Charlotte
Burning water
On my first day at the manse, I learned it is possible to burn water, or at least the pot containing it. Ella, Alice, and Magda undertook the cooking and housework. Mother said aristocrats didn't dirty their hands with manual labour, and so we sat in the parlour, staring at the wallpaper. If mother was particularly mad at Ella, she sent me below stairs to issue demands. While I had observed some of the workings of the kitchen, I had no practical experience.
From what I saw, I thought I understood the mechanics of cooking, but actually making a meal was akin to some arcane magical rite. A boiled egg involved a pot, water, and an egg. But how much water? How long did the egg have to remain immersed? Did it matter if I had a chicken egg or a larger duck egg? And how did you extract a boiling hot egg from the pot without dropping both on the floor? The exact process was a mystery, as though such knowledge passed from woman to child in hushed whispers those upstairs weren't supposed to overhear.
In his confused state, Mr Mason was oblivious to my painful lack of experience as a house keeper. That gave me time to either learn to swim or sink. Fortunately I had two sources of help as I struggled through daily tasks. Firstly, Mrs Mason had left behind her Victorian edition of the Ladies' Almanac, an invaluable source of information for a young lady about running a household. Each morning I pored over the worn pages, trying to figure out what to prepare for supper and what cleaning tasks I should instruct the staff (now consisting solely of me) to do.
The other great gift came from an unexpected quarter: the nosy local women. They all knew I was lacking when it came to household skills, and they turned up at the back door, pressing casseroles and pies into my hands. They then beckoned me closer, checked over their shoulders, and whispered reheating and serving instructions. Without them we would have starved. Or we would have subsisted on under-cooked eggs.
Over the years we had lived in this community, my mother had been consistently scathing and unkind about the other women. Farmers and workers were beneath her, and she encouraged Louise and me to also look down on our neighbours. At the time it bothered me. I didn't see how doing nothing all day made us superior. But I did as told and held my tongue, even when a tiny part of me longed to be involved and to learn a useful skill.
Now, with mother and Louise gone, I was both humbled and grateful for the women who overlooked years of disdain and helped me through those first few early weeks. Perhaps I would finally be able to contribute to our small community instead of casting judgement upon it.
Mr Mason was blind to all that went on under his roof. He spent an inordinate amount of time in his study, staring at the walls. I would remove one cold cup of tea and replace it with a hot one. It didn't matter that I made it too weak or too strong at first, because he rarely touched it. As days turned into weeks, I managed to make the tea a consistent colour, and I mastered boiled eggs and toast.
So many nights ended with me sobbing my heart out in bed. My hands turned red from trying to scrub the dirt of manual labour out from under my nails each evening. Frustration at another ruined, inedible meal built in me until I slammed my fists against the kitchen table. I didn't know how to run a household, but day by day I learned. I marvelled at each success and quietly fed my failures to the pigs. Then I silently blessed the neighbour who came to my rescue with a meal to place on the table at dinner time.
This was all Ella's fault. I wanted to hate her. She tore me from my comfortable existence and condemned me to hours of drudgery. But a door opened a crack and a sliver of hope beckoned, even though I’d lost my family. Mother had dictated my every waking moment and found constant disappointment in everything I did. I struggled to fill the vacuum they left, unused to finding my own direction. I was a compass that couldn't locate north and the needle simply spun. Useless.
The other women in the village offered the first tendrils of friendship, and I wondered if I were brave enough to accept them. A tiny part of me feared their kindness was a cruel trick, and that they all laughed at me behind my back. It's what mother and Louise would do, lure you in with false smiles and then shred you to pieces.
I rose each morning, dressed as I pleased, and went about my chores. Over the course of those days, a strange thing happened. Or more correctly didn't happen. No one laughed, called me frumpy, or tore my favourite dress on purpose. No one condemned my love of poetry, or stole my books and shoved them down the privy. No one made me hold Ella's hands while her back was bloodied with the switch.
If mother wasn't here to tell me who I was, who was I? Did I become no one, without someone to put me in my place? The hollow in my chest hurt some days as I struggled to learn how to rely on myself. Even drawing air into my lungs caused me pain, and I doubted I even breathed properly without mother to rap my knuckles and remind me to act like quality, Charlotte, not swine.
I wiped away the tears with the corner of my apron. With my vision cleared, I drew a deep breath and focused on the day’s task. I was attempting an apple pie all on my own. The pastry turned out a bit too crumbly, but it seemed to be holding shape. I had gathered the fallen apples from the orchard and peeled, cored, and sliced them myself.
A rap on the front door made my heart beat faster. Who could it be? The village women all popped in at the kitchen door.
Yesterday Ella stood on the doorstep and told me mother was dead and Louise was working with the War Office. I thanked her politely and then shut the door in her face. Only back in the kitchen did I let myself cry. Each day gifted me distance from mother's memory. I began to see what a truly horrible person she was, but she was still my mother. I knew no other and despite her failings as a human being, I needed to mourn the only maternal figure I had known before I could move forward with my life.
Surely Ella wouldn't come back two days in a row? I wiped my hands free of flour and apple juice on my apron and walked down the hall to pull open the front door.
A soldier stood on the doorstep. Not just a soldier but a lieutenant in smart khaki with a cap on his head. A brown leather bandolier ran over his shoulder and attached to his belt. A pistol hung at his hip, another reminder we were at war.
"Can I help you?" I wiped my hands again to ensure they were clean.
He took the cap off on seeing me and tucked it under his arm. Short brown hair stopped at the tips of his ears, and warm brown eyes regarded me. He wasn't overly tall, which I appreciated since I was on the short side myself. It was nice not to have to crane my neck to talk to a man. Nor was he overly handsome in that way which made plain girls like myself uncomfortable. Yet in his uniform he presented such a dashing picture I allowed myself the tiniest sigh of delight.
"Pardon me, Miss Jeffrey, but would it be possible to see Reverend Mason? I have a request for him, from the duke, that may assist our efforts in the war." His other hand held a small journal.
Mr Mason rarely took visitors. In many ways living here was like sharing a house with a ghost. He walked on silent feet and rarely talked, except to whisper to the walls. I often thought he was more lost than I. Perhaps a visitor might bring his mind back from whatever dark corner it occupied, however briefly. "Of course. Might I say who is calling?"
"My apologies, Miss Jeffrey. I am Lieutenant Bain." The officer smiled and my lips pulled into a smile in response. He knew who I was, but then given Ella worked at the big house, I supposed she must have told him I had a position here as housekeeper.
"Please come in, Lieutenant. This way," I stepped back into the hall and he followed.
Down the dark corridor we walked to the reverend's private sanctum. I rapped with my knuckles on the oak door, but there was no reply from within. There never was, my knock a mere courtesy to let him know I was about to enter.
"Lieutenant Bain to see you, Reverend, on a most important mission," I said as I pushed the door open.
Today he stood at the window. Tall and narrow, it looked out on the back garden and the orchard beyond. Sparrows darted and flitted around the ball of lard coated in seed that I had hung from the tree. I was proud of myself for making that. Frivolous and completely useless, mother would have said. But I delighted in drinking my tea out there while the birds chirped.
Our community's shepherd turned. Once a big man, the flesh had fallen from his bones. A wild look lurked in his blue gaze, and his rough jaw and uncut hair signalled the state of his mind. He was a man trapped in his own mind, wrestling with his loss of faith. Just as God abandoned him, he abandoned his flock. Mr Mason frowned, as though he should know the lieutenant but struggled to recall his face.
"Could I trouble you for some tea, please, Miss Jeffrey?" The lieutenant's warm smile made it no bother at all.
"Of course. I may be able to find some shortbread as well." Shortbread was one of my small successes. I found immense satisfaction in seeing the regimented cream squares stacked in a tin with not a single one burned or even brown. Each was pricked with a fork, and I took pains to line up the tines so the three dots were in the centre.
"Oh, marvellous. My favourite." He gave me a wink.
The breath stopped entering my lungs and heat flushed over my skin. He winked at me! Rather than say something stupid, I rushed from the room. Mother always called me stupid and vacuous and said it was better for me to remain silent. Odd, though, that Louise was always encouraged to spout her silly nonsense.
I filled the kettle and set it to boil then I took the tin of shortbread and laid a few pieces on a pretty yellow plate. As I set out tea, I mused on the difference in how mother treated us. There was never any doubt in our family of mother's favouritism. Louise was always mother's pet while I scrambled for the tiniest crumb of affection from her. But why?
What had I done as a child that marked me as wrong, or that turned my mother against me? Was Louise prettier, smarter, and simply more deserving than me? Even now, I missed her barbs and put downs, her constant harsh words that would spear through me and tear me down. They hurt, but they filled the void inside me. Perhaps I was a fool and could hope for no better. Yet one warm smile from a soldier had me thinking I might build more of my life. I just had to be brave enough to try.
Would events have played out differently if my natural father had lived? I struggled to remember him. I was young when he died. He winked at me, like the lieutenant had done, and at nap time he called me his Sleepy Rory. That was our secret. My middle name was Aurora, and only my father called me that.
I didn't notice the tears rolling down my cheek until one fell on my hand. Picking up the corner of my apron, I wiped my face and then pinched my cheeks to return some colour. Tea made, I placed the pot on the tray and backed out through the kitchen door into the hall.
Muffled voices came from behind the closed study door. I set the tray on the ground so I had a free hand to knock. Then I bent to pick up afternoon tea. As I rose, the door was opened by the smiling Lieutenant Bain.
Did he always smile? It had none of the artifice or insincere smirking that I was accustomed to, and it made me curious how he sustained such a good mood.
"I'll take that, miss." His larger hands slid over mine and relieved me of the weight.
"Thank you," I muttered and took a small step back. I rubbed my hands; his warm touch left an odd impression on my skin. "Do you have him talking?"
He shook his head. "It's a bit of a monologue from me, I'm afraid. But I am confident of progress as I nudge Mr Mason to answer my questions. Softly softly catchee monkey, my mother used to say. Anyhoo, I'll bring the tea tray back when we're finished."
I was dismissed, unwanted. Again. To be expected of course, as the lieutenant had some directive from the duke. Only an idiot would think the conversation would include her. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Time to think about supper. I had a nice piece of tripe that, according to the Almanac, needed a long, slow cooking time in milk.
An hour later the pungent aroma of tripe and onions filled the kitchen. The recipe said the concoction needed to simmer for a further two hours before the tripe would be soft enough to eat. To air the kitchen, I used a lump of firewood to prop the backdoor open while I tried to decide if I was warming to the smell, or if I needed to rush out and be sick amongst the geraniums.
What I needed was a distraction. I flicked through the cookbooks, trying to decide what to attempt tomorrow. Lately my culinary efforts had been more edible than disastrous, and spurred by the marvellous shortbread victory, a sliver of hope took root in my chest. Perhaps I might not be as useless in the kitchen as my mother always loudly proclaimed me to be. Would the world stop turning if I discovered I was adequate at something?
A rattle preceded the hall door opening, and the lieutenant carried the tray through and set it on the worn, scarred pine table. He drew a deep breath and his nostrils flared as he inhaled. That warm chocolate gaze turned to me. "Tripe and onions?"
I placed the marker in the book. "Yes. The butcher offered me a piece this morning. I don't think anyone else wanted it."
"There's nothing wrong with simple fare, always been one of my favourite meals. Would you like me to help with the washing up?" He picked up two empty cups and placed them next to the sink.
An officer in the kitchen doing the dishes? Mother would have fainted at the very idea. A gentleman shouldn't even be able to find the kitchen, let alone set foot in one. "Gosh. No. I'm sure you have important work to do at Serenity House."
His broad smile reached all the way to his eyes and crinkled the corners. "Nothing that can't wait when there is a pretty lady I can assist."
Why did he have to go and say that? There I was thinking he was handsome and smart. Everyone knew I was plain at best. Either his eyesight was defective or he wasn't smart at all. Oh well, at least the dishes would get done.
I hid my disappointment behind a shy smile. The company would be welcome, even if he did it out of a sense of obligation. "A hand would be much appreciated. Thank you."