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Authors: Mistress of Marymoor
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master, like man, she thought.
“He said he was going to wait to bring them here.”
“My mother is in a difficult situation herself. My uncle, Mr Lawrence, is very callous in the way he treats her.”
Jem pursed his lips but made no further protests. “Well, if Matthew says do it, you’d better write a letter to your mother and I’ll send young George across to fetch her. He can ride there and I’ll give him the money to hire a carriage to bring her back.” He grinned at her. “No need for an old lady to gallop across the countryside like you did.”
“We didn’t exactly gallop,” she murmured.
“’Twas a hard ride, though. Matt said you did well.” Not many women would have managed that. His new mistress had courage, that was sure. “I think he’ll manage all right. He has a bit of sense between his ears, George does, though he’s never left the district before. Is there somewhere he can hire a carriage in this Newgarth place?”
She nodded. “From the inn, the Bird in Hand. It’s not a large village, but it’s on a fairly busy post road.”
“And is there a carter who can bring your goods and chattels over?”
“Yes. Bessie will know about that. Our maid is very practical.” She couldn’t help a wry smile as she added, “And of an independent turn of mind, too.”
“You write your letter, then, and I’ll go and instruct George on what’s needed.”
“Is it as easy as that?” she marvelled aloud, not being accustomed to having things done for her.
Jem shrugged. “Seems straightforward enough to me. How long will it take your mother to pack, do you think?”
“Give her one day’s notice and she’ll be ready the next. We’re used to moving.” Had done it secretly in the middle of the night many a time to avoid her father’s creditors.
“Well, then, I’ll see young George is ready to leave as soon as your letter is finished. Your mother could be here in two or three days’ time.”
As Jem vanished down the narrow back stairs, Deborah turned towards the broader front staircase, finding herself strangely reluctant to face the other servants while her position here was so anomalous. But she couldn’t go back into the bedroom and disturb Matthew.
There was no sign of anyone in the hall, so she went into the small parlour she’d used the night before. There was no fire lit, though it was a damp, chilly day, with rain threatening. She shivered involuntarily and looked for a bell pull, then smiled at her own folly. Marymoor was not her uncle Lawrence’s well-appointed house, but an old place and wouldn’t have such modern conveniences as bell pulls. She found a handbell on the mantelpiece and rang it loudly.
No one came to answer her summons, so after a while she rang again, feeling irritation begin to rise at this slovenly service.
Once Matthew had made her position as mistress of Marymoor known, she would make sure the servants knew their jobs better than this, she thought angrily as the minutes passed and still no one came. The death of a master was no excuse for neglecting one’s duties.
Leaving the room, she turned towards the back of the hall where she presumed the domestic quarters would lie. As she opened the door she found herself in a short passage that led to a large kitchen, with the servants’ stairs to her left. Simley and an older woman (presumably his wife) were standing by the kitchen window speaking earnestly while they sipped at pots of ale. Dishes lay unwashed on the table, where two rabbits lay waiting to be skinned. The wooden surface was in need of a good scrubbing.
The Simleys turned at her entrance and to her amazement Mr Simley set down his pot and went outside without acknowledging her presence.
The housekeeper stared at her with a hostile expression on her face, then sighed and asked, “Did you want something, miss? You should have rung and waited for someone to come. I’m Mrs Simley, the housekeeper.” And, her expression said, this was
“He said he was going to wait to bring them here.”
“My mother is in a difficult situation herself. My uncle, Mr Lawrence, is very callous in the way he treats her.”
Jem pursed his lips but made no further protests. “Well, if Matthew says do it, you’d better write a letter to your mother and I’ll send young George across to fetch her. He can ride there and I’ll give him the money to hire a carriage to bring her back.” He grinned at her. “No need for an old lady to gallop across the countryside like you did.”
“We didn’t exactly gallop,” she murmured.
“’Twas a hard ride, though. Matt said you did well.” Not many women would have managed that. His new mistress had courage, that was sure. “I think he’ll manage all right. He has a bit of sense between his ears, George does, though he’s never left the district before. Is there somewhere he can hire a carriage in this Newgarth place?”
She nodded. “From the inn, the Bird in Hand. It’s not a large village, but it’s on a fairly busy post road.”
“And is there a carter who can bring your goods and chattels over?”
“Yes. Bessie will know about that. Our maid is very practical.” She couldn’t help a wry smile as she added, “And of an independent turn of mind, too.”
“You write your letter, then, and I’ll go and instruct George on what’s needed.”
“Is it as easy as that?” she marvelled aloud, not being accustomed to having things done for her.
Jem shrugged. “Seems straightforward enough to me. How long will it take your mother to pack, do you think?”
“Give her one day’s notice and she’ll be ready the next. We’re used to moving.” Had done it secretly in the middle of the night many a time to avoid her father’s creditors.
“Well, then, I’ll see young George is ready to leave as soon as your letter is finished. Your mother could be here in two or three days’ time.”
As Jem vanished down the narrow back stairs, Deborah turned towards the broader front staircase, finding herself strangely reluctant to face the other servants while her position here was so anomalous. But she couldn’t go back into the bedroom and disturb Matthew.
There was no sign of anyone in the hall, so she went into the small parlour she’d used the night before. There was no fire lit, though it was a damp, chilly day, with rain threatening. She shivered involuntarily and looked for a bell pull, then smiled at her own folly. Marymoor was not her uncle Lawrence’s well-appointed house, but an old place and wouldn’t have such modern conveniences as bell pulls. She found a handbell on the mantelpiece and rang it loudly.
No one came to answer her summons, so after a while she rang again, feeling irritation begin to rise at this slovenly service.
Once Matthew had made her position as mistress of Marymoor known, she would make sure the servants knew their jobs better than this, she thought angrily as the minutes passed and still no one came. The death of a master was no excuse for neglecting one’s duties.
Leaving the room, she turned towards the back of the hall where she presumed the domestic quarters would lie. As she opened the door she found herself in a short passage that led to a large kitchen, with the servants’ stairs to her left. Simley and an older woman (presumably his wife) were standing by the kitchen window speaking earnestly while they sipped at pots of ale. Dishes lay unwashed on the table, where two rabbits lay waiting to be skinned. The wooden surface was in need of a good scrubbing.
The Simleys turned at her entrance and to her amazement Mr Simley set down his pot and went outside without acknowledging her presence.
The housekeeper stared at her with a hostile expression on her face, then sighed and asked, “Did you want something, miss? You should have rung and waited for someone to come. I’m Mrs Simley, the housekeeper.” And, her expression said, this was
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