Read Online Rebecca Stubbs: The Vicar's Daughter by Hannah Buckland - Free Book Online
Authors: Hannah Buckland
Tags: Christian fiction
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seemed vaguely interesting in the surrounding intellectual wilderness of his aunt’s home would soon pale into insignificance compared with the brilliant minds of Oxford. Yet, I argued with myself, had we met in another situation, for example in Pemfield, we would have not been so very different in estate. This drew my thoughts on to think about one’s class and position in life. Was it based on our parents’ lot in life, or money, family name, education, or purely one’s present circumstances? Was it right or biblical to question one’s place in society, or should we always “be content with such things as ye have”?
As I got more accustomed to my work, it seemed laughable that at one time I didn’t know a banister broom from a staircase broom, or the recipe for furniture paste. I was less exhausted at the end of the day, and although the job occupied me physically, my mind was free to wander and ponder. I watched the daily lives of Miss Davenport and Miss Annabelle, and I began to wonder who really led the most restricted life: the servants or the served? Their lives were dictated by tradition and family expectations from birth. Unless they married “well,” they would be social failures and nobodies. To marry well often meant suspending one’s own dreams of Mr. Right and marrying a man of wealth whose family reflected the values and interests of your own, no matter how ugly, old, obnoxious, or incompatible he might be.
It had been decided that Miss Davenport should have her coming out at the next London season. The family would arrive in London during May for the opening of the exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts and would spend two months in the capital, socialising in a far larger and “more suitable” circle than their country life at Barton Manor allowed. Mrs. Davenport had been complaining for years, or so I was told, that there was such a limited selection of notable families in their part of Sussex to invite to dinner, and the locals were more likely to talk about turnips and cabbages than Turner and Constable. Now, at last, they were going to immerse themselves in a society worthy of them.
Although it was only October, the young ladies were already full of dreams of concerts, balls, dinners, visits, exhibitions, and strolls in parks. They would meet other lively girls—so unlike their parents’ normal visitors—and be introduced to handsome and admiring men. Society would be amazed that two of its most sparkling treasures had remained hidden in the provinces for so long.
Their excitement was infectious, causing Eliza and Jane to talk about nothing else as they helped to plan wardrobes, try out new hairstyles, and mix up new beauty treatments. The weekly Home Notes magazine was studied with great enthusiasm, especially the “Fashions from Paris” page, where the latest patterns were discussed and recommended. Paper patterns were now also available to reproduce Paris fashions accurately—even in remote, rural Barton.
It made us smile that more material was used for the elaborate sleeves than for the narrow waists. But secretly we all longed to try them on and look glamorous for once. The fashionable dresses were clearly not made for women who had to do anything more than look decorative. Suddenly, the normal frocks of the two girls seemed most outdated and provincial, so they were discarded, much to the delight of the lady’s maids who acquired them. Eliza and Jane were to accompany the ladies to the great metropolis, and as neither had been there before, they were looking forward to their own adventures. Emma, Sarah, and I were willing volunteers for any new hairstyle that needed to be practised, but Mrs. Milton made it clear that no such elaborate style should be worn by us “above stairs,” as it was not befitting of our rank. Laughter rang from our rooms as styles were attempted and aborted.
We housemaids had more mundane matters to attend to—all the light muslin curtains had to
As I got more accustomed to my work, it seemed laughable that at one time I didn’t know a banister broom from a staircase broom, or the recipe for furniture paste. I was less exhausted at the end of the day, and although the job occupied me physically, my mind was free to wander and ponder. I watched the daily lives of Miss Davenport and Miss Annabelle, and I began to wonder who really led the most restricted life: the servants or the served? Their lives were dictated by tradition and family expectations from birth. Unless they married “well,” they would be social failures and nobodies. To marry well often meant suspending one’s own dreams of Mr. Right and marrying a man of wealth whose family reflected the values and interests of your own, no matter how ugly, old, obnoxious, or incompatible he might be.
It had been decided that Miss Davenport should have her coming out at the next London season. The family would arrive in London during May for the opening of the exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts and would spend two months in the capital, socialising in a far larger and “more suitable” circle than their country life at Barton Manor allowed. Mrs. Davenport had been complaining for years, or so I was told, that there was such a limited selection of notable families in their part of Sussex to invite to dinner, and the locals were more likely to talk about turnips and cabbages than Turner and Constable. Now, at last, they were going to immerse themselves in a society worthy of them.
Although it was only October, the young ladies were already full of dreams of concerts, balls, dinners, visits, exhibitions, and strolls in parks. They would meet other lively girls—so unlike their parents’ normal visitors—and be introduced to handsome and admiring men. Society would be amazed that two of its most sparkling treasures had remained hidden in the provinces for so long.
Their excitement was infectious, causing Eliza and Jane to talk about nothing else as they helped to plan wardrobes, try out new hairstyles, and mix up new beauty treatments. The weekly Home Notes magazine was studied with great enthusiasm, especially the “Fashions from Paris” page, where the latest patterns were discussed and recommended. Paper patterns were now also available to reproduce Paris fashions accurately—even in remote, rural Barton.
It made us smile that more material was used for the elaborate sleeves than for the narrow waists. But secretly we all longed to try them on and look glamorous for once. The fashionable dresses were clearly not made for women who had to do anything more than look decorative. Suddenly, the normal frocks of the two girls seemed most outdated and provincial, so they were discarded, much to the delight of the lady’s maids who acquired them. Eliza and Jane were to accompany the ladies to the great metropolis, and as neither had been there before, they were looking forward to their own adventures. Emma, Sarah, and I were willing volunteers for any new hairstyle that needed to be practised, but Mrs. Milton made it clear that no such elaborate style should be worn by us “above stairs,” as it was not befitting of our rank. Laughter rang from our rooms as styles were attempted and aborted.
We housemaids had more mundane matters to attend to—all the light muslin curtains had to
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