The Maid's Secret (4 page)

‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. ‘They wouldn’t want me mixing with ’wrong sort.’

When Christopher went back to school he told Ellen he wouldn’t be home again until Christmas. ‘Apart from being able to talk to you, Ellen, and riding Sorrel, the holiday has dragged. I’ve hardly seen my mother, and Father has been too busy to talk about the estate and I really wanted to discuss some farming matters.’ He reached for her hand. ‘So thank you, Ellen, thank you so much.’

‘For what?’ she whispered.

‘Why, for turning what would have been a boring holiday into a very pleasant one.’

After he had left, it was Ellen who now found that time dragged. There had been a tinge of excitement in her life as she had dared to escape from the humdrum round of her daily routine to meet him secretly; but most of all she missed Christopher’s presence. That was how she thought of him now. Not Master Christopher the son of the house, but her friend, Christopher.

‘It’s just as well he’s gone back,’ Mrs Marshall mumbled shortly afterwards.

‘What? Sorry, what did you say, Cook?’ Ellen was putting cakes on a plate. Mrs Hart had invited some ladies for afternoon tea and the best china was being used. Ellen often wondered how Cook knew which tea service to produce for which guests.

‘Master Christopher. Just as well he’s gone back to school. I should never have let it happen.’

She stopped speaking as Letty came into the kitchen and joined them at the table. ‘Mrs Whitton said I was to ask if there’s anything you want me to do, Cook,’ she said.

‘I want you to mek yourself scarce for five minutes while I get on wi’ ’job in hand,’ she snapped. ‘Go and fill ’coal bucket if you’ve nowt else to do.’

Letty scuttled off and Cook stood staring after her. ‘Daft young lass; she can never see when a job needs doing. Now then! What was I saying?’

‘Don’t know, Cook.’ Ellen turned to take the steaming kettle off the flame, intending to fill the teapot and get out of the kitchen as fast as she could.

‘Wait! I said I should never have let it happen.’

Ellen paused, trying to look innocent. ‘Has summat happened?’

‘You know very well what I mean. When I said you could meet Master Christopher that time, I didn’t mean every day!’

‘But it wasn’t,’ Ellen protested. ‘Onny now and again.’

‘More’n was good for you or him,’ Cook hissed. ‘Somebody has told Mr Stephens that ’master’s son was seen wi’ one of ’young maids. I reckoned on I didn’t know what they was on about; then I said happen they were onny passing ’time of ’day.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But it onny teks one malevolent tongue and there’s a scandal out there.’

Flo! Ellen calculated. She was the only one who had noted her absence, the only one who had asked where she had been and the only one who would take delight in spreading such a rumour.

She shook her head. ‘Somebody out to mek trouble, Mrs Marshall,’ she said softly. ‘You and I know it’s nowt. And why shouldn’t ’young gentleman speak to one of ’servants if he’s a mind to? Some folk get nasty ideas, that’s what I say.’

‘Aye,’ the cook sighed. ‘I expect you’re right, but all ’same, it’s just as well he’s gone back.’

But he’ll be home at Christmas and I’ll see him then. He said he would look forward to us talking again. Ellen was filled with elation and joyous anticipation. There was nothing and no one in her life that could give her such pleasure, such joy.

Such was her obsession, she deliberately planned to detach herself from any rumours that might be circulating by giving Nathaniel Tuke a smile whenever she saw him, and if he came into the kitchen for a cup of tea as the outside lads sometimes did she would offer him a biscuit with his tea and let her fingers touch his, although she wasn’t at all attracted to him. When Letty said one day that she’d heard Tuke say he thought he was in with a chance with Ellen Fletcher, she didn’t refute it but merely raised her eyebrows and gave a slight smile. As the rumours died away, as they inevitably did, she decided that next time she must be more careful. Besides, if Christopher became aware that she was nervous of their meetings, he might be even more determined to see her.

For two years, Christmas, Easter and summer saw their meetings become an exciting game to avoid being found out. When the kitchen garden became too obvious, sometimes Christopher would saddle up Sorrel and trot away to one of the meadows and Ellen would sneak out of the house and run unseen alongside a hedge to meet him there. They laughed at their deviousness as Christopher dismounted and helped her up into the saddle to trot once round the meadow before she had to dash away back to the house.

When he became eighteen, he announced to his father that he didn’t want to go to university after all, but would like to come in to the estate immediately. ‘I can learn from you, Father,’ he said. ‘I can learn nothing about farming at university.’

His father was pleased, but his mother wasn’t and said as much. ‘You will meet interesting people, Christopher,’ she said. ‘People you can invite to your home. Young men with sisters.’

He blinked uncomprehendingly and then laughed and said, ‘I know what you’re up to, Mother. You are wanting to matchmake.’

His mother didn’t laugh or even smile. ‘Of course I am. You need to find a suitable wife. Not yet, of course. But soon.’

‘Nonsense!’ his father bellowed. Then he patted his nose significantly and gave a sly wink. ‘Plenty of time. He has to live a bit first.’

Which meant, as he told Christopher when his mother had left the room, that he should scatter a few wild oats before he contemplated marriage, a piece of advice that infuriated and disgusted his son.

Now he was at home and almost of age, he no longer went down to the kitchen. He was the
young master
, and as such took his duties seriously as he followed in his father’s footsteps, and willingly became an apt pupil of the bailiff, touring the tenanted farms and learning the business of management, crops, acreage and animal husbandry.

Nevertheless, he missed female companionship. He was a virile young man after all, and as he mused on this he realized he missed the easy relationship he had had with the maid Ellen. They had become friends, as much as that was possible given their immense difference in status, and he thought of her affectionately, although on looking back much later he realized that he shouldn’t have done.

Oddly enough, the more he thought of her, the more often their paths seemed to cross; she served morning coffee and afternoon tea to his mother and her guests, and occasionally if his duties allowed he called in to greet them. Perhaps he wouldn’t have thought of doing so, but his mother asked him to. ‘You will be invited to their house parties,’ she said. ‘They need to know that you are available.’

‘But I’m busy during the day, Mother,’ he objected. ‘I may not be away at university, but I am still studying.’ She didn’t seem to understand that he took his responsibilities very seriously. Nevertheless, he was able to nod to Ellen or give her a smile as she handed him tea or a slice of cake, to let her know that he hadn’t forgotten her. There were also occasions when she just happened to be there when he passed the kitchen door on his way to the stables, and they would exchange a few words.

‘I wish we could meet sometimes, Ellen, but . . . ’

‘Oh, so do I,’ she murmured. ‘I do miss our talks; and what fun we had.’

As he gazed at her, he realized, reluctantly, that the time for fun with a young servant girl had passed and he was now a responsible adult; his parents would take a very dim view of such a breach of convention should they ever hear of it.

His twenty-first birthday was coming up fast and a big celebration was planned. On the day itself there was to be a luncheon and an evening banquet with guests from all over the county, many of whom would stay the night, but on the evening before his birthday there was to be another party for the tenant farmers and estate workers. A marquee had been ordered for the front lawn, barrels of ale had been delivered, and several pigs had already been slaughtered for spit roasting. Meat pies would be cooked and many desserts of fruit pies and syllabubs, jellies and gooseberry fools would be prepared. And there would be music for dancing.

‘I hope we’ll be able to sample some of this, Cook,’ Flo said, watching Mrs Marshall planning her menu. ‘I hope we’ll not be working all ’time at serving other folk!’

‘We’ll have to organize it, o’ course,’ Cook said, scratching her head with a pencil beneath her bonnet as she concentrated. ‘But we’ll get ’evening off. There’s extra staff coming in for the two days, but apart from that folks will just help themselves to food and drink. And then stagger off home,’ she added cynically.

‘So – will ’master and mistress come out and join us? And Master Christopher? It is his birthday after all,’ Ellen asked casually.

‘Oh, yes, I expect so, and I dare say some of ’county farmers’ sons will come as well. It’ll be less formal than on ’actual day; but I don’t suppose Mr Hart will stay long, nor ’mistress either. It’ll just be a polite half-hour to welcome everybody.’

Good, Ellen thought. Then when they’ve gone back to ’house I might be able to snatch Christopher away for a short time. I’m sure he misses me just as much as I miss him. I know nothing can come of it, but . . . She mused on the various possibilities, the most important being that if he should marry, which inevitably he would, they might still meet secretly. It will be an arranged marriage, she thought, not a proper love match, and I could become his wife’s personal maid so that I’d know her comings and goings, and that would enable me to be with Christopher when she was occupied. How exciting that would be. She felt flushed and elated as she considered it.

The house servants had had a collection to buy a birthday present for Christopher, and Ellen had suggested a pair of leather riding gloves; the cost was within their means and Mr Stephens, the butler, arranged the purchase. They would be presented on the day of the tenant and staff celebration party.

That week there was a constant bustle as food was ordered and prepared, the house was dusted and polished, and beds were prepared for the guests. On the day before the first party, the gardeners brought in flowers for the house and vegetables for the kitchen.

As Ellen crossed the hall to go downstairs, Christopher hurried down the main staircase. She paused, supposing that the rules of being invisible applied when meeting him now, but he lifted his head and smiled. ‘Hello, Ellen. What a busy time everyone is having. You must all be worn out.’

From the corner of her eye she saw Mr Stephens in the withdrawing room. Any moment now he would emerge. She dipped her knee and murmured, ‘We’re looking forward to ’event, sir.’ She lifted her eyes to his face and gave a demure smile. ‘And all of ’maids are hoping you’ll have a dance with them.’

She dropped her eyes as Mr Stephens came into the hall, dipped her knee again and scuttled down the kitchen stairs.

‘What were you doing up there, Ellen?’ Mr Stephens asked when he came down shortly afterwards. ‘I hope you were not speaking to Master Christopher?’

‘He spoke to me, Mr Stephens,’ she said. ‘He asked if we were worn out with ’preparations and I said that we weren’t. I had to answer him, hadn’t I?’

‘Hmph.’ He was clearly not pleased, and Ellen thought that at any minute there would be a lecture on how things used to be in his day, when both servants and masters knew how to behave. There wasn’t, however, and she guessed that he must have thought twice about criticizing his employer’s son.

She was jubilant. She had told Christopher that all the maids were hoping to dance with him, which wasn’t true in the least. She just wanted him to feel free to dance with her.

All the servants were up an hour earlier than usual on the day so that they could be ready in time to take the evening off. There was light cloud in the morning, but as the day progressed the sun became warmer and by five o’clock the weather was perfect as the fires were lit for the hog roasts, wooden tables and benches were put in place, and the barrels of ale were rolled out and left to settle.

The maids were allowed to wear their own dresses, providing they were plain and modest. Ellen did up her only gown, dark blue with buttons down the front, and fastened a pale blue neckerchief round her throat. Then she loosened her hair from its customary roll and pinched her cheeks and lips to colour them.

‘All right, everybody.’ Mr Stephens clapped his hands. ‘Guests are arriving. Time to put out the food; the men will see to the barrels, and there’s cider and lemonade for those who prefer it. So off we all go.’

Mrs Marshall took off her cook’s bonnet, unfastened the strings on her apron, smoothed down her hair and put on a plain cap. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s be off. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t forget that we’re still here to serve.’ She picked up the birthday cake she had made and iced and carried it herself, not trusting anyone else not to drop it.

Ellen collected a tray of pickled herrings, cold salmon, new potatoes, tomatoes, and fresh bread wrapped in a white cloth, and as she was about to follow Mrs Marshall she noticed the wrapped present meant for Christopher left behind on a chair. She gave a small smile and picked that up too, tucking it under her arm. Mr Stephens had obviously forgotten about it in the rush to get everyone outside and in their places.

If I can keep this by me and nobody else remembers it until too late, I might be able to present it to him myself. That would give me ’opportunity to talk to him again. I must, she thought. I want to. And I know that it’s what he wants too.

Mr and Mrs Hart came down on to the lawn to welcome everyone to their son’s pre-birthday celebration. Mr Hart gave a short address and then Mr Stephens came forward to say a few words of congratulations. Halfway through his speech he fumbled a little with his words, and Ellen knew that he had just realized that he’d forgotten to bring Christopher’s present. She stepped forward just as he was saying ‘and we wish you a happy and prosperous life’; he saw her holding the gift and added, ‘and it is our pleasure to present you with this small token of our esteem.’