arah was sweeping out the downstairs hall, pondering just how many pairs of feet had tramped through it during that morning’s clinic, when Jarvis materialised silently at her side and placed a hand upon her broom.arah was sweeping out the downstairs hall, pondering just how many pairs of feet had tramped through it during that morning’s clinic, when Jarvis materialised silently at her side and placed a hand upon her broom.
‘You are to report to the kitchen. Mrs Lyndsay would like to speak to you.’
Sarah’s insides turned to stone. She knew from the wording and the tone – as well as the fact that Mrs Lyndsay had not summoned her directly by a shout or a bell – that she was in trouble. There was a degree of theatre to it that she had learned to recognise, and she knew what it was about too. She had seen the woman head up the stairs earlier that morning, shooting her a scowl as she passed. It took her but a moment to deduce why her sour face seemed familiar.
Sarah walked down the stairs slowly, dreading what might await her at the bottom. She tried to convince herself that it was not what she assumed: perhaps merely another harangue about her duties at the clinic interfering with the rest of her workload. Mrs Lyndsay had always been opposed to this secondary draw upon her labour, but from Jarvis’s summons she knew this must be regarding a matter as serious as it was specific, and there was only one thing it could be.
Mrs Lyndsay was standing with her back to the range, gripping a wooden spoon tightly in both hands. It being some time since she last provoked this formal level of ire, Sarah had thought that she was no longer afraid of the cook. One look at her stern expression told her otherwise, bringing back all the fear she had felt every time she faced Mrs Lyndsay’s wrath.
When she first started working here, she had to be thoroughly trained in her tasks, in the rules of the house and in all manner of arcane etiquette. Any lapse, misstep or failure to meet the required standards would lead to a dressing down in the kitchen and often some form of disciplinary measure. Sarah was always diligent and didn’t find any of her duties difficult to master, so it was seldom the quality of her work that was at issue. Rather, it was the way she comported herself that most frequently provoked the cook’s disapproval. ‘Overstepping the mark’ was the most common citation, a phrase she had learned to both dread and detest, along with ‘you have ideas above your station, girl’. This one stung the more because it was true, and Mrs Lyndsay’s job was to hammer home what Sarah’s station was.
‘There has been a complaint of quite disgraceful conduct towards one of Dr Simpson’s patients,’ Mrs Lyndsay said. Her tone was even but spoke of a controlled anger she could unleash at will.
Sarah’s reaction was one of cold fear. Deep down, she had known these consequences would find her. Even as she closed the door that day, she knew it was the beginning rather than the end of the matter. The sour-faced woman on the stairs was one of the pair for whom she had refused to make special accommodations on a day when the clinic was particularly busy and Dr Simpson was from home.
‘A Mrs Noble, who had travelled here from Trinity, said that not only were you unspeakably rude and disrespectful, but that you refused to admit her and then slammed the front door in her face.’
Sarah gaped. ‘I did not slam the—’
‘Are you compounding this by calling Mrs Noble a liar?’
Sarah averted her gaze, staring at the floor and feeling her cheeks begin to burn. She knew from experience that further explanation would not assist her case. A housemaid’s account of such an exchange did not matter. And besides, the force with which she closed the door was not the issue, but that Mrs Noble was on the wrong side of it at the time.
It was the remark about the Queen that had really torn it. It had felt satisfying in the moment, but her satisfaction had turned almost instantly to regret. She had wounded the woman’s pride, and that would never go unanswered.
‘No, ma’am. But the clinic was especially busy that morning and I merely—’
Mrs Lyndsay silenced her by simply raising the spoon.
‘The details are immaterial, and I doubt this woman is in the habit of making up complaints to amuse herself. Your conduct caused her gross offence and this in turn has caused embarrassment for the entire household. Mrs Noble has demanded your dismissal.’
Mrs Lyndsay let her words hang there, allowing Sarah time to contemplate what this would mean. She felt tears well up and was a moment from begging.
‘If you ask me, it is only because Mrs Simpson does not take well to being told how to run her own house that you are to be retained. Nonetheless, she has asked that I deal with it. I think this business of assisting at the morning clinics has been giving you ideas above your station.’
There it was, and what hurt the most was that she had brought it upon herself. Again. Why could she not learn to control her mouth? Master, as Mina had recently told her, the commendable art of holding her tongue?
‘You will not be spared to assist any more, at least until you have better learned your place.’
‘But I am needed at clinic,’ she protested, thinking not so much of what she was losing but of the chaos in the hall every morning, and her role in managing the crowds.
Mrs Lyndsay scoffed at this. ‘Needed? Do you know how easy it is to replace a housemaid? That’s what you have to understand. I don’t want to see you on the street. Do you know what it is to be dismissed without character?’
Sarah nodded silently. It meant being dismissed without letters of reference vouching for one’s worthiness to a prospective employer. Without those, it would be impossible to find a position in another house.
‘Because that is the danger for a girl who is disrespectful, who brings disgrace upon her place of employment. I have worked in many houses and I have seen it happen many a time. But what is worse is I have seen what became of those girls, when they had no other means to make a living.’
Mrs Lyndsay prodded Sarah in the chest with the spoon, lifting her chin with it so that she met her eye.
‘Selling themselves: that’s how they ended up. Didn’t know they had a good life until it was gone, same as will happen to that one who ran off from the Sheldrake house. I wouldn’t want that happening to you. Is this not a good house to work in?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Are you not grateful for your position here?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Then remember that, for you are on your final warning. Keep your head down and think only of your duties, nothing else. Otherwise you will have no duties to keep you under this roof.’