‘Yes, si— judge,’ she answered trying hard to keep the resentment from her voice. He was an imposing figure – she estimated that he must be well over six feet tall. His enormous frame almost filled the doorway and he had hard, pale blue eyes and steel-grey hair. His nose was large and hooked and she found herself thinking that it would have looked more in place on a boxer.
He glanced over his shoulder then at his young, heavily pregnant wife and barked, ‘So what are you waiting for, woman!’ She scuttled past him towards the carriage waiting outside, her eyes downcast.
Nodding towards the servants he rammed his hat on and followed her without another word.
‘Phew! I’m glad he’s gone, that’s all I can say, though I dread to think what our lives are goin’ to be like when he moves in.’ She shook her head sadly as she stared at the mess in the dining room. ‘It’s hard to believe that him an’ our lovely old master were related, ain’t it? The old master were a gentle soul but the same can’t be said for his nephew. Apparently, he didn’t have a lot to do wi’ him when he was young. He was an unwanted child an’ were packed off to boarding school almost before he were in long trousers.’
Mabel, the maid, nodded in agreement as she blinked back tears. Their master’s death had come as a great shock to both of them and she was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was gone. He had been so kind and had it not been for him she and her family would have been destitute, for he had given her a job when her father had been injured in a pit fall.
Now she too glanced towards the dining room, which was littered with empty glasses, cups, saucers and plates of discarded food. The last of the mourners from the funeral had left over an hour ago but Judge Kettle had remained, going through paperwork at his late uncle’s desk. He had also left them a seemingly endless list of things he wanted doing before he returned and she was wondering how they were ever going to manage it all in a week.
‘I reckon you’re right, Batty,’ she answered, using the affectionate nickname their late master had given her. ‘It’s just our hard luck that the dear soul left nearly everything he owned to the judge. It would have been so different if only he and the late mistress had been able to have children of their own. While the men were at the funeral the women were like a pack o’ vultures pickin’ over who should have what. One of ’em even took the ormolu clock off the mantelpiece. Another went through the china cabinet an’ took one of the late mistress’s favourite figurines sayin’ it had been promised to her years ago. Funerals allus seem to bring out the worst in folks, don’ they?’ She sighed. ‘Anyroad, I dare say we’d best get on wi’ the clearin’ up. It ain’t goin’ to do itself.’
Mrs Batley nodded. ‘Did you hear how he spoke to his poor wife? She seemed terrified of him. God knows what the poor lass saw in him in the first place. He must be old enough to be her father.’
‘Ah well, I heard a bit o’ gossip about that an’ all,’ Mabel confided. ‘It seems she met him at church in Leeds where he lived followin’ the death of his first wife. She was recently orphaned an’ her father had left debts, so the relatives reckon she must have married him for a bit o’ security. I bet she’s regrettin’ it now, though,’ she added as she began to pile the dirty pots onto a tray. ‘She seems like the sort as wouldn’t say boo to a goose!’
‘I dare say she is. An’ I bet he’ll make a few changes to the old master’s law business an’ all.’
The late Mr Kettle had owned a thriving law practice in the town centre but that too was now the property of Judge Kettle and she foresaw major changes ahead, which she had an idea the late Mr Kettle’s colleagues would be none too pleased about, not that they could do anything about it.
It was almost two hours later when Mrs Batley sank into the cosy chair at the side of the inglenook fireplace in the kitchen and eased her swollen feet out of her shoes. Both she and Mabel had already been working for two whole days, cooking and baking for the funeral feast, and they had been up since five that morning laying it out. At Judge Kettle’s insistence, only males had attended the funeral service while the female relatives waited for them to return to the large residence in Swan Lane. It was a grand house and Mrs Batley had worked there happily for so long that she almost regarded it as her own. She was a plump, homely soul with silver-grey hair, which she wore in a tight little bun at the nape of her neck, and lively, bright blue eyes.
As Mabel poured them a well-earned cup of tea, she smiled with satisfaction as she looked around. The brass pans suspended along the thick oak beam above the fire gleamed and the flagstoned floor was so clean that Mabel often teased they could have eaten off it. The large table that took up the centre of the room had been scrubbed until it was almost white – the old master had joined her and Mabel to eat his evening meal there many a time, insisting that it wasn’t worth them setting the dining room table just for one. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine their new master doing that. She had an idea that he was going to be a stickler for protocol, although his young wife had seemed pleasant enough on the rare occasions she had dared to open her mouth.
Mabel pressed a steaming cup into her hand and she smiled gratefully and pointed to the chair at the other side of the fireplace. ‘Sit yourself down for a while, pet. You look fit to drop an’ what we ain’t managed to do tonight will keep till morning now.’
The young maid willingly did as she was told, holding her feet out to the flickering flames. Then after taking a noisy slurp of her tea she said thoughtfully, ‘Well, I suppose it ain’t all bad. There’ll be a new baby in the house soon, which is somethin’ to look forward to at least.’
Mrs Batley’s head bobbed in agreement as she thought of the nursery the late mistress had prepared all those years ago. Sadly, it had remained empty but now at least it would be used.
‘Aye, yer right there, lass. This great house was made to ring to the sounds o’ children’s laughter. Perhaps when he has a little ’un to love the judge will soften a little.’
Mabel snorted. ‘Happen it’d take more than a baby to soften him.’
Mrs Batley smiled affectionately at the girl. Mabel was as thin as a beanpole, in spite of all the good food the kindly cook insisted she should eat, and her dull, mousy hair was as straight as a die. But her eyes were a lovely pale grey that sparkled when she smiled. She also had a kind nature and a heart as big as a bucket and Mrs Batley had grown fond of her. They sat together in a companionable silence for a while until Mabel stifled a yawn and said, ‘I reckon I might turn in now, Batty, if yer don’t mind. I can hardly keep me eyes open. Do yer want me to lock up afore I go to bed?’
‘No, pet, you go on up. I’ll see to it.’ Mrs Batley smiled as Mabel trudged wearily across the flagstones then, bending, she scooped a large ginger cat onto her lap and stroked him affectionately. She had taken in Ginger some years ago when he had come begging for scraps at the kitchen door.
‘Are you missin’ yer master too?’ she whispered as the cat arched his back with pleasure. He meowed in response and she sighed as she absent-mindedly stroked him. So very much was about to change.
A week later, on the evening before their new master and mistress were due to arrive, they sat together in the kitchen enjoying a cup of warm milk. The week had been long and busy with new furniture being delivered, and more cleaning and tidying than she could ever remember doing, but finally Mrs Batley was satisfied that the house was spotless and just as the judge had ordered it to be.
It was a bitterly cold night and outside the wind was howling as rain lashed at the windows.
‘It were on a night just such as this some years ago that the old master came into the kitchen to me to wish me goodnight,’ Mrs Batley said reminiscently. ‘He allus stuck his head round the door to say goodnight afore he went to bed but on this night I were feelin’ right poorly. I’d had a terrible cough an’ cold that I couldn’t seem to shift an’ on this particular night he noticed that I’d not bothered to wash the dinner pots an’ the fire was burnin�
� low.’ Her eyes welled with tears as the memories flooded back. ‘Bless him. He came in and rolled his sleeves up and did the pots himself before makin’ the fire up, then he fetched me a blanket and made me tea sayin’ I was to stay down here in the warm fer the night. I can’t see the new master doin’ that, can you?’
Mabel looked troubled when Mrs Batley smiled at her. ‘Don’t get frettin’, pet. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as we’re expectin’.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Mabel agreed, although secretly she didn’t quite believe it.
Chapter Two
It was mid-afternoon on a frosty November day when a fine carriage drawn by two matching black stallions drew up outside the house in Swan Lane.
‘This is it, then,’ Mrs Batley muttered as she peeped round the snow-white lace curtain that hung at the hall window. ‘Straighten your mob cap and smooth your apron, Mabel,’ she said as she hurried to open the door. Judge Kettle climbed down from the carriage and strode towards her, leaving the coachman to help his wife alight.
Some gentleman he is, Mrs Batley thought, but she fixed a smile to her face and bobbed her knee. ‘Good afternoon, judge. Welcome to your new home.’
He completely ignored her, sweeping past and unbuttoning his coat, which he almost threw at Mabel along with his hat.
‘Did all our possessions arrive?’ he asked shortly.
‘Yes, judge. And they’ve all been put away in the correct places, although they can always be rearranged if anythin’s not to yer likin’.’ Mrs Batley was still doing her best to get off to a good start with him but felt as if she was failing dismally.
He nodded. ‘And have you a meal ready? My wife and I have had a long journey and we’re tired and hungry.’
‘There’s a lovely piece of pork roastin’ this very minute. I can have the meal on the table in half an hour,’ she assured him. ‘But first, perhaps you and your wife would like to freshen up? I’ll get Mabel to bring you some hot water and a tray of tea up to your rooms right away.’
Mrs Kettle entered the hall then and Mabel rushed to help her off with her cloak and bonnet as the judge went on an inspection of the house. He paused halfway down the hall to run his hand across the top of the console table on which stood a vase of holly, clearly looking for dust. Mrs Batley bristled.
‘I think you’ll find everything is in order,’ she told him in a clipped voice, and he continued on his way without even glancing in her direction.
‘Eeh, Mrs Kettle, yer look worn out,’ Mabel said kindly once she had hung the woman’s outdoor clothes on the tall coat stand. ‘Would yer like to go to your room fer a rest or I could bring yer a tray o’ tea into the drawin’ room?’
‘A cup of tea sounds lovely, and I’ll have it down here if it’s no trouble,’ the woman said gratefully.
Mabel hurried away to prepare it while Mrs Batley led her towards the drawing room.
‘I think you’ll find all your things in place,’ she told her as she guided her to the fireside chair. ‘But if there’s anythin’ as yer want changin’ me an’ Mabel can swap it about in a jiffy.’
‘No, everywhere looks wonderful, Mrs Batley. Thank you.’
As the woman sank onto the chair, Mrs Batley smiled. At least the new mistress seemed a nice enough soul, which was one blessing.
She found Mabel in the kitchen preparing two trays and remarked, ‘We’d best take a drink over to the groom an’ all. No doubt the chap will be glad o’ one when he’s settled the horses.’
Mabel nodded in agreement and once they had delivered the trays to the new master and mistress, she prepared another one.
‘You take it across,’ Mrs Batley urged. ‘I want to get this dinner dished up. While yer over there show him his rooms an’ ask if he has everythin’ he needs, then bring him back here to eat wi’ us. It’s too cold to take his meals over there.’
Minutes later fifteen-year-old Mabel was gingerly picking her way across the treacherously slippery cobblestones towards the stables. She noticed that the carriage had already been put away in the small coach house so she headed for the stables where she guessed he’d be. She found him brushing down one of the horses who had a thick blanket slung across his back and his nose buried in a nose bag and said shyly, ‘Hello, I’m Mabel. I’ve brought you a warm drink.’
He turned and gave her a smile that made the colour flame into her cheeks. He had blonde hair and deep blue eyes and looked to be not much older than her. It was only when he moved towards her that she noticed that he was very bandy-legged and had quite a severe limp.
What a shame, he’d be really handsome if it wasn’t for that, she found herself thinking and then blushed an even deeper shade of red.
‘Thank you. Er … I’m Harry. Harry Grimes, miss.’
‘You don’t have to call me miss.’ Mabel giggled, making her plain face look almost pretty. ‘I’m just a maid here.’ She handed him the mug. ‘Would you like me to show you your rooms? They’re up that ladder there.’ She gestured towards the far wall beyond the small tack room. ‘I’ve done the best I can with them and put extra blankets on the bed for you, although I’m afraid it may be rather cold up there.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be very comfortable, thanks.’ He shuffled from foot to foot self-consciously but when Mabel set off towards the ladder he followed her up. It was a large room divided by a heavy curtain. Against one wall was a brass bed piled high with blankets and there was a small table and chair beneath a window where Mabel had hung bright floral curtains in an attempt to make it look a bit homelier. There was also a rather dilapidated wardrobe and a mismatched chest of drawers, which Mabel had polished until they gleamed. Beyond the curtain was a washstand on which stood a large jug and bowl but other than that it was empty. It was, as Mabel had warned, bitterly cold up there, and their breath hung on the air in front of them. Even so, Harry seemed pleased with what he saw.
‘You’ve made it really cosy for me,’ he observed and she grinned.
‘Well, perhaps it won’t be so bad. I dare say you’ll be busy throughout the day and in the evenin’ yer can spend yer time in the kitchen where it’s warm wi’ me an’ Mrs Batley till it’s time fer bed. Mrs Batley is the cook-cum-housekeeper … Oh, an’ she said to tell yer that you’ll be eatin’ in there wi’ us, an’ all,’ she ended lamely as she ran out of things to say. Then turning about, she rushed off down the ladder so fast that she almost fell.
Perhaps there would be advantages to having a new master after all.
Chapter Three
‘Phew, well that’s the first day over wi’,’ Mrs Batley remarked late that evening. ‘You did remember to make the fires up in their bedrooms an’ put the hot bricks in their beds didn’t yer?’
Mabel nodded. ‘I did an’ I helped Mrs Kettle wi’ her undressin’ as well. She was struggling with the buttons on the back of her dress.’ She shook her head. ‘She seems such a nice lady. I don’t understand why the judge is so harsh with her.’
‘I know. And have yer seen the way he talks down to her.’ Mrs Batley snorted as she poured herself a tiny glass of gin. It was her nightly treat before bedtime. ‘But that red hair an’ those green eyes of hers are glorious, ain’t they? Admittedly she’s only a little slip of a thing an’ not particularly pretty but those features make yer look at her.’
Mabel nodded in agreement. ‘They certainly do. She was so tired that I talked her into letting me brush her hair for her an’ when she released it from the pins it spilled right down her back in a riot o’ curls.’ She sighed enviously as she fingered a lock of her own mousy hair that had escaped from her mob cap. Then her face brightened as she thought of Harry. ‘Harry’s nice too, ain’t he?’
Mrs Batley gave a wry smile. If she wasn’t very much mistaken young Mabel was smitten.
‘Yes, he is nice,’ she agreed. ‘Although he didn’t have much to say fer himself when he joined us, did he?’
‘He’s probably just shy. I’m sure he’ll come out of his shell when he gets to kn
ow us,’ Mabel answered, then she frowned. ‘I wonder what the master wants to see us about tomorrow? Yer don’t think we’ve done summat wrong already do yer?’
‘Course we haven’t. He asked to see the household ledger I keep; I dare say he’s just goin’ to discuss the monthly outgoin’s.’
Mrs Batley had always been a stickler for keeping the ledger up to date so she had no qualms whatsoever about showing it to Judge Kettle. She downed the rest of her drink and stifled a yawn, then after wishing Mabel goodnight she pottered away to her room.
Sometime later, after laying the fires ready to light the next morning, Mabel drew her curtains and smiled when she saw a candle glowing in Harry’s room across the courtyard.
Mrs Batley and Mabel were in the kitchen the following morning preparing lunch when Judge Kettle appeared in the doorway. Mabel stopped her merry humming and glanced at him nervously. His large frame cast a shadow across the floor and his eyes were as cold as a fish’s.
‘A word if you please, cook.’
Mrs Batley hurriedly threw a damp towel across the dough she had been kneading and laid it on the hearth to rise before following him to his office.
At a glance, she saw that he had the housekeeping ledger open on the desk in front of him and she smiled as she wiped her floury hands on her apron. His first words wiped the smile from her face.
‘I have been going over the household accounts and feel that there are cuts to be made.’ Sitting in the worn leather chair, he steepled his fingers and peered at her over the top of them, making her feel like a naughty schoolgirl called up in front of the headmaster.
Mrs Batley bristled with indignation. ‘What do you mean? I’m very thrifty wi’ the housekeepin’ money an’ every single penny I spend is accounted for in there!’
He sniffed and stabbed his finger towards the coal bill. ‘We could save here for a start. I notice that there are fires lit in the bedrooms as well as the drawing room and the day room each day. An unnecessary extravagance, I believe. In future, a small fire in the day room will suffice unless we are entertaining. My wife can spend her time in there. It’s a smaller room and won’t cost so much to heat. And the fires in the bedrooms need not be lit until shortly before we retire.’
A Mother's Grace Page 2
