A Girl Called Foote

  Smith waited, familiar with her mistress’ tendency to pause for effect though her insistent declarations sometimes hung in the air to be followed by nothing.

  Oh, good God, thought Smith when silence had continued for about five seconds. And how do you expect me to keep the birds from shitting?

  “What would you have me do, Lady?”

  “Only what must be done, Smith!” Lady Clyde was now well into her wide-eyed indignant stage.

  A loud sigh accompanied by a wave of the hand is surely next, thought Smith as she waited to hear what it was that ‘must be done’.

  “Dismiss her; she is not fit to serve in this household,” the Lady announced and then sighed loudly and fluttered her hand. “Offering filth to our guests…”

  Dismiss her? But who would replace her? wondered Smith, incredulously. And be replaced, she must be! There is far too much work in a house this size for our staff to be reduced even by one!

  Smith nearly voiced these thoughts, though of course in a modified manner, but one look at the Lady’s face told her that her input was not wanted. Smith sighed internally and said, “Of course. When shall I speak with her?”

  “Immediately.” Lady Clyde opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a little velvet bag.

  So it does still exist, thought Smith, eyeing the bag.

  Loosening the drawstrings, Lady Clyde dug into it, pulling out a collection of coins which she held out to Smith.

  “This, of course, is not her full-year’s wage, but she is not to expect more.”

  Smith watched as each coin fell heavily into her palm. “She will be gone in the morning. Is that all, Lady Clyde?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” the Lady asked before her mouth snapped back into a thin, tight line.

  Smith cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.”

  Turning to go, she wrapped her fingers around the weight of the coins, resisting the urge to shake the handful, and headed for the door.

  This feels about as heavy as what was owed to me on St. John’s Day.

  In the hall, with the door shut behind her, Smith peered into her hand, thinking.

  She didn’t count it out…I’ve never seen her keep record…but what if Wells were to complain? Surely even the Lady would know that what she gave me was more than a few crowns.

  Smith envisioned the young girl’s freckled face crumpling into despair at the realization of her own dismissal.

  No, Wells wouldn’t say a word. That mouse of a girl wouldn’t raise a fuss over anything, not even curtailed wages.

  The housekeeper began to walk down the hall.

  In fact, she mightn’t expect to be paid at all if I stressed to her how damaging the presentation of the peaches was to the Family…but no. I ought to give her at least some of this.

  Separating a few coins from the rest, Smith dropped them into the front pocket of her apron. The larger portion, she deposited into a snug pocket on the bodice of her dress under her apron. Smoothing the front down, she walked briskly to make certain the coins wouldn’t jingle as she headed toward the kitchen where she expected to find Wells.

  Oh, what am I feeling bad about? With all I endure, I deserve far more than a portion of Wells’ pittance.

  Let’s get this over with.

  “Smith.”

  Sir Jonathan’s voice startled the housekeeper from her thoughts. Turning, she saw him emerging from the library.

  “Sir?” she replied, bobbing a curtsey.

  What now?

  “I would like to speak with you.” He motioned toward the library, looking up and down the hallway.

  In spite of her definite distaste for the man, she was curious as she stepped into the room. He’d never asked to speak with her like this before.

  He swung the door shut and faced her. Three feet away, he peered down at her intently, his eyes riveted steadily on her own.

  “Sir?” she asked, looking away from his steadfast gaze.

  Trying to intimidate me now, are you?

  “Where is the laudanum?” he asked, his voice steely.

  “Wha…pardon me?” Smith’s eyes snapped back to his.

  Laudanum! So that’s what this is about?

  “Where is it?”

  Through the years, when Smith’s gaze had ventured near his face she had beheld amusement, or occasionally disgust, animating his features. Now there was only humorless determination coloring them.

  You want to get sloshed, do you? First the daughter, and now the son!

  Smith dropped her gaze again, suppressing the smile that threatened to reveal her true feelings. Solemnly, she replied, “It is on the top shelf of the tall case in your father’s study, on the right…next to the bottle of brandy.”

  “I’ll have the key for the case,” he said, extending his large hand toward her.

  What if the Lady…?

  Smith’s hesitation was barely perceptible.

  Never mind the Lady! The boy is nearly full grown, and the rightful heir. The Lady can’t argue with that.

  “Of course, sir.” She nodded, reaching into the pocket which held the money she intended to give to Wells.

  I wondered when he would start laying claim to his place in this household. It’s telling that it starts here with a lust for laudanum.

  After a quick search, she identified the requested key and removed it from the key ring. She dropped it onto his palm, watching as the long fingers closed around it.

  “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you. You may go.” There was something that sounded like relief in his voice.

  You didn’t think that would be so easy, did you, sir? But no, I won’t stand between you and drunkenness.

  Curtseying again, Smith swept out of the room in search of Wells, the corners of her mouth twitching.

  Enjoy your new adventure, sir.

 

  Nixing Laudanum

  ~ Jonathan

  As soon as the small silver key was dropped into his hand, Jonathan knew he had been victorious, at least in the first battle.

  Now for the second, he thought as he approached the parlor door.

  His definitive rap upon it echoed loudly down the quiet hallway.

  Through the door came a muffled, “Yes?”

  Jonathan entered to see the Lady sitting at her desk.

  She looked surprised to see him and her hands stretched out over the many papers in front of her. “I thought you were Smith, returned again.”

  What are you hiding, Lady? He wondered as she shuffled the sheets into a tidy stack.

  “What is it?” she asked, resting her folded hands on the top page, which bore the large letterhead of Heath School.

  Pausing just a moment, Jonathan announced, “Sophia is to have no more laudanum.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Just as firmly, Jonathan repeated, “She is to have no more laudanum.”

  The confusion the Lady must have felt registered clearly on her face. “I was not aware of her having had any, though Smith did say something about headaches.”

  She didn’t even know?

  Her response jarred him. He assumed she had encouraged Smith to dose Sophia to ensure her compliance.

  The Lady tilted her head slightly. “Why would you deny her relief?”

  Jonathan forged forward into the crux of his message. “The only true relief she’ll get is when you stop hounding her into a wedding chapel.”

  The Lady inhaled and squared her shoulders, an indignant look on her face. “I am only concerned about my daughter’s future.”

  “Your concern is pushing her out of the bounds of propriety.”

  The cold stare Jonathan expected to see did not manifest itself. Instead, his mother looked at him thoughtfully, worriedly even, and asked, “What can you mean?”

  Because the resentment that he had expected did not materialize, the next portion of his prepared speech spilled out somewhat lamely.

&nb
sp; “She drugs herself. Others are beginning to notice, which will doubtlessly bring dishonor to the name of ‘Clyde’ that you cherish so highly.”

  Jonathan would have relished announcing to her that it was a mere servant girl who had seen what even he had missed in his own sister, but prudence kept him quiet.

  Lady Clyde gazed at him a moment longer, then turned to stare out the window, silently.

  Seeing that his message had hit a mark, though which one he wasn’t sure, Jonathan turned to go. As his hand laid hold of the doorknob, his mother spoke.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  The words were soft, but clear.

  Jonathan paused, aware that something significant had just occurred. Unsure what it was or how to respond, he continued out the door.

 

  Siding Against London

  ~ Jonathan

  Once again, a solitary Jonathan was holding a slip of paper, reading over every word. Sometimes it was Foote’s first poem, but now it was the more recent one.

  “I fear the message that is mine may wrath in you incite, and yet the dangers I foresee compel me now to write…”

  Hmm…not only perceptive, but courageous.

  Suddenly, the door opened and Sophia entered, followed by Elliott.

  Hurriedly, Jonathan tucked the paper into the fold of his sketchbook and shut it. Simultaneously, he determined to wipe what he was certain was a look of weighty mulling off of his face.

  Fortunately, his siblings were arguing as they entered.

  “No!” Elliott hollered. “I don’t want to go! I won’t go!”

  “Elly, really…” began Sophia, going to her place at the table.

  “Don’t call me that! And I won’t go to London!”

  “But we’ll go to the Zoological Society and...”

  “I’ve seen all those stupid animals already. I won’t go.” At this, he folded his arms and assumed as stolid an appearance as a young boy could.

  Sophia looked to Jonathan who simply shrugged and cut himself a bite of ham, the knife squeaking horribly on the porcelain plate.

  What was it? ‘The grip of this reliance has’…?

  “Jonathan, please…” Sophia implored. “Elliott, do sit down and eat.”

  “Please what?” Jonathan asked, chewing vigorously. “I don’t blame him.”

  “Jonathan!” gasped Sophia.

  Elliott, whose arms were still folded across his chest, shifted his eyes from one elder sibling to the other.

  It’s not often we disagree, is it, Elly? thought Jonathan.

  “Jonathan, please!” Sophia said again.

  “What? He’ll be stuck inside when the weather’s bad which is likely to be always at this time of year. I don’t understand the Lady’s determination to go now anyway. She never wants to go until spring. It all strikes me as rather odd.”

  “Never mind!” Sophia threw her arms up. “Elliott, if you’re not going to sit and eat, I’d like to speak with Jonathan alone.”

  Ah, here we go…

  Jonathan belched into his napkin.

  Elliott grabbed a raisin bun from the platter on the table and marched out of the room, his face never losing its dour appearance.

  Once the door had shut, Sophia whispered, “Jonathan, I agree with you, but there’s no use in saying those things. He has to go.”

  “Why does he have to?” Jonathan challenged, forking another bite into his mouth.

  “How can you ask such a stupid question? What else is to be done with him?”

  “He could stay here.”

  “Who would take care of him? You’ll be at Heath. Even Cook and Smith will be in London.”

  “That leaves Ploughman and Foote.”

  “Yes, and Ploughman’s hardly of any use at all anymore. We can’t entrust a lively young boy to her! And Foote…”

  Sophia paused, her plain face dubious.

  “Yes?” Jonathan raised his eyebrows. You have no idea what marvels Foote is capable of.

  “I just doubt Mama would want to leave him in her care, that’s all.” Sophia shrugged.

  Jonathan laughed. “She entrusted you to Miss Gloriana all those years, and certainly Foote is better suited for childcare than that fraudulent bit of fluff. Besides, he has refused to go. It’s not as if you can tie him to the carriage seat. Remember that time he refused to take a bath?”

  Jonathan chuckled, thinking of how he’d found Elliott hiding in a fireplace. The little boy had emerged covered in soot and coughing violently, his clothes ruined.

  “You’re no help at all,” Sophia said, though she giggled.

  “That’s not what Elliott is thinking.” Jonathan smiled and pushed his plate away.

  “Yes, very good, side with the sibling who still sucks his thumb at night. Thank you so much.”

  “Cheer up, dear Sister. You’ve got an entire season in London with the Lady to look forward to.”

  Sophia threw him a sour look. “Ever the encourager, Jonathan.”

  “Come to think of it, you ought to refuse to go, too.”

  “But I want to go. You’ll be off at school and I’m always so bored here when you’re gone.”

  “Please yourself, lunatic.” Jonathan stood to go, lifting his book from the table.

  “Oh,” Sophia said, motioning to it. “Didn’t you want to show me your latest drawing?”

  Jonathan started and clutched the book to his chest, thinking of the poem regarding Sophia’s inebriation tucked inside.

  It may have been her salvation, but the knowledge of it might utterly shame her.

  “Uh…no, not yet. I…I want to finish it completely first.”

  He winked at ‘the girl he loved’, and left the room.

 

 

  Nearly Breaking a Window

  ~ Lydia

  “Is that entire list for me?” Lydia asked Smith who was furiously scribbling on a piece of paper during breakfast.

  “Yes, Foote, it is. You’re not the only one who will be very busy today.”

  “Why so much?” Lydia asked, ignoring the jab.

  “We always clean the house from top to bottom before the Family leaves for an extended period.” Smith bit on her pen, thinking.

  Before they leave? Shouldn’t we clean the house thoroughly just before they return? Lydia wondered. “When do they leave?”

  “Thursday,” Smith murmured, her hand on her forehead.

  Thursday? That’s only three days away! Lydia despaired. How can I clean this entire house that quickly?

  “Oh, and Cook,” Smith continued, “the Lady wants game hens and new peas for supper tomorrow evening. Sir Jonathan will be leaving for school the next morning.”

  “How’m I supposed to carry on here with fancy suppers with Wells gone and only Ploughman to help me?” snarled Cook. “Have you spoken to the Lady about hiring on more help?”

  “I said something to her. She is considering it.”

  Considering it? thought Lydia. Maybe when she sees what a horrible job we do, she’ll realize it’s a necessity.

  “A bit of hard work never killed anyone,” said Smith brightly as she wrote two more tasks on Lydia’s list.

  Cook looked at Lydia over the top of Smith’s head and rolled her eyes. Lydia smiled sardonically in response.

  “Yes…” Smith said, lifting the list from the table and looking it over for another moment. “That should do…for now.”

  She extended the paper to Lydia.

  Snatching it from her, Lydia walked off to retrieve her cleaning caddy, silently grumbling.

  Wells is gone and Cook and I are becoming friendly! What’s next? Will Hardy fall in love with me?

  A heaviness settled over her as she thought again, Wells is gone.

  Forever she would regret that she hadn’t been able to say goodbye. A week earlier she had come to the servants’ dinner table to see an empty spot on the bench and one less bowl on the table.

  “Wells wis
hes you all well,” Smith had said, looking around at all of them. “She was summoned home this morning by her mother.”

  “When will she be back?” Cook had asked, gruffly.

  “I don’t believe she will be back,” Smith had replied, sitting down at her spot.

  Lydia had felt her heart sink and asked, “What was the matter at home?”

  “Perhaps it’s best not to discuss the business of others,” Smith had responded stiffly as she lifted her spoon.

  Lydia continued to wonder about her friend for days.

  Hmmm…where did Wells say she was from? Lydia pondered, rounding the corner. Bigley, was it? Oh, why didn’t I listen more closely when I had the chance?

  If I sent a letter to the Wellingtons of Bigley in Bevelshire would it get there? If I wrote in simple words Wells would likely be able to read it.

  I hope her family is alright.

  Poor, dear, silly Wells. Always worrying about being dismissed, but she ends up being called home by her mother!

  ***

  Lydia stood up from crouching under a little table, an oily rag hanging limply in her hand.

  Never before have I had to polish the wood, every unseen inch of it!

  She was in one of the rarely used bedrooms. Her back ached from maintaining prolonged and awkward positions above and under the furniture.

  And I haven’t read in days…

  Normally, Lydia would spend some time each evening reading at least a few pages of something before snuffing out the rush dip. However, with the present uproar the house was in, she had no energy to do anything but sleep once released from her increased duties.

  I ought to just go home.

  It wasn’t the first time she had thought this since arriving at Whitehall, nor since Wells had departed.

  I work hard there as well, but I’d be with Mama…She knows who I am, understands the things I say.

  The image of her mother’s face filled Lydia’s mind, a lock of brown hair hanging in her eyes, having escaped the linen cap atop her head. Fine lines etched the corners of her eyes and around her mouth.

  She’s aged so much since Father died, and grown so thin…

  Food.

  There’s so little of it at home. I haven’t felt hungry once since I got here. Yes, there is sometimes a lack of butter or tea, but bread, potatoes, vegetables…even beef consistently, though the cuts are poor for the servants. Yes, it would be difficult to say goodbye to that.

  And Jack is there…

  Usually she pushed him from her mind, but in this moment she didn’t. She remembered how especially clever she felt when his shoulders would shake with laughter at something she’d said, remembered the sight of little gray pebbles perched on the tip of his tongue as his eyes gleamed with pride. Then she remembered the reek of his gin-thick breath as his rigid fingers dug into the soft flesh of her throat.