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Authors: Rosie Goodwin
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had not come this far to turn back now.
Once she reached the house, she climbed the steps leading to the enormous double doors and tugged on the bell-pull hanging at the side of them. The snow had muffled all other sounds and the clanging of the bell within the Hall seemed very loud.
There was the grating of heavy bolts being drawn and a young girl in a mob cap opened a door and peered out at her.
‘I have come to apply for the position that is vacant,’ Maria told her with her head held high.
‘Then you’d best go round to the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper will see yer then.’ The young woman, who looked very pale, waved her hand in the general direction Maria was to take before closing the door firmly in her face without another word.
Maria began to walk around the outside of the house. At the back of it was a large stable-block and a dairy, and eventually she spotted what she hoped was the kitchen door.
This time when she knocked it was answered by a stout rosy-cheeked woman, and when Maria explained what she was there for, the woman ushered her inside immediately, saying, ‘Why, you must be froze through, lass. You are brave to venture out on such a day. I’m the cook by the way, Mrs Bunting, but it’s Miss Belle you’ll be needin’ to see – she’s the Housekeeper.’ Then, turning to a young girl who was scrubbing a mountain of dirty pots in a huge stone sink, she told her, ‘Nancy, run an’ fetch Miss Belle. She should be in her sittin’ room.’
‘Yes, Cook.’ The girl, who was painfully thin, instantly swiped her hands down the front of her apron and scuttled away as the cook waved Maria towards an enormous scrubbed table that stood in the middle of the room.
‘Sit yerself down, she shouldn’t be too long,’ she told Maria pleasantly enough, then lifting a large knife she went back to peeling a huge pile of vegetables. Maria took the opportunity to look about her. The kitchen was the size of her own home all put together, she was sure. Great gleaming copper pans hung above a large cooking range but other than that there were no homely touches about the place. But then she supposed that was to be expected. She was in an asylum, after all, not a coaching inn.
‘Do you happen to know what the job I am applying for entails?’ Maria asked after a time.
The cook raised an eyebrow. The lass was nicely spoken, there was no doubt about it. She glanced towards the door before answering in a hushed voice, ‘I heard as there’s a new resident on the east wing as needs a lady’s maid.’
‘A
lady’s
maid?’ Maria was puzzled. ‘But I thought this was a lunatic asylum?’
‘It is, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye.’ The cook paused. ‘The east wing is reserved for gentry, an’ not all of them are loonies if yer get me drift.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
The cook sighed. ‘Well, let’s put it this way then. There are certain young ladies that find themselves in . . . shall we say
a certain condition
– an’ o’ course it wouldn’t do fer them to have a child out o’ wedlock, so their folks pay fer them to come here till the birthin’ is over. I have to prepare special meals fer them, though the rest o’ the poor sods have to eat what’s given to ’em, an’ between you an’ me it ain’t much better than pigswill. Not that many of ’em know the difference.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Maria had sat there for some minutes mulling over what the cook had told her when the green-baize door suddenly opened and the young maid reappeared, closely followed by a middle-aged woman with a stern face. The woman was tall and thin, smartly dressed in a full-skirted pale grey bombazine dress that matched the colour of her hair, which she wore in a tight bun on the back of her head – a style that did nothing to enhance her appearance. Maria thought briefly how colourless she was; even her eyes were grey and they were now raking Maria from head to foot.
Nancy
Once she reached the house, she climbed the steps leading to the enormous double doors and tugged on the bell-pull hanging at the side of them. The snow had muffled all other sounds and the clanging of the bell within the Hall seemed very loud.
There was the grating of heavy bolts being drawn and a young girl in a mob cap opened a door and peered out at her.
‘I have come to apply for the position that is vacant,’ Maria told her with her head held high.
‘Then you’d best go round to the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper will see yer then.’ The young woman, who looked very pale, waved her hand in the general direction Maria was to take before closing the door firmly in her face without another word.
Maria began to walk around the outside of the house. At the back of it was a large stable-block and a dairy, and eventually she spotted what she hoped was the kitchen door.
This time when she knocked it was answered by a stout rosy-cheeked woman, and when Maria explained what she was there for, the woman ushered her inside immediately, saying, ‘Why, you must be froze through, lass. You are brave to venture out on such a day. I’m the cook by the way, Mrs Bunting, but it’s Miss Belle you’ll be needin’ to see – she’s the Housekeeper.’ Then, turning to a young girl who was scrubbing a mountain of dirty pots in a huge stone sink, she told her, ‘Nancy, run an’ fetch Miss Belle. She should be in her sittin’ room.’
‘Yes, Cook.’ The girl, who was painfully thin, instantly swiped her hands down the front of her apron and scuttled away as the cook waved Maria towards an enormous scrubbed table that stood in the middle of the room.
‘Sit yerself down, she shouldn’t be too long,’ she told Maria pleasantly enough, then lifting a large knife she went back to peeling a huge pile of vegetables. Maria took the opportunity to look about her. The kitchen was the size of her own home all put together, she was sure. Great gleaming copper pans hung above a large cooking range but other than that there were no homely touches about the place. But then she supposed that was to be expected. She was in an asylum, after all, not a coaching inn.
‘Do you happen to know what the job I am applying for entails?’ Maria asked after a time.
The cook raised an eyebrow. The lass was nicely spoken, there was no doubt about it. She glanced towards the door before answering in a hushed voice, ‘I heard as there’s a new resident on the east wing as needs a lady’s maid.’
‘A
lady’s
maid?’ Maria was puzzled. ‘But I thought this was a lunatic asylum?’
‘It is, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye.’ The cook paused. ‘The east wing is reserved for gentry, an’ not all of them are loonies if yer get me drift.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
The cook sighed. ‘Well, let’s put it this way then. There are certain young ladies that find themselves in . . . shall we say
a certain condition
– an’ o’ course it wouldn’t do fer them to have a child out o’ wedlock, so their folks pay fer them to come here till the birthin’ is over. I have to prepare special meals fer them, though the rest o’ the poor sods have to eat what’s given to ’em, an’ between you an’ me it ain’t much better than pigswill. Not that many of ’em know the difference.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Maria had sat there for some minutes mulling over what the cook had told her when the green-baize door suddenly opened and the young maid reappeared, closely followed by a middle-aged woman with a stern face. The woman was tall and thin, smartly dressed in a full-skirted pale grey bombazine dress that matched the colour of her hair, which she wore in a tight bun on the back of her head – a style that did nothing to enhance her appearance. Maria thought briefly how colourless she was; even her eyes were grey and they were now raking Maria from head to foot.
Nancy
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