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Medley Park, England
Thursday, 2 August 1821
The day I arrived at Medley Park, the grounds of the estate appeared to be in a bit of an uproar. As the handsome green and gold carriage within which I traveled tooled up the tree-lined drive that led to the large red-brick home, I noted a host of groundskeepers and other workmen scurrying thither and yon, some carrying tools and implements, others toting armloads of freshly-cut flowers in their arms. If this were not an everyday occurrence, then most assuredly something was afoot.
Amidst a shower of pebbles and dust, the handsome Medley Park coach drew to a stand-still before the house, the action summoning a pair of footmen smartly attired in green and gold livery to spill from the house onto the wide circular drive. One flung open the coach door for me to alight whilst another undertook the task of untying the ropes that secured my valises and hatboxes to the rear of the coach. A pair of groomsmen appeared from somewhere and set about un-tethering the horses, even as a trio of stable hands rushed forward to assist. The sullen-faced coach driver flung himself to the ground and stalked away without so much as a backward glance.
Catching sight of his hardened countenance caused my heart to pound in my chest as I wondered what lay ahead for me here. The two-day journey down from London had been inordinately swift. Perhaps our rapid pace had overtired the man. I was equally as anxious to be free from the stuffy confines of the coach, despite it being the most elegant conveyance in which I’d ever ridden. The bumpy ride over rough roads, which in some cases were little more than rock-strewn dirt paths, had rendered me nearly limp from exhaustion. Still, compared to the crowded mail coach I’d been forced to travel in less than a twelvemonth ago up to Morland Manor, the Medley Park coach, with its plush squabs and leather curtains covering the windows was, in my estimation, fit for a queen.
However, pushing all thoughts of travel from mind, I followed the Medley Park footman up to the house, my long gaze scanning the red-brick façade, then upward to the arched stone vestibule fronting the door.
Once inside, I found the somewhat dank interior of the foyer a bit off-putting. A stone-faced butler wordlessly took the trade card I offered him. Having never before been in possession of such an accoutrement, I was quite proud of the gilt-edged affair that Mr. Phelps of the New Bond Street Auction House in London had prepared especially for me. My name, Miss Juliette Abbott, was emblazoned in gold letters beneath that of Mr. Henry Phelps.
“If you will wait here, Miss Abbott,” the black-clad man said after he dropped my lovely card into the silver salver sitting atop a narrow table running alongside one wall of the dimly-lit foyer.
I watched the elderly retainer disappear within the cavernous house, which in many ways, did, indeed, put me in mind of Morland Manor. My journey here from London had seemed to follow very nearly the exact same route I’d traveled back to London nearly a twelvemonth ago after departing from my friends at Morland Manor. We also hurried through Oxford then wound our way through the Cotswold Hills, but then by-passed Worcester on our way here to Shropshire.
Flinging quick glances about at my new surroundings, I noted the planked wooden floor of the Medley Park foyer appeared in want of polish. Tiny dust motes danced in the beam of light streaming through the wide double doors, left standing open whilst the footmen busied themselves bringing in my baggage.
Overhead, a rather antiquated metal candelabra hung from the beamed ceiling, a dozen unlit candles perched every-which-way in the holders. If the tapers had been aflame, I feared a sudden gust of wind through the opened door might actually topple one or two, perhaps setting the floor, and eventually the entire house ablaze.
Directly across the foyer stood a tall, black lacquered case clock with pleasant outdoor scenes painted upon the base. Further down the long hall I noted recessed niches holding marble busts of . . . Medley Park ancestors, perhaps? Or, former English kings? If the statues were any indication of the sorts of treasures possessed by Lord Medley, that alone provided me with a clue as to what my work here would entail.
Upon returning to London from my aborted holiday in Margate, I had immediately called upon Mr. Henry Phelps, the proprietor of the New Bond Street Auction House. If you recall, Mr. Phelps was the gentleman I engaged to assist me with the auction held at my home in Mayfair, which, by-the-by, is, indeed, now, my home! Praise be to God and the Home Office agent who did call upon me quite soon after I returned to London, at the behest, I presume, of Mr. Sheridan. At any rate, I was later notified that the deed to the house in Brook Street now reflected my name as the sole and legal owner of the property. I had not ceased smiling since.
Mere moments after I relayed to Mr. Phelps my reason for calling, that I wished to take him up on the kind offer he had extended to me to join his firm, the older gentleman’s weathered countenance softened with pleasure. I am here at Medley Park now at the direction of Mr. Phelps, who declared that a client of his, Viscount, Lord Medley, required immediate assistance to catalogue his entire collection of rare books and precious artifacts prior to removing his treasures to a new wing of his country home that was currently under construction. Lord Medley insisted he was bereft of any employee sufficiently trustworthy to handle his costly objet d' arts and was in dire need of someone trained to catalogue and accurately appraise them. I fervently hoped my employer’s trust in my somewhat limited ability in that capacity would not prove misplaced.
An anxious smile on my lips, I watched the Medley Park butler reappear followed by a matronly woman, who the closer she drew, I could see was not nearly so matronly as she first appeared. The attractive woman could not have been a great deal beyond forty. I wondered if I were about to meet Lady Medley, or . . .
“This is Mrs. Bertram, the Medley Park housekeeper,” the butler announced. “This young lady is Miss Juliette Abbott from Mr. Henry Phelps’ Auction House in London. Lord Medley has been expecting a person from that gentleman’s firm to arrive.”
The smiling woman nodded. “How do you do, Miss Abbott? If you will come this way I will show you to your quarters. Lord and Lady Medley are currently up to London. For the coronation, don’t you know.”
“Ah, how lovely, indeed.”
When I flung a nervous glance back toward my things, the housekeeper said, “Not to fret, Miss Abbott, a footman will bring up your belongings shortly.”
For a person whose task was to run such a very large household, the youthful Mrs. Bertram seemed quite relaxed for one who daily shouldered such a vast responsibility. I spotted not a speck of gray in her thick brown hair. She wore a simple gown of dark green harrateen, the neck and sleeves trimmed in white linen. Had I not known she was the housekeeper, I could have easily taken her for a maiden aunt, or, as I first thought, even Lady Medley. She was that attractive.
Nearing the end of the lengthy foyer, a delicate hand ushered me towards a wide staircase that seemed to head straight up. I got a quick glimpse of long narrow corridors on either side of the staircase, leading off in opposite directions.
As we ascended the stairwell, Mrs. Bertram continued to speak in a conversational tone. “I trust your journey down from London was as agreeable as can be expected given the deplorable condition of the roadways in this part of England.”
“The journey was quite agreeable, ma’am. I am most grateful that Lord Medley sent a coach to fetch me.”
“I trust your superior, that is, the person to whom you will report, will be along soon.”
A bit taken aback, I replied. “N-no, ma’am, my employer, Mr. Phelps, entrusted me to dispatch the task here at Medley Park. Only me, alone.”
The housekeeper’s head jerked ‘round. “Are you saying you traveled the entire distance here on your own, Miss Abbott?”
“Not entirely alone, ma’am. The sister of my footman, who is set to enter service at a country home near here, traveled a good bit of the way with me. We parted ways at the inn in Haddersville.”
“And you’ve no one to assist you in your work?” She glanced about. “Nor did you bring along your lady’s maid?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”
“Well, that your lady’s maid did not accompany you is of no consequence. Lady Medley employs a surplus of housemaids and chambermaids. Far more help than we truly need. I shall assign a maid to assist you with whatever you require whilst you are here, Miss Abbott.”
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Bertram. Thank you.” After a pause, I said, “That I had company nearly the whole of the way to Medley Park did, indeed, relieve the tedium of traveling alone.”
“Still, I daresay you are very brave to have come so far on your own.”
I merely smiled, and refrained from mentioning that I was . . . often alone. I lived alone, save for my young footman Timothy and elderly housekeeper Mrs. Gant, and her husband. In truth, I had no real family of my own, and hadn’t since I was a child. Now, at eight and ten years of age, I am quite accustomed to fending for myself, and truth to say, I believe I am managing quite well.
On my previous sojourn to this part of England, immediately after my former employer in London, Lady Carstairs, suddenly passed away, I had had no choice but to travel the entire way alone on the mail coach; which was crammed full of . . . all manner of persons. The mail coach had paused at every village and hamlet we came to; making the journey most tiring, indeed, plus it had taken far longer than it should have if we had traveled straight through as the Medley Park coachman had done. That he paused no longer than it took to change horses, or purchase a mug of ale to wash away the dust clogging our throats, meant that we had not been obliged to pass even a single night at a roadside inn. Mrs. Gant, bless her soul, had thoughtfully seen to it that my companion, Timothy’s sister, and I carried sufficient foodstuffs to see us the entire way here. All in all, despite being closed up inside a swiftly moving carriage for two full days and a night, the journey had not proven nearly as dreadful as it might have been.
“I expect the roadways near to London were quite congested,” Mrs. Bertram remarked, as we neared the landing on the next floor up.
Thus far we had passed at least three housemaids, all properly attired in dark uniforms and white caps, all making their way to the ground floor.
“The London highway was not terribly busy,” I replied. “I suppose those anxious to celebrate our new king’s coronation had already arrived in Town, the bulk of them wishing to take part in the festivities.”
“Lord and Lady Medley left for London a fortnight ago. Both were quite looking forward to witnessing the monumental event.”
I detected a hint of wistfulness in the housekeeper’s tone, but said nothing further on the subject.
But Mrs. Bertram was not done. “His lordship and Lady Medley are staying with friends in Town,” she went on, “therefore, the Medley Park town home was not opened up as it generally is when his lordship takes his seat in Parliament. Lord Medley serves on a good many committees, don’t you know. He is a very important man.”
“Ah,” I murmured, although I truly had no notion as to Lord Medley’s consequence, or what he did whilst in Parliament; or what any MP did, for all that. Lady Carstairs’ husband had held a seat in Parliament, of course, but he was gone long before I assumed my post as her companion, so I never once met the man and she rarely spoke of him. Many of her friends were peeresses, and they often spoke of their husbands. However, if I were present in the room, I did not join in the conversation, or pay a great deal of attention to what the ladies said. More often than not, when Lady Carstairs’ chatted up her friends, I repaired to my bedchamber to read. At times, I took a solitary walk about Mayfair, something I always enjoyed doing.
Having now gained the landing, Mrs. Bertram and I headed down a lengthy passageway, again passing by several uniformed housemaids. There did, indeed, appear to be an abundance of them, as well as liveried footmen, who seemed to merely be positioned at the top and bottom of the long hallways, with nothing of special import to do. Up ahead a solid wall loomed, as well as another pair of footmen and a maid. At least she was dusting the edges of a frame encasing a large painting upon the wall whilst the footmen looked on. Mrs. Bertram and I made a sharp right turn and headed off in another direction. Upon spotting yet another corner further up ahead, I began to suspect the house was built on a square configuration. With no windows on either side of the hallway, I was unable to determine exactly which side of the house we were travelling at present.
Mrs. Bertram began again to speak of Lord Medley’s trip up to London. “The bulk of the staff, with the exception of Lady Medley’s personal maid and his lordship’s valet and footman, remained here in the country this time, which, of course, is generally not the norm when Lord and Lady Medley travel.”
“I see.” And, for whatever reason wishing to sound as if I, too, were accustomed to traveling about the countryside, I said, “I only just returned to London from summering in Margate. Even before I left for the seashore, the influx of visitors to the City was clearly evident. I scarcely slept a wink the whole of the night before our Regent, Prince George III was crowned King. The bells of St. Margaret’s pealed every hour on the hour and on the following day, all manner of parades and noisy fireworks could be heard throughout the city.”
“Lord and Lady Medley were invited to attend several balls and assemblies in honor of HRH, our new King George IV.”
“How lovely,” I murmured. Abruptly, the sounds of screaming children interrupted our conversation, causing me to very nearly jump out of my skin.
Mrs. Bertram sighed. “I knew I should not have left the boys alone. Their nanny is . . . well, here we are.” She paused to unlock the door to a chamber located . . . somewhere in the upper reaches of the house. By now I confess I had lost all sense of direction.
Before stepping into the room, I flung a quick look up and down the corridor. “I do hope I shall be able to find my way back downstairs.” I managed to catch myself before blurting out how delighted I was to have been shown up rather than down to the servants’ quarters. I had rather thought we might be headed towards a hidden stairwell, such as there was at Morland Manor, that led straight down to the servant’s wing.
“As you may have noticed, Miss Abbott, the Medley Park house follows a square. Either way one walks, the corridor will eventually take one straight back to the staircase that leads down to the foyer. However, should you become turned around, you can always ask a maid or footman to direct you.” Mrs. Bertram smiled a bit wearily. “As I am sure you noticed, a good many servants are generally always . . . lurking about.”
“Indeed,” I murmured, the major part of my mind at the moment still rejoicing over the fact that here at Medley Park I was not to be considered a servant. On the other hand, it could be that I had been assigned a room on the upper floor of the house because the servant’s quarters were already filled to capacity with housemaids.
Once again, the raised voices of squabbling children reached our ears. Although I sensed Mrs. Bertram’s unease over the noise, she did not rush off, but politely stepped aside to allow me to enter the room ahead of her. My curious gaze darted here and there within my new quarters.
“A small room beyond the bedchamber is meant to accommodate a maid, had you brought one along. I shall send a chambermaid up straightaway to help you put away your things, Miss Abbott.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bertram. I am certain I shall be most comfortable here.”
“Unfortunately, you missed tea this afternoon, which is served at four of the clock every afternoon in the red withdrawing room, although with the girls not being at home today . . .” she paused, then went on, “at any rate, dinner is served promptly at half past seven in the large dining hall. If you feel peckish now, I shall have a pot of tea brought up. And a plate of biscuits, if you like.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That would be lovely.” Flinging another glance about the room, and not spotting a wash basin, I added, “If it is no trouble, might I also have a pitcher of water and a . . .”
“You will find a wash basin and soap and . . . other amenities, in the dressing area. Just there.” A hand indicated yet another chamber that I had not yet seen, beyond a post that supported one of a dozen or more dark beams traversing the ceiling.
“If you require anything further, Miss Abbott, do not hesitate to ring. I really must be going now. You will excuse me.”
Glancing another direction, I spotted a bell pull hanging in a far corner. By the time I turned back around, the housekeeper was gone, having quietly closed the door behind her as she departed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bertram,” I mouthed, then turned again to study my surroundings.
Absently removing my bonnet and pelisse, I realized that my employer, Mr. Phelps, had not provided me with any information regarding Lord Medley’s family, beyond the mention of Lady Medley, therefore I had no clue as to who amongst the family members might be in residence. It appeared now that his lordship had young sons, who were not in school. Mrs. Bertram had mentioned the boys, but had not spoken of a governess, although surely there was one. Perhaps the governess had accompanied Lord and Lady Medley up to London . . . but then, it seemed curious that his lordship’s sons would have been left behind. To witness at least some portion of an occasion as momentous as our new king’s coronation would be a boon to a young man’s education and certainly not to be missed.
Dismissing the oddity, I turned again to studying my surroundings. Apart from the high-canopied bed that occupied the center of the room, I noted that both the bed curtains and window draperies were fashioned from a soft shade of green jacquard, tied back with gold tasseled braid. A pair of marble-topped commodes stood on either side of the bed, both with drawers. Above them, metal sconces hung on the wall. I walked that way to compulsively straighten the crooked candles there, which were unlit, the only light in the room being that which filtered in through the pair of windows rising above a bench, the thick cushion also done up in green.
A somewhat tattered tapestry hung limply on the wall opposite the windows, making me think that perhaps it had once graced another chamber of the house and rather than toss it in the rubbish bin, it had been hung here instead. Crossing to the dressing area, I noted that the dainty stool sitting before the dressing table was also fitted out in the same shade of green as were the bed curtains and also edged with gold braid. Spotting a painted screen in one corner, I peeked behind it and found, not a chamber pot as I expected; but a high backed chair with a porcelain pot suspended inside a hole in the middle of the seat. A necessary stool! How very convenient, and modern.
I was, indeed, quite fortunate that my first assignment from Mr. Phelps had brought me to Medley Park. And, to also be included for both tea and dinner with the family was far more than I had hoped. For a certainty, once settled here, and fully immersed in my task, all the unpleasantness of the past several months, meaning the tragic murders in both Mayfair and Margate, would fade into the distant reaches of my mind and never thought on again.
A light scratch at my bedchamber door drew my thoughts back around. Upon hurrying to answer the summons I found a somewhat dour-faced young chambermaid dressed in the same sort of uniform I had seen the other maids wearing, not unlike the one I had been required to wear during my time at Morland Manor: a black frock, white pinafore and frilly scrap of white cloth atop one’s head. Without looking at me, the girl shuffled in.
“Hello,” I said by way of greeting, “I am Miss Juliette Abbott. I take it Mrs. Bertram sent you up to help me sort . . .”
“M’name’s Lottie, miss. Whats ye’ wont done?”
I admit to being taken aback by the girl’s surliness. Yet, at that instant, our discourse was interrupted by a pair of footmen struggling to tote all my baggage . . . two valises, an overstuffed portmanteau and a half dozen hatboxes, dangling from their bodies, into the room.
“Wheres ye’ want we set ‘em down, miss?” one asked.
“Just . . . there will do nicely.” My hand indicated a spot further into the room. However, the footmen promptly dropped, rather than placed, the entire lot of my possessions mere inches inside my bedchamber door before they both quickly departed.
I turned to Lottie. “Perhaps we might start by removing my valises to the window seat.”
Expecting the girl to set to at once, I advanced to the wardrobe to fling open the double doors of the carved piece of furniture standing opposite the bed. Assessing the space within, which was far more than adequate to accommodate the half dozen or so serviceable frocks I had brought along, and as many of my finer gowns. “Indeed; everything will fit nicely in here.” Given that I would be working amongst dusty tomes and whatnot, I had brought only the barest minimum of my most fashionable garments. Now that I knew I would be dining with the family, I already wished I had brought along more.
I turned back to find the servant girl still standing rooted in place. Because the maid stood several inches taller than my five-foot-three-inch frame, and was heavier than I by several stones, to heft even the heaviest of my valises would not prove a difficult task for her.
Once more, I said, “Perhaps if the valises were set upon the window seat, Lottie, to remove the contents would prove a good deal easier than attempting to empty them from the floor.” I smiled, hoping to encourage her to . . . do as I asked.
The girl’s insolent huff of displeasure did not escape my notice. Yet, she did set her feet in motion and with ease soon hefted both heavy valises up from the floor and onto the window seat. The bulky portmanteau, she set on the floor near the bench at the end of the bed. Having noticed a tallboy standing against the wall beyond the door, I determined the lower section of it would provide additional storage if needed.
A half hour later, during which little to no words were exchanged between myself and the surly servant girl, all my gowns were neatly hung inside the clothespress and all my hatboxes, slippers, and a serviceable pair of half-boots, were lined up on the floor of it; my small clothes tucked into the lower section of the tallboy. I idly wondered if the family would invite me to attend Sunday services with them and hoped that would be the case.
A sudden rap at the door interrupted my thoughts and another also quite sullen housemaid entered the room carrying a tea tray, complete with a plate of biscuits. The girl set the tray on a commode and, without a word, quitted the room. Lottie soon followed, also without saying anything, or without the slightest semblance of a respectful bob, which would not have been amiss as surely the girl recognized that I did, indeed, outrank her. Thus far, I thought all the servant’s attitudes were quite curious, indeed.
However, thrusting the oddity from mind, I exhaled a breath of relief and reached to pour myself a much-needed cup of tea, then carefully set the full cup on the windowsill and the plate of biscuits and napkin on the cushion before me. Managing to not upend anything as I gingerly eased onto the cushioned bench and drew my legs up beneath me, I leant back upon a pillow to rest and enjoy my simple repast. As I sipped and munched, I amused myself gazing from the square-paned window at my side, looking down upon what was a very pretty courtyard below.
In the center was a granite statue, the topmost section a decorative fountain with water splashing down into a circular trough that wound around the base. Opposite the gravel walkway that surrounded the fountain were brightly colored flowers with low beds of greenery in front. Banks of tall stalks covered with red, purple, white and yellow blossoms hugged the house. How charming! The red-brick house, indeed, formed a perfect square. An opened archway in the lower level on the backside of the square led to . . . the stables, perhaps? The upper floor of the back wing was apparently being re-constructed, judging from the scaffolding and pile of lumber that stood there, although no carpenters were presently at work. I assumed this was where Lord Medley meant to house his treasures once I had catalogued them.
Enjoying the placid scene, I continued to sip my tea. My smile widened when I spotted a pretty black and white cat amble over and stretch out in the shady bed of ivy fronting the opposite wall. Soon four or five tiny kittens stuck up their heads from the dense greenery, and upon catching sight of their momma stretched out nearby, rushed to snag a spot of her exposed belly from which to suckle. The scene was so sweet and peaceful, it very nearly brought tears to my eyes. Had I been in the courtyard, I would have knelt to scoop up a kitten to pet.
I had noted several wrought-iron benches positioned here and there about the perimeter of the courtyard. To rest upon a bench with a kitten on my lap would be quite delightful, indeed. How lucky I was to have been invited to pass a fortnight here!
Of a sudden, the pleasant interlude was shattered when three young boys came racing into the courtyard calling and shouting to one another as they burst from the house. Quite possibly they were the same youngsters Mrs. Bertram and I had earlier heard squabbling from the corridor; the very ones she had declared should not have been left alone. Watching the boys romp about, the very next thing I observed them doing sent a wave of white-hot anger through me!