It was a framed plan of the entire house. Most interesting, especially as H.H. had made it very clear that housemaids must only enter those rooms allotted to them, to perform their allotted tasks, at the allotted time. So when I went exploring, knowledge of this plan would be invaluable. For instance, it confirmed what I’d already suspected, that the maids’ bedrooms were on the top floor, above me now – so I could slip indoors by the side entrance and up to my room by the bachelor wing staircase, if I was careful not to be spotted.
But I was fascinated by the plan in any case. Why was there a large dressing room attached to most of the married couples’ bedrooms – when their rooms were already larger than those allocated to my bachelors and the single ladies? I also tracked down all the W.C.s – perfect places of refuge if one were caught in an unallotted place. Ditto bathrooms – Wenlock Court was amply provided with these, as H.H. had already pointed out, since this made the housemaids’ job so much easier – no carrying can after can of water to bedrooms for hip baths. And there were two housemaids’ closets on the main bedroom floor; mine was between bachelors four and five – though it wasn’t just mine, I shared it with Gladys (commonly known as ‘Glad’, I’d now discovered.) Her empire included the married couples’ rooms on the east side of the house. And we were to make all our beds together because that was much quicker like that. Which it certainly was, since all beds in Wenlock Court, whether for bachelors or couples, were doubles – except for servants’ beds, of course.
I learnt that plan by heart – as I also learnt the long list of rules posted in the maids’ sitting room. It’s always worth learning the rules – that way you know what’s worth doing – they wouldn’t tell you not to if it wasn’t interesting. Not that I was going to break all of them. It’s always best to keep some very ostentatiously, then they don’t suspect you of ignoring the others. So I had learnt something at that rotten boarding school – but not as much as I should have done, as you’ll see.
One rule I decided to keep was about not missing meals. Meals figured largely in the daily routine at Wenlock Court; they were all at different times and different places. The timing of nursery meals didn’t affect me, but that of The Family (the nobs) I really did have to know, because we worked around them. We cleaned our downstairs rooms before they were officially up. Then from 8.00 to 8.30 still, sewing and housemaids ate their breakfast in our sitting room, kitchen staff ate in the kitchen, Mr Taylor and Mrs Salter in the housekeeper’s room, male staff in the servants’ hall.
At 8.30 Second and Third were off delivering tea trays and hot water to those visiting ladies who were unaccompanied by maids. I only had to carry the trays up from the still room and fill the hot water jugs in my closet, because visiting gentlemen without valets were waited on by footmen. At 8.53 we had to rush downstairs – tidy – and assemble in the service corridor ready to process into the main hall for family prayers at five to nine. (More about them later!)
Nine o’clock was Family breakfast, giving us the chance to rush upstairs and service the bedrooms. The china jugs for cold water in each bedroom had to be refilled – I carried the tall, brass can used for that on my head, Indian style – beds had to be aired, and slops emptied. I didn’t put those on my head, since some of the bachelors used the chamber pots in the bedside cabinets, despite there being a W.C. down the corridor. Though I can’t just blame the nobs here, since the footmen were just as bad, so Fifth informed me when I grumbled. And at least each chamber pot I had to empty was adorned with a big gold ‘S’ above the family crest! Everything boasted that crest: crockery, cutlery, sheets, towels, all the innumerable brass buttons on the footmen’s livery – and every book in the library had it stamped in gold on its leather binding.
We continued making beds, sweeping and dusting, and doing our weekly work – special tasks allotted to each day of the week – until 12.30, our dinner time.
All staff (except the nursery and kitchen) partook of this in the servants’ hall, waited on by Billy, who had to gobble his own dinner at top speed. Underservants had to assemble in the corridor outside the hall five minutes early, and remain standing to attention while the upper servants filed past, Mrs Salter and Mr Taylor at their head. Talking was not allowed, so we munched silently through roast meat, or pies, or stew – all served with lots of fresh vegetables, nicely cooked by the second kitchenmaid.
Then puddings – rice, jam rolypoly, spotted dick, fruit tart – were dished out by Mrs Salter. When all the underservants had been served the entire room rose to its collective feet, and stood in silence as housekeeper, butler, ladies’ maids and valets left for the housekeepers’ room, where they consumed their puddings in stately privacy, waited on by Billy. We nine maids then picked up our bowls, and, led by H.H., processed out in order of rank down the corridor, sharp right, along to the sitting room – where we all sat down again, ate our well-cooled puddings and drank tea, freshly brewed by the junior stillroom maid.
The 1.30 bell for Family lunch was the signal for we first four housemaids to leap to our feet, seize our weapons (in my case, dustpan and brush) and process out again in order of rank into the main rooms, where we all turned to our allotted tasks: H.H., magazine tidying; Second, cushion straightening and plumping; Third, dusting; Fourth, (me) grate tidying and hearth sweeping. We had to be finished by 2.30, the end of Family lunch, after which time we were free to mend our stockings, read – and exercise. Lady Stokesley was a great believer in exercise for herself and all her staff. Glad grumbled that if her ladyship did our jobs she wouldn’t be so keen on parading round with her chows, but I couldn’t wait to get out of doors.
Servants weren’t allowed in the gardens, of course, but were free to roam in the parkland and woods, so the opportunities were endless. Billy and I played leapfrog, and any game we could think of involving a bat and ball. I taught him to make and use a boomerang, and he took me ratting at one of the local farms, with a friend of his who owned a very frisky terrier. Billy’s friend spoke with a strong local accent, so I practised that while Billy mimicked my Scots. When Billy had to go back on duty there were still trees to climb – and a nicely secluded lake to swim in.
H.H. had thoughtfully warned me about going near that particular lake, since the gentlemen sometimes swam there, morning or evening, ‘Er – unclothed’. The lake was overhung with trees, and had a high hedge all round. The only way in was by a chained and padlocked gate with a notice on it: ‘MEN ONLY – key available in the butler’s pantry.’ Luckily the gate was an ornamental one, with plenty of hand and footholds. Billy had told me that gardeners only went in to tidy up first thing – and male staff were only allowed to swim when there were no guests staying. So I was able to have my swim in the afternoon. It was all very convenient.
After my swim I’d change my library book. The side window of his lordship’s library looked out on to some extremely gloomy shrubbery and the blank back wall of the stables and hayloft, so I could climb up the ornamental stonework unobserved. Once through into the widow recess I remained unobserved. since every bay window in the house had a double set of curtains, and in the library both sets were kept half drawn to protect the books from sunlight. So even if someone was in there, I could escape again unnoticed, but it was generally empty this late in the afternoon. Her ladyship did provide Religious Tract Society novels for the maids’ sitting room, but I felt these lacked charm. His lordship’s shelf on Polar exploration was much more appealing.
Tea was at 4.30, in our sitting room – but without the presence of H.H., who was honoured by an invitation from Mrs Salter at this meal. So ‘tea’ became a rather informal affair; the others often disappeared for a spot of illicit fraternisation in the servants hall – I just disappeared.
No-one appeared to notice as long as we all reappeared in our evening uniform in time to light fires in the visitors’ bedrooms at 5.00 – except that gentlemen didn’t usually have bedroom fires in the autumn, and didn’t require me laying out their evening clothes as Se
cond and Third had to do for unattended ladies – valets and footmen performed that task, too. So I only really had to reappear at 7.00 and produce jugs of hot water for said valets and footmen. Next, the 7.15 dressing bell sent the nobs up and us down, to tidy our respective domains.
We then retired backstage to await the end of the procession which took them out of the drawing room, across the great hall, and into dinner. As the dining room door closed behind them we processed in our turn out of the wings to take centre stage for a spot of cushion-plumping, duster wielding, etc., before disappearing upstairs to tidy the bedrooms. How those bachelors could make such a mess shaving I couldn’t imagine – then.
By 9.15 we were downstairs in our sitting room again, eating our final meal of the day – a supper of cold meats, salad, bread and butter.
Yes, it was pure luxury after the herring gutting.
Chapter Twenty Four
But, you will be asking, didn’t I feel demeaned – humiliated, even – by having to wait hand and foot on the idle rich? Didn’t my heart fill with rage when, after his lordship had read the passage from the Bible at Family prayers, we had to fall to our knees and listen to her ladyship praying that her servants be granted the humility to do their duty, in that humble station in life which it had pleased God to place them?
How did I feel that first Sunday, when, all clothed in identical black bonnets and capes and with H.H. at our head, we processed across the park to the village church, to sit, still in strict order of precedence, in the back pew reserved for female servants? And afterwards, how did I keep my face calm as we scuttled rapidly out immediately the blessing was over, so that we could line up on the grass – in rank order – and bob curtseys to our betters as they emerged from the house of a God who believed in the equality of all men and women?
Yes, it was difficult to keep my face calm – I nearly choked that first Sunday. I was gulping all the way back, and had to rush up to the housemaid’s closet and collapse over the draining board. Gosh, I hadn’t laughed so much in years. It was so funny! And such fun.
I wasn’t acting in just any old play – it was a rip-roaring, absolutely ridiculous, Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, and I threw myself into my part with gusto. You remember that song of Colonel Calverley’s in ‘Patience’, ‘When I first put this uniform on,?’ Well, it was just like that for me. Initially that word ‘uniform’ took the edge off my delight – too many associations with school. So when H.H. announced that all maids would be donning full uniform tomorrow, and that Glad would take me up to the sewing room to try mine on, I had been far from enthusiastic.
Then I looked in the mirror. Our morning uniform was a blue and white striped cotton dress, with a white, lace-edged mob cap, drawn into frills by matching blue ribbons, and wearing it I looked – different. The bodice was closely fitted, and showed a small but shapely bosom above a nipped-in waist. The full skirt was just the right length to display a pair of slim, black-stockinged ankles – and those soft frills framing my face…
Glad snorted. ‘Leg of mutton sleeves, for goodness’ sake! What century does her ladyship think she’s living in? My Mam wore them when she was in service.’
Lucy said, ‘It’s not bad on you, though, Eve – and with your hair being curly, that cap makes you looks proper fetching!’ She turned to Glad, ‘At least you don’t have to buy your own outfit here, like you do in most places.’
Glad was having none of that. ‘I’d sooner buy me own, and get something smart.’
As I tied my starched white apron round my waist and buttoned the straps of its bib, I announced, ‘I think I like ma new uniform.’
Glad hissed, ‘You won’t, not when you’ve got to wear this!’ She picked up a black object, holding it away from herself as if it smelt. ‘A bonnet! Her ladyship makes us wear a bonnet to church – in this day and age! No wonder her maids are always leaving. And we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, too. Soon as my two years are up, I’m off.’
Curious I asked, ‘Why aren’t ye away the noo?’
‘You get yourself a bad name if you leave a place too soon – unless it’s a bad one.’
‘But if this is a bad one?’
They both looked surprised, and Glad said, ‘It’s not a bad one. Pretty good, really. Plenty of food, and regular time off, for us housemaids, anyway, because of Lucy here, and two kept in the stillroom. Some places you have to do the mending, lay all the trays, the lot. I’ll never go where there’s no stillroom, not no more. So me Mam said I had to stick it out here, even if her ladyship is so old-fashioned it’s not true. I mean, fancy having to bob every time a guest passes you! I’d sooner turn and face the wall whenever one of the family was around, like we had to at my last but one.’
Lucy joined in. ‘Yes, at my sister’s place the lady gets really shirty if she so much as catches sight of a housemaid in the corridor!’ I wondered idly why, in that case, we had uniforms at all? Wouldn’t it be better to go round in a white sheet – or naked, even, rather than… ‘Now, here’s your afternoon uniform. Let’s have a look at the fit. I had to take it in, Sarah was heavier than you, and it’s still a bit on the short side, too, even with the hem let down as far as it’ll go. But I think it’ll do – just have a look at yourself in the mirror.’
I swung round to view my reflection. Jiminy cricket! This one was even better; a dramatic black dress in the same distinctive style, but with deep, fitted cuffs and a high collar, all made of pure white linen and gleaming with starch. The collar was tied at the neck with a bow of black ribbon. Added to this ensemble was an apron of fine white cambric, sporting a deep frill of guipure embroidery round the yoke. And the cap! A white froth of muslin and lace, was finished off at the back by two long, wide muslin streamers flowing down to my waist – where their lace-edged ends fluttered gently to rest amidst the wide white sash bow of my apron.
Lucy said, ‘I’ll have the others ready for Saturday – oh, and don’t forget to put your laundry out then – it’s collected that morning.’
Gosh, not only were they going to pay me, feed me, clean my room for me (Sixth did that) – they were going to wash all my clothes, too. And best of all, I would be wearing this wonderful uniform – or costume, rather, because that’s what it was to me. I could just see the programme now: ‘Eve Gunn, a Scots housemaid – played by Miss Evelyn Courtney.’
I could hardly bear to tear myself away from Lucy’s long mirror; I really did like myself in uniform – and so, I shortly discovered, did the footmen.
I was astounded. Despite Mairi’s warnings at Lerwick – and Mungo’s blushes – I’d still been thinking of myself as the kind of girl that men look upon merely as a friend. But now I was gratified to discover that I was the object of advances – familiarities, even – though not so gratified as to put up with them. So when William pinched my behind, and Henry tried to kiss me in the housemaid’s closet – kiss me, the cheek of it! – I reacted in an extremely unfeminine manner.
They went away with bruised toes and painful ribs, and I presume they warned Fred, because his approaches were so half-hearted I could barely crack his shin before he escaped. So my brief role as Eve the Temptress was soon over.
Amazingly, I got credit for this little episode, too. Mr Taylor passed word to Mrs Salter, who informed H.H., who commended me – for my ‘Scottish commonsense, and lack of flightiness.’
‘Oh, thank you, Doris!’ If only Mairi could have heard that one. But those first days at Wenlock Court I could do no wrong – I was the very model of a humble housemaid. Behind the scenes it was: ‘Yes sir,’ ‘No sir,’ on stage: ‘Certainly, madam,’ (bob), ‘Thank you, my lord,’ (bob), ‘If you please, my lady,’ (bob).
Not much of a speaking part, but lots of action. And not just with a dustpan and brush, either.
I’d discovered the first evening that the wall in front of my bedroom window was actually one of the battlements. A notice posted beside my window commanded: ‘Servants must not go out on to the roof, other
than in the event of the cry of ‘FIRE!’ being heard.’ I cried softly, ‘Fire’, hoisted myself up on to the high sill and climbed out through the window. I discovered that the arrow slits were not phoney at all – you could see through them without being seen; perfect for reconnaissance. And the battlements were so high I could travel round the whole roof by ducking below the cut-out bits, and then, if the coast was clear, climb down the outside of the house. The other maids grumbled about having to be in by 9.30 every evening, ‘Not that there’s anything to do in this dead and alive hole, but still…’ I never complained.
Besides, staying in the housemaids’ sitting room every evening would have been pretty boring. It might have been different if there’d been any interesting gossip to listen to, about the Family, or the expected guests – especially a certain dark-haired doctor. But not being local, or intending to stay at Wenlock Court for very long (apart from H.H., who didn’t gossip anyway), my fellow maids simply weren’t particularly interested in the nobs. I did learn that Dr Travers was ‘a nice gentleman,’ and ‘always polite,’ though not as good fun as Mr Brandon and Lord Rothbury, or even Lord Ernest, who’d have a joke with you when he was in the mood. Mr Parton? The verdict was, very shy, but a good tipper. ‘Not as good as Lord Rothbury, though.’ That was Norah (Second).
Glad retorted, ‘Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?’ Gosh, we got tips, too – was there no end to the delights of this job?
But when it came to trying to find out more about Dr Travers I was just being ‘nosey’. I protested, ‘But he is her ladyship’s nephew.’
‘So what?’ That was Glad. ‘Most of the nobs are someone’s nephew – breed like rabbits, that lot do.’ Glad’s attitude towards her betters fell somewhat short of that humble deference for which her ladyship prayed every morning.