Read Online Rebecca Stubbs: The Vicar's Daughter by Hannah Buckland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hannah Buckland
Tags: Christian fiction
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become a housekeeper in a big establishment. I would buy turpentine by the gallon for lighting fires and provide hand salve for the housemaids, who would, of course, love me and realise their good fortune in working for me.”
“And ya’d give them good quality candles,” added Emma.
“And allow them followers,” Sarah chipped in, showing where her mind was.
“And more half days,” I suggested.
“All very nice I am sure, girls, but look at ya candle, Sarah. Unless ya ’op it quick, ya won’t get ta ya room before it dies out!” declared Emma, thus ending our enjoyable conversation and ensuring we got to sleep before midnight.
I was keenly aware of the wide difference in circumstances between Emma and Sarah, and myself. Their wages were sent, almost intact, back to their families, who relied heavily on their contributions, whereas I was able to use my money (after buying hairpins) as I wished. I tried not to flaunt my comparative wealth and was always pleased when I could buy them a small luxury or when they could enjoy my candlelight.
Sarah’s home was only about two miles from the manor, and she sometimes went there on her half days off. When she came back full of stories of her mother’s baking, father’s news, and younger siblings’ latest achievements, Emma always looked anxiously at me, as if afraid it would rub salt into my wound of being without family. I loved her for her awareness and sensitivity. She had received very little schooling, but she was an excellent observer and learned much through watching others. As the middle child in a large family, she had learned to fight her corner and get herself heard.
My friends at Pemfield were in no wise forgotten, and I often wrote to Miss Miller and Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown was not good at “words on paper,” but Miss Miller kept me up to date regularly with the village news. I was always delighted to see a letter waiting for me in the servants’ hall to inform me of recent births, deaths, or romances in the village. I was also told about which vegetables had done well in the schoolhouse garden this year, how many bushels of apples were stored in the loft for winter, and even how many piglets Mr. Hicks’ sow had reared.
My half days were spent either at Mrs. Crookshank’s home or, if the weather was favourable, with a long walk, armed with something tasty from the village bakery, a good book, and writing paper. As the weather became colder, it was hard to know where to go for a quiet read, so I sometimes retreated to a hay barn or the church. I felt robbed of my brief and fleeting liberty if the cold, wet weather forced me to stay at the manor.
The winter crept on with all the disadvantages that I was used to, but few of its previous pleasures. Our room was cold and dark, the work was heavy with endless fires to keep fed, and there was very little respite to enjoy the beauty of the morning frosts or to anticipate cosy evenings around the family fireside. The only thing I seemed to have to look forward to was the prospect of Master Edward coming to the manor for the Christmas vacation. Even that hope was tinged with doubts about how much he valued our friendship and my own stupidity for over-estimating it.
At last the happy day arrived when I heard that Master Edward was expected to return by luncheon and that Sarah was to light a fire in his room. When I happened to meet him in a corridor that afternoon, he gleefully and quickly ushered me into the library for a catch-up chat. I stayed as long as I thought prudent, hearing about his university work, his lodgings, and his late nights of study. His enthusiasm at seeing me banished all my doubts about our friendship, and I left the library with a lighter heart than I had known for the last three months. Rushing through the rest of my afternoon chores was no problem as my heart was singing and my feet barely touched the ground.
As in many rural parishes during the dark winter months, the second
“And ya’d give them good quality candles,” added Emma.
“And allow them followers,” Sarah chipped in, showing where her mind was.
“And more half days,” I suggested.
“All very nice I am sure, girls, but look at ya candle, Sarah. Unless ya ’op it quick, ya won’t get ta ya room before it dies out!” declared Emma, thus ending our enjoyable conversation and ensuring we got to sleep before midnight.
I was keenly aware of the wide difference in circumstances between Emma and Sarah, and myself. Their wages were sent, almost intact, back to their families, who relied heavily on their contributions, whereas I was able to use my money (after buying hairpins) as I wished. I tried not to flaunt my comparative wealth and was always pleased when I could buy them a small luxury or when they could enjoy my candlelight.
Sarah’s home was only about two miles from the manor, and she sometimes went there on her half days off. When she came back full of stories of her mother’s baking, father’s news, and younger siblings’ latest achievements, Emma always looked anxiously at me, as if afraid it would rub salt into my wound of being without family. I loved her for her awareness and sensitivity. She had received very little schooling, but she was an excellent observer and learned much through watching others. As the middle child in a large family, she had learned to fight her corner and get herself heard.
My friends at Pemfield were in no wise forgotten, and I often wrote to Miss Miller and Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown was not good at “words on paper,” but Miss Miller kept me up to date regularly with the village news. I was always delighted to see a letter waiting for me in the servants’ hall to inform me of recent births, deaths, or romances in the village. I was also told about which vegetables had done well in the schoolhouse garden this year, how many bushels of apples were stored in the loft for winter, and even how many piglets Mr. Hicks’ sow had reared.
My half days were spent either at Mrs. Crookshank’s home or, if the weather was favourable, with a long walk, armed with something tasty from the village bakery, a good book, and writing paper. As the weather became colder, it was hard to know where to go for a quiet read, so I sometimes retreated to a hay barn or the church. I felt robbed of my brief and fleeting liberty if the cold, wet weather forced me to stay at the manor.
The winter crept on with all the disadvantages that I was used to, but few of its previous pleasures. Our room was cold and dark, the work was heavy with endless fires to keep fed, and there was very little respite to enjoy the beauty of the morning frosts or to anticipate cosy evenings around the family fireside. The only thing I seemed to have to look forward to was the prospect of Master Edward coming to the manor for the Christmas vacation. Even that hope was tinged with doubts about how much he valued our friendship and my own stupidity for over-estimating it.
At last the happy day arrived when I heard that Master Edward was expected to return by luncheon and that Sarah was to light a fire in his room. When I happened to meet him in a corridor that afternoon, he gleefully and quickly ushered me into the library for a catch-up chat. I stayed as long as I thought prudent, hearing about his university work, his lodgings, and his late nights of study. His enthusiasm at seeing me banished all my doubts about our friendship, and I left the library with a lighter heart than I had known for the last three months. Rushing through the rest of my afternoon chores was no problem as my heart was singing and my feet barely touched the ground.
As in many rural parishes during the dark winter months, the second
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