He would never allow poverty to knock at his door again.
Thanks to his incredible zealousness and a big amount of luck, he had managed—after only a few years of studying—to find work as a teacher at an elementary school for boys. Before that, he had been applying for a position at all the schools in London and its vicinity, but nobody had wanted him until he had met Mr. Lambert, the headmaster of St. Vincentʼs Elementary School. Mr. Lambertʼs brother, Philipp, was a supervisor at the coal mining factory where Henryʼs father had worked. One day Philipp had been unfortunate enough to be on one of his control rounds on the premises when one of the steam engines, which were used to pump water from the mines, exploded. Phillip had been lying unconscious on the ground, close to the flames of the fire which had broken out, when Henryʼs father had rushed by, courageously pulled him out of the danger zone and hence saved his life.
Henryʼs father had not been granted a promotion because of his unselfish deed, but when Philipp had happened to hear about Henryʼs desire to become a teacher, he had talked to his brother, the headmaster, and had put in a good word for Henry. In the beginning, Mr. Lambert had not been very convinced that the son of a miner would be apt for the position of a teacher, but Henryʼs grades had left no doubt that he was a hard-working, intelligent young man. And so Henry had got employed, and his popularity amongst the pupils and the success of his teaching methods had soon surprised both Mr. Lambert and everyone else who had initially doubted his abilities.
Henry had worked in elementary school for more than three years and had truly enjoyed it. Everyone had loved him, and the position had not been badly paid. He could have easily stayed there for the rest of his life. But then he had read in the newspaper that Lord Partridge was desperately looking for a tutor—the Lord Partridge, one of the biggest and most famous entrepreneurs in the region.
Reflecting on it later, Henry wasnʼt quite sure what exactly had made him apply for the position. Apart from the fact that he was always in search of a challenge, a pay rise, and something to boost his self-esteem, which wasnʼt really big, he found that there had been a rather strange urge to follow this path, as if he was drawn by some magical force. As if it had been a calling.
To his utter surprise—and only two days later after he had sent his application off—Lord Partridge had replied to his letter, offering him the position. The lord had not even wanted to see him first. He had simply told him to come and start work as soon as he would be ready to do so. A little suspicious at first, Henry had hardly been able to believe his luck. He had been certain, though, that he wouldnʼt have been granted this chance if it had not been so difficult for the Partridges to find someone else to do the work, someone with experience in this regard. It was an open secret that their daughter wasnʼt easy to handle—the black sheep of the family, so to speak. Henry had of course heard on the grapevine that allegedly nobody wanted to put up with her, and that many governesses and tutors had left again shortly after they had started. But Henry had not cared and had not wanted to believe any of it before having seen it with his own eyes.
His fellow teachers and his mother had called him completely out of his mind, when he decided to quit the rather profitable and secure position at the boysʼ school. Not even the fact that he would go and work for the estimable Lord Partridge could convince them that it was a the right thing to do.
“It is a new challenge,” Henry had tried to explain his motives to his mother.
“Life is not only about challenges, my boy,” his mother had replied. “Especially our life as workers, which doesnʼt provide us with too many options. There simply is no place for risks. We can be glad if we find any work at all and have something to eat...”
Of course, Henry had been able to understand his motherʼs point of view. Deep inside, he had been quite aware that what he was about to do was risky indeed. Things could go wrong. He could fail. Still, he had wanted to try and had made his way to Oxford, filled with eager anticipation and the certainty that he had made the right decision.
The last night, though, when Henry and Lord Partridge had met in the parlor and smoked cigars on rather comradely grounds, Henry had suddenly not been so certain anymore. He had been glad when the conversation between them had finally come to an end. He had been afraid that his tongue could get all too loose under the spell of the wine and that he would blurt out opinions that he didnʼt want to reveal in front of a man whom he was growing less fond of with every minute that they spent together.
Henry found that the lord and he were simply poles apart in their way of thinking. Furthermore, Lord Partridge was stern, hard, and obviously unable to accept any opinion that was different from his own. Whatever Henry had said, no matter what subject they had talked about, Lord Partridge had made a dismissive gesture and had begun to list the reasons why Henryʼs point of view was entirely irrational and wrong and his own point of view the better one. Henry wondered if he would have any free will at all to arrange lessons the way he thought, or if everything would be under the control and influence of Lord Partridge and his ideas on how things should be done. Ultimately, the lord had even suggested that Henry should fall back on ʻthe good old hazelnut rodʼ if he should fail to keep Sarah in check with words. Henry had been highly appalled by this suggestion. So far, he had never abused his status as a teacher and had never exercised corporal punishment on anyone. He would definitely not exercise it on a girl.
After having patiently listened to Lord Partridgeʼs smug waffling, suppressing a yawn every now and then, Henry had fallen into bed, feeling so tired that he hadnʼt even wasted a single thought about the next morning; something which, as he found, was a good thing, because his tiredness had made him forget how nervous he was about his first day at his new work. But now, at a quarter past seven, shortly before the prayer service and breakfast, he felt the fidgets gradually returning.
Apart from the evenings when Henry was allowed to join the Partridges for dinner, he had to eat breakfast with the staff in the basement. But he didnʼt mind. He found that he had already endured enough time with the lord the night before, so he wasnʼt keen now on seeing him yet again. Apart from that, he was interested in getting to know the other people who worked for the Partridges.
A simple wooden staircase led down to the kitchen. Like all other rooms and corridors in the house, the kitchen was lit by candles and oil lamps. Despite the fact that more and more rich people had begun to use gas as a source of light in their houses and factories, the Partridges kept sticking to the rather old-fashioned and much less convenient ways of lighting. The reason for this was that Lady Partridge was highly worried about her belongings; books, pictures, furniture, and ceilings were in high danger to suffer if exposed to the dirty fumes which gas tended to create. Apart from that, gas lighting was generally regarded as a threat to the health.
Although the kitchen and all its adjacent chambers were by far less noble than any of the other rooms which lay on the upper floors, Henry immediately felt much more comfortable down here than upstairs. He found that upstairs one was immediately intimidated by the massive wooden furniture and the countless paintings of the Partridgesʼ ancestors, whose grim-looking faces were smugly staring down at the beholder. Apart from that, the long dark corridors and the heavy drapes, which half-covered every window, made Henry feel depressed and confined.
Downstairs the only reason to feel intimidated was Thelma, whose regiment was rough and strict most of the time. But then again, it had to be as the full responsibility for the whole house appeared to lie solely on her shoulders. The whole staff was under her command: From kitchen maid to butler to coachman to stable boy—they all had to do as she said. And if she wasnʼt a little rude and pushy at times, the whole system was bound to fall apart.
Furthermore, Thelma had to report to Lord and Lady Partridge, who would never lower themselves to come downstairs into the area where the staff worked and lived. But if one of them rang the little bell which was attached to the kitchen do
or and connected with the upper floors, Thelma would be on the spot and take the lordshipʼs orders. Henry was soon to find out that the bell constantly rang; even during the night. But Thelma never complained and simply went after her tasks without moaning even if she was called at three in the morning because the lady of the house wished a glass of warm milk.
Sometimes Thelma worked sixteen hours per day; and so did her staff. Ada and Heather helped Thelma prepare the food and do the washing up or the laundry, amongst other things. They never really left the kitchen except for the time when they went to bed or outside to a pump in the garden in order to get fresh water, with which—after having boiled it—they filled the carafes for the twelve private rooms of the Partridges.
Finding that the life of Thelma and the girls in the kitchen was rather hard, there was only one more person whom Henry felt even more sympathy for; and that was Jeremy, the stable boy. He actually wasnʼt exclusively a stable boy but rather some kind of servant of all work who generally did the chores that nobody else was in charge of—mainly the most unpleasant ones. Apart from helping the coachman feed and harness the horses, or apart from chopping wood for the innumerable stoves in the house, he was responsible for the restroom—a highly unmerciful task, because he did not only have to clean it but also had to empty the tank underneath the syphon. It was not a rare sight to see Jeremy wandering through the house, carrying two buckets of excrements on his way to a hole in the ground somewhere on the verge of the vast garden where nobody could be disturbed by the dirtʼs sight or smell.
Needless to say that the servant maids and the stable boy got the worst pay. And all of the servants slept in small chambers in the basement where the air was constantly damp and the mice played hide and seek. Still, when Henry sat down with them at the breakfast table, they were happy and cheerful and welcomed him warmly. Then they said grace and thanked God for the little that they had got.
* * *
At half past eight, shortly after breakfast, Henry walked back up the stairs to the classroom. There was a blackboard on the wall, a chair and a desk for Sarah, and a chair and a desk for himself. Nervously, he began to rummage through the drawers of the desk in search of some chalk as he was waiting for Sarah to come to her first lesson.
Seven minutes later the girl in question arrived. She entered the room without knocking at the door, without looking at him, without greeting him. Then she sat down and froze, sitting at her desk like a statue, a sullen look on her face.
Henry couldnʼt help but feel stunned at the beauty that she already represented in the early morning hours. Again he found that if she hadnʼt looked so grumpy, she would indeed have been the sweetest sight with her brown long hair neatly pinned up and her little hands slightly nervously playing with some ribbons which were attached to the white dress that she was wearing. There was an air of innocence and chastity about her.
Momentarily confused by her presence, Henry quickly recalled what he was here for.
“Good morning, Miss Sarah,” Henry said. “I would appreciate it if you would be so kind to knock at the door the next time you enter. And by the way, lesson starts at half past eight. It is now almost a quarter to nine.”
He tried to sound as polite as possible when he reprimanded the girl and even smiled, because he didnʼt want to offend her or make her lose face; after all, she was a lady and the daughter of Lord Partridge.
Sarah didnʼt answer. Not that she had appeared like the wild beast everybody had warned him of, but she seemed tense and highly inaccessible. Henry knew that he probably would have to grant her some time to get used to him.
“How are you today?” he said, trying to ease the situation by sounding cheerful and enthusiastic. He opened the window in order to let in some fresh air, hoping that it would help loosen her tongue. Outside he saw Heather on her way to the water pump.
As there was still no reply from Sarahʼs side, he soon ran out of ideas what else to say to her. Her somber looks didnʼt encourage him to venture into more small talk. So he decided not to waste time anymore and to simply start with the lesson.
He put his book on the desk, flipping open the page that he had marked the day before. He had spent a considerable amount of time wondering which subject would be the best to begin with. He wasnʼt quite sure what role he really played in the house. Obviously, he was meant to be a substitute governess and a tutor at the same time and supposed to miraculously make Sarah catch up on everything she had missed in school within the past years due to her unwillingness and stubbornness. On the other hand, however, he wasnʼt supposed to really educate her. After all, education was—at least according to Lord Partridge—something that was exclusively meant for the male species.
In his confusion, Henry thought it best to organize lesson in a way that would fulfil the Partridgesʼ desire to prepare Sarah for society circles—which involved teaching her manners and some kind of knowledge of the world. And as Lord Partridge was obviously so fond of imperialism, Henry had found it best to start by teaching Sarah the names of all the British colonies. He guessed that in society circles she would surely be confronted with one or the other conversation circling around that topic; especially in the society circles of someone called Damian Cox, her husband-to-be—if she didnʼt kill him beforehand. Her reaction last night during dinner had not given Henry the impression that she was all too keen on marrying the man.
“Do you happen to know which country Queen Victoria became empress of nine years ago?” Henry asked. But Sarah didnʼt answer. She was just sitting motionless, doing nothing but playing with the pencil in her hand.
At least she does that, Henry thought. Proof that she is alive.
“Let me give you some clues,” he continued. “Big hot continent, elephants, maharajas, people wearing saris and turbans...”
Henry caught himself talking to Sarah like to a three-year-old. But still, she didnʼt say a word. By now he was certain that her unwillingness to reply did not have anything to do with a possible ignorance about the matter. He knew that even the most stupid tramp in the gutters of London was aware that the country which Queen Victoria had become empress of was India. And Sarah didnʼt appear stupid. She was just stubborn. That was it.
“Look, Miss Sarah,” Henry said with a certain sarcasm in his voice. “I am just trying to do the work that I am assigned to do. I do not intend to tease or harm you. So would you care to give me a chance, please?”
He knew he should have appeared more authoritative, but he simply couldnʼt bring himself to be that kind of a teacher. He found he was too young to act like all those seniors who scared everyone off the very second they entered the classroom, pulling a hard face, cane in hand. It had never been his way of solving the problem of inattentive pupils. But he soon realized that his current approach obviously didnʼt seem to do the trick either.
“Would you like me to tell you a little bit about myself?” he asked. “Maybe that will make it easier for the two of us—if you know something about me, I mean...”
She thought for a moment, then she shook her head, signalling a clear ʻno.ʼ She didnʼt want to hear his stories. And somehow he was glad as he was sure she wouldnʼt have been interested in hearing about his childhood in the working class area of London, which represented a world entirely beyond her perception. It was something that she might have heard of once or twice, something that she might have got a little taste of upon entering the basement and seeing the staffsʼ workplace and accommodation. But he guessed that this insight didnʼt help very much, as the staffsʼ place was still more comfortable than the environment where he had grown up. And working in a kitchen and carrying buckets of excrements was still more fun than inhaling coal dust deep down in an underground tunnel, eighteen hours a day. He guessed that Sarahʼs mind surely wasnʼt imaginative enough to envisage what it really meant to lead a working class life.
Before Henry could start to wonder what else he could do to finally get the girlʼs attention, she suddenly took one of her b
ooks and opened it. He sighed with relief at the fact that she made an effort at last.
Suddenly, a little dried flower with white and slightly woolly petals fell out of her book and onto the ground. Hesitating at first, Henry bent down, picked up the flower and held it up into the air.
“Leontopodium, Edelweiss…” he said admiringly, examining the flower from all sides. “Interesting. This flower does not really grow around these parts, though. May I ask where you got it from, Miss Sarah?”
Sarah eagerly stuck her hand out in an attempt to get the flower back, as if it was the most precious thing she possessed. Henry gave her the flower and watched her stick it quickly back into the book. She obviously didnʼt want to tell him where she had got it from, but he supposed that she once had spent some time somewhere in the German or Austrian mountains; or maybe she knew someone who lived there and who had sent her the flower. He couldnʼt come up with any other explanation because he knew that those flowers normally were nowhere to be found in England.
Henry & Sarah Page 4
