a very different Christmas to any that he had experienced before. He thought once more about Polly. However, before he could dwell on her, he heard Kit saying to him, ‘Perhaps you should rejoin the rest of the staff, Harry. They‘ll need help with lunch I suspect.’
‘Right away, sir.’
Miller left the room and headed down the back stairs, to the kitchen. The food was sitting on the table ready to be brought upstairs. It was interesting, reflected Miller, that a light lunch at a country house would feed a hospital for a day. It looked wonderful and brought with it a comforting, gamy aroma.
Curtis greeted Miller with a slow, priestly nod. ‘We need to bring this up to the dining room. No need to serve, they shall do so themselves.’
Miller felt relieved, he was not looking forward to serving food: a stay of execution only. Even Devlin was dragooned into moving the lunch from the kitchen to the dining room. Only Elsie stayed behind. Her job was done, for the moment. She collapsed onto a seat. With the three men and Polly helping, the food was quickly transferred upstairs.
Once everything had been set out, Curtis sent Devlin and Miller back downstairs, but Polly remained, much to Miller’s disappointment. On the way down the stairs, he shook hands with Devlin.
‘Harry Miller.’
‘Liam Devlin.’
Miller turned to Devlin when he heard the accent. ‘You’re Irish then. What part are you from?’
‘Just south of Dublin, a town called Bray,’ answered Devlin.
‘My grandma, on my mother’s side, was from Wexford.’
‘Really? I know Wexford well. It’s further down the east coast. Ever been?’
Miller laughed and shook his head, ‘First time I left England was to go to France.’ Devlin smiled in acknowledgement but did not add anything more, as they had, by this time, arrived in the kitchen. Elsie was head down on the kitchen table, snoring loudly.
Devlin looked down at Elsie as they entered. Turning to Miller, he said, ‘Just leave her, she’s been flat out since dawn. I’m heading back out to the front of the house. I want to put more salt down. I wasn’t anticipating so much snow. The carol singers will be coming in a few hours. At this rate they won’t make it to the house, the way the snow’s falling. Help yourself to some of the food over there.’ He pointed towards a smaller food preparation table near the larder.
Beside the table was the basket Miller had brought in earlier. Something was beginning to stir inside, Miller noted. He knelt down and looked through the wicker bars. Two small brown eyes opened and blinked up at him. This was followed by a light growl. Sam was awake. The barking started. As Miller had predicted, he was in a foul mood. Reaching up to the table, he grabbed a piece of chicken and showed it as a peace offering to the little dog.
‘OK Sam, my lad, this can go two ways. You be nice to Harry and you get this lovely piece of chicken or you can be your usual bad-tempered self and starve.’
The little Jack Russell looked at Miller and then at the chicken with a slight tilt of his head. Incredibly, the growling stopped. Miller smiled triumphantly and said, ‘Good boy, I knew we could reach an accommodation. You might be capricious little so and so, but you’re not the stupidest, that’s for sure.’ Reaching down, he handed Sam the chicken, which was gobbled down greedily.
‘Some more boy?’
Miller could have sworn he saw Sam nod assent. This definitely was not the stupidest animal in the house. He looked up and saw Curtis arriving back in the kitchen looking harassed.
-
Eric Strangerson was also wearing a tweed suit. He surveyed himself in the mirror. His jacket refused to button. He left it unbuttoned deciding it was not worth the risk of it popping at an inopportune moment. He clapped his expanding waistline. It would have been unfair to call him fat, but he was definitely running the risk. He reproached himself out loud, ‘More self-discipline needed old chum. But not yet.’
A closer inspection of his face in the mirror brought a dissatisfied reaction. He took a pair of small scissors from his toilet bag and began to trim his, already, slim moustache. After a few moments he nodded with some satisfaction, then patted down his hair. Unquestionably
it was beginning to recede at the front.
A rumble in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for a few hours and was now distinctly peckish. When would they bang the gong for lunch, he wondered? Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a hip flask. Sadly, it was empty. On the journey up from London, he had imbibed from time to time.
‘This’ll never do. Must have some rations. God forbid they‘re a dry lot here.’
He pulled out from his bag a bottle of Scotch. Carefully he decanted some of the contents into the hip flask. Finally, he was able to take a quick nip. All at once he felt warm inside. Magic, he thought.
The prospect of being in a country house with relative strangers was not something that greatly worried him. He was naturally gregarious and sociable. His only worry was not himself, but them. Thankfully, reflected Strangerson, Aston seemed to be a good sort. It would be easy to spend a few days in the company of this man. Then of course there were the beautiful Cavendish sisters. The prospect of meeting them also added to the appeal of the next few days.
It was the first time Strangerson had met Aston. Although they had only been able to chat in the car from the station, he had formed an impression of a man at ease with himself and with a ready sense of humour. This corresponded with what he knew about Aston from mutual acquaintances.
They had both travelled from London, however, they were in different parts of the train from London. Strangerson had travelled second class on the train. Aston had travelled in first class. It was also interesting to note that his man, Miller, had also travelled first class with him. This seemed a bit odd, nevertheless, he realized things were changing. It would take a lot to convince him it was a sign of progress for servants to travel first class with their masters while a gentleman, like himself, had to travel second class due to economic necessity.
-
Lady Emily also looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She rarely over indulged in any vice, food, alcohol or smoking. Consequently, as her fortieth birthday loomed, she could easily have passed for someone ten years younger. Although quite vain in many ways, the way she looked was not something she thought about deeply. She was unquestionably beautiful. It had always been thus. There was little she could do to improve how she looked, there was no desire to do so and even less inclination to live a life that would age her unnecessarily.
There was a knock at her door and a voice said, ‘Mama?’
‘Come in Henry,’ replied Lady Emily.
Master Henry walked in a moment later. He had not bothered to change. His mother raised an eyebrow towards him. Emily Cavendish could say more with a twitch of a facial muscle than most could in a speech.
Henry was an expert reader of his mother’s mood and understood immediately she was displeased. Lady Emily was more expert at reading him, however. She could read beyond the surface façade that he did not care. He cared but did not want to betray weakness to people he loathed.
Although this did not make her despair, it saddened her more than she would admit. It also made her a little angry, but not with Henry. He was just at a certain stage in his life. Soon he would emerge from the place he occupied, deep within himself, to become a young man to be proud of. This was a matter of certainty, not the blind optimism of a mother.
‘You’re ready?’ she asked, knowing the answer.
‘Yes.’
She made a great show of looking at him up and down, ‘You could’ve made more of an effort.’
Henry snorted partly out of irritation for being treated like a child, partly because he could not see the point, ‘For them? They don’t like us. We don’t like them. Obviously, I’m not going to come out and say this, but I’m sure they know.’
It was difficult to disagree. This was a silent protest from Henry and he had every right. Robert’s family had not been supportive since his death, if anything they had seemed to wash their hands of both her and Henry. This was unforgivable. Lord Cavendish rarely wrote or called her. The girls never made contact. This was tantamount to abandonment. Robert’s boy, the future Lord Cavendish, had been made an outcast by his own family.
She looked at him unable to hide the sadness she felt. ‘Very well. Remember, though, you will one day be lord of all you survey.’
Henry walked over to the window. ‘It’s coming down pretty thick.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen. I hope they have had the sense to make adequate provision.’
‘In other words, you think we could be stuck here for a while?’ This was good news as far as he was concerned but he did not want his mother to know why. Less enticing was the prospect of being stuck with relatives who did not care one jot for him. There was now the mixed outlook of an extended stay with them and other people he did not know. Almost certainly he would not like them, just as they were, probably, not going to take to him. He was self-aware enough to know that he was awkward in company. This did not worry him particularly, or so he had trained himself to think.
‘Where is Godfrey by the way, did he unpack for you?’
‘Yes, he was doing this when I came to you,’ replied Henry.
‘Very well, perhaps you should send him downstairs to meet the other staff and have some lunch,’ said Lady Emily turning to look out the window again.
Henry took this as a polite dismissal. He left and returned to his room. Godfrey was there, hanging up the last of Henry’s clothes. He turned to see Henry enter. ‘Will there be anything else, sir.’
‘No, get yourself some lunch Godfrey,’ said Henry, not looking at him but going over to the window instead.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Godfrey left the room.
Outside the Cavendish grounds were blanketed in white now. Even the trees had snow covering their branches. Henry felt oddly entranced by the scene and stood looking at it for a few minutes. He had many happy memories here and he hoped they would return one day. It brought to mind his father. The wave of sadness, when it came, was heavy. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of the father he would never see again.
-
At that moment Cavendish was also looking out at the snow lying thickly on the grounds of the estate. Memories flooded back to him also: two small boys in the snow throwing snowballs or sledging down Tarrant’s hill. It seemed like yesterday, how quickly the years pass, he reflected with some sadness. Enough, he thought. It was time to think to the future: to Henry and the girls. This Christmas he would endeavour to repair the bonds of his family. This issue had been left unattended too long and he blamed himself.
With this thought in his mind, he made a mental note to speak to the girls. It was important they made an effort with Lady Emily. They must find the resolve to ignore whatever provocation they faced from her. He glanced up at the portrait of Robert and made a silent commitment.
Leaving the library, he crossed the hallway to see how lunch arrangements were progressing. Curtis was with Polly arranging the table. On a sideboard was a selection of meats, soup and salad. Curtis looked up from arranging the table and stood to attention. He was not quite sure why he still did this in the presence of Cavendish, something of the army air in the lord, he supposed.
‘Everything’s ready sir.’
‘Very good. Please pass on my thanks to Elsie. It looks most appetizing.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘We should give our guests a few minutes more and then bang the gong.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
A thought appeared to strike Cavendish and he asked, ‘Have the staff of Lord Aston and Lady Emily eaten yet?’
‘Yes sir, they’re down in the kitchen, presently having lunch,’ replied Curtis.
Cavendish nodded, Curtis took this as his and Polly’s cue to leave the dining room. They both returned to the kitchen to find Miller and Godfrey in conversation, they had been joined by Agnes, Lady Emily’s maid. Sam, meanwhile, was happily sitting on Elsie’s lap being fed small pieces of meat.
‘Sam’s found a new friend,’ indicated Miller to Curti
s.
‘Yes, so I see. I’m not sure, though, if it’s advisable for the dog to stay in the kitchen,’ replied Curtis in a tone of voice that made no attempt to betray its self-righteous sentiments.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ replied Miller, ‘He’ll stay with Lord Aston in his room.’
Curtis raised an eyebrow at this but did not comment further. Both Polly and Agnes, joined Elsie in making a fuss about the little dog. Sam, an arch manipulator of humans, had long since worked out how to play the game. Experience had long since taught him that the humans with the higher pitch voices were more malleable and responsive to his tricks. Tactics such as rolling over on his back or getting on his hind legs almost always bore fruit in terms of being fed. The deeper voiced humans were often more difficult to bend to his will. Worse, they were often not to be trusted.
Curtis looked at the clock near the door. It was after midday. He turned to the rest of the staff in the kitchen, ‘I think our guests will be getting hungry by now if they’ve had an early start. It’s time for lunch. Polly, Agnes, will you join me upstairs to assist thank you.
Rising from the table he straightened his jacket and made his way up the stairs to the hallway with ceremonial dignity.
-
Eric Strangerson was having another nip from his hip flask when he heard the gong indicating lunch. ‘About bloody time,’ he said out loud. He pocketed the flask and went to the mirror to make one last recce. Deciding he did, indeed, pass muster, he opened the door and walked into the corridor. He was joined at this moment by Kit Aston, who was clearly also quite hungry.
‘The old tummy has been rumbling for a bit now,’ said Strangerson jovially.
‘I know what you mean,’ replied Kit sympathetically.
They descended the stairs together in agreement that cold weather and long journeys boosted the appetite enormously. Curtis opened the dining room door for the two gentlemen where both were greeted by Cavendish once more.
