I followed Mrs Jessop down yet another passageway. We went through a door into a well-lit room, where eight, maybe ten people were gathered round one end of a long table. Tea was being poured, plates of buttered bread passed round. At first glance, it looked proper cosy, and my poor stomach rumbled at the sight of such a lovely meal. Yet despite a good fire, the room was chill. It felt big and bare, and not altogether welcoming. The people sat with their backs to us, speaking in low voices.
Mrs Jessop cleared her throat. The talking stopped abruptly and faces turned our way. I wiped my hands on my skirts, swallowing hard. Mrs Jessop went over to a man in a dark jacket who was sat at the head of the table. I’d seen him before. He was Mr Phelps, the butler. Mrs Jessop spoke rapidly in his ear. He nodded a few times and looked at me before dabbing his mouth with a napkin and getting to his feet. Everyone else got up too.
‘Sit! Sit!’ he cried, waving them back into their seats.
They sat down again.
‘Now then,’ he said. ‘This is our new housemaid, Matilda Higgins from the village.’
I felt myself shrink inside my clothes.
‘Welcome to you, Matilda.’
Mrs Jessop said, ‘Mr Phelps, it’s Tilly, not Matilda. Just so we’re clear.’
‘Thank you, Mrs J.’ Mr Phelps shot her a look before addressing two maids sat across the table from him. ‘Now Dorcas, you’ll need to get Matilda kitted out. Gracie can assist you.’
The older maid nodded. I’d seen her here yesterday, hadn’t I? She was the pretty head housemaid who’d had to chop vegetables. Everything about her was neat and clean, including her white frilled cap which sat perfectly in place.
Next to her was a younger plump-faced girl with dark, dancing eyes. She looked nearer my age. I tried to smile. The dark-eyed girl grinned back, showing a gap between her two front teeth. Dorcas, though, looked at me coolly, and I felt myself colour up again.
‘Ah, Mr Phelps,’ Mrs Jessop butted in. ‘I should like to take charge of Tilly directly, for today at least. Dorcas has plenty to do already.’
Mr Phelps twitched like a fly was bothering him. The other people watched.
‘In this house it is not a housekeeper’s duty to train up new staff,’ he said. ‘It is the responsibility of the head housemaid, and Dorcas is more than capable of performing such a task.’
‘But on this occasion . . .’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jessop.’ Mr Phelps held up his hand. ‘We must try to keep to our proper roles where possible. Now, let us finish our meal.’
Mr Phelps took his seat again and beckoned me over. ‘Matilda, sit with Gracie and have something to eat.’
As I slid into a seat next to the dark-eyed girl, I noticed Mrs Jessop had gone.
‘Hullo, I’m Gracie Waite.’ The girl held out a buttery hand, then snatched it back again. ‘Oops, sorry! Should’ve wiped it first.’
So this was the famous Gracie who’d taken to her bed yesterday. She certainly didn’t look sick today. And she seemed so friendly that I liked her at once.
‘Hullo,’ I said.
‘What’s with you and Mrs Jessop then?’ Gracie said, her eyes darting over my face.
‘She’s keeping a watch on me, I s’pect. Thinks I’m a lost cause already.’ And I told her about knocking the notebooks on the floor.
Gracie’s face fell. ‘Oh lordy! Not them notebooks!’
‘What d’you mean?’
But she started to giggle, and I saw she was just having a bit of fun.
‘I shouldn’t laugh,’ she said. ‘Mrs Jessop keeps a record of everything. But don’t look so worried – all housekeepers write a journal. Only she’s very particular about hers.’
She passed me some bread, but my guts were too knotted; I found I couldn’t manage anything after all. I took a small slice and went to stuff it in my pocket, thinking I’d be starved come midday. Gracie grinned as she watched me.
‘We have our dinner at one o’clock. It’s a big hot meal with pudding and everything. Believe me, you won’t go hungry working here.’
I felt a right idiot, so I put the food back on my plate and hoped no one else had noticed.
The others started to leave the table now. I recognised the carter who’d brought me here, joking with his lad from the stables. Another maid cleared the plates away, whistling a tune as she did so. I noticed Cook talking to Mr Phelps. And along from us, next to Dorcas, two very tall men in breeches and brass-buttoned coats laughed as they downed the last of their tea. They all seemed happy enough. I thought of how cosy they’d looked when I’d first clapped eyes on them. Maybe I’d just imagined the rest.
‘That’s Samuel Ketteridge, the footman,’ said Gracie, who’d noticed me staring. ‘And the lanky one’s Peter Watson, the second footman.’ She went pink as she said his name.
Dorcas then got to her feet. ‘Right Tilly, let’s get you sorted.’ As I stood up, she turned to Gracie. ‘You’re to make up a bed for Tilly in your room.’
Gracie pouted. ‘Do I have to go up there?’
‘It’s daylight, you silly fool! Nothing’s going to harm you.’
‘That’s what you said on Sunday, and then look what happened . . .’
Dorcas cut in. ‘And now you’ve got someone to share with. Isn’t that nice? Just what you wanted.’
So Gracie went one way and we went the other. Right at the end of the passage we came to a small room with cupboards all along one wall. It was icy cold in here. No fire burned in the grate.
Dorcas shut the door behind us.
‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘Half dead you were when Will Potter brought you in. We laid you out on the kitchen table to get the water out of your lungs. Lord knows, you were lucky not to perish.’
I kept my eyes down.
‘But I trust there’ll be no more dramatics.’
‘Mrs Jessop’s already warned me,’ I said, then thinking this sounded pert, quickly added, ‘I promise to do my best, honest I do.’
‘Good girl.’
I caught Dorcas’s eye and she smiled, two dimples appearing in her cheeks so she was prettier than ever. I bet Will Potter thought her handsome when he came here on his deliveries, though I couldn’t imagine her looking twice at a louse like him.
Dorcas went to a drawer and got out a tape, then started to measure me up. ‘You’re quite small, aren’t you?’ she said, looking me up and down like I was a pig and she was the blinking farmer. ‘Hope we’ve got something that’ll fit.’
She climbed up on a chair and started rooting around in a cupboard full of linens.
‘Your uniform,’ she said, handing me a pile of clothes. ‘Try them on for size.’
Shivering, I stripped down to my slip, grateful for Ma’s gift of a decent undergarment. First, I tried on a striped grey cotton dress like the ones Dorcas and Gracie were wearing. The fabric was stiff and smelled of soap.
‘You wear this in the mornings when you’re cleaning and laying the fires,’ Dorcas said as I wriggled into it. ‘Turn around. Raise your arms. Hmmm . . . fits you well.’
Next she gave me a plain pinny and a white cap.
‘These go on top. You’ll need to keep your hair tucked right under. Here, like this.’ She smoothed my hair back tight to my head.
Then she handed me a finer dress in black wool. I rubbed it between my fingers. So soft and warm; I’d never worn such a thing in my life.
‘Nice, isn’t it? You’ll wear it in the afternoons and evenings for when you’re called upstairs.’
‘Upstairs? To the Barringtons?’
She frowned. ‘That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?’
‘’Course not. I’ll be fine,’ I said, when really my insides were fluttering.
‘Good.’ She locked up the cupboards and pocketed the key. ‘You’ll need to be in this house.’