Lady Rose's Education (3 page)

September, 1891

Mr. Wyndham looked thoughtful.

”If you don't mind me asking, Lady Rose, would you say your relationship with your lady's maid was quite ordinary? I am asking merely from my personal curiosity, so you are not obliged to answer. Obviously I have not witnessed first-hand any dealings between a gentlewoman and her maid, but from the way you describe the relationship between you and Miss McKinnon, it sounds like there was a great familiarity between you. It appears more like a friendship than a master and servant kind of relationship.”

”We live in close quarters with our servants, Mr. Wyndham. In jolly times and in sorrowful times we are in it together. It is only natural...” Her voice dwindled down until it was inaudible. She looked out of the window, hiding her face from view.

”Yes, maybe I had some illusions that Norah was my friend,” she admitted grudgingly, ”but as it turned out, she was not. Indeed she was not.”

From Lady Rose's phrase book:

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!

Brightest in Dungeons, Liberty! thou art:

For there thy habitation is the heart –

The heart which love of thee alone can bind.

George Gordon Byron (Sonnet on Chillon)

May, 1891

Lady Rose frowned.

”Do you mean to say you still have not read it?” she asked Norah. She was holding a book of poetry by Lord Byron, with the verse in question marked with a pretty embroidered mark.

”I have not had the chance,” Norah said. She had no intention of describing her work day to Lady Rose. She had only been in the house for three days, but she had already learnt that the schedule was similar every day. Between the times when she was combing and dressing Lady Rose she was supposed to help the housemaids with their tasks, and Mrs. Motley supervised them all with a hawk's eye. Mrs. Motley was a fair governor, but there were two things she didn't tolerate in her staff: idleness and gossip.

After the evening meal in the servants' hall Norah usually retired to her room (and Nellie's). The oil-lamp they had in the room didn't produce nearly enough of light for her to read a verse. She was not in the habit of reading anyway. She had left school at the age of 12, and her aunt and uncle Barrington owned precisely three books: the Bible, a recipe book that aunt Sarah had inherited from her mother when she was a young wife, and an etiquette book.

Sullenly Lady Rose said, ”But I gave it to you several days ago, and I was hoping we could discuss it now.”

Then she cocked her head up like a happy little finch and said, ”Never mind that, you can read it now.”

”We must begin to choose your dress for dinner, My Lady,” Norah protested. ”There may be something that I need to mend.”

”There is plenty of time for that. Sit here and read it,” Lady Rose said, signalling the pretty chaise longue by the window. She waited by it with the book opened from the correct place.

”My Lady, I couldn't!” Norah said.

”Don't be silly, Norah, ” Lady Rose said. ”If I say you can, you can. Please sit yourself down.”

Norah sat at the edge of the chaise, her whole being protesting this violation of the rules.

”That is not how one sits on a chaise,” Lady Rose said. ”Straighten your legs. Have you not seen those paintings of voluptuous women posing on these things?”

Norah stretched her legs in an awkward manner and laid them on the chaise. She was trying to sit neatly up and hold her back straight, but the piece of furniture was not designed for this kind of position. After a small struggle she gave in and leaned her head against the backrest, arriving in a reluctantly reclining position.

The worst part was that to relax her body was an almost impossible temptation. Never in her life had she spent so much time on her feet as she had in her new post.

”Here is the book,” Lady Rose said, placing the book into her hands. She moved to the other end of the room, presumably to let Norah read in privacy, but only a moment later she hovered back towards the window.

Norah tried to concentrate on the verse in front of her, but she had some difficulty with it. It was a windy day, and the window next to her clattered and creaked every time a bout of wind hit it.

The poem itself was troublesome, too. It was full of long words and exclamation marks. Hard as she tried, Norah could not make out the meaning of the words under Lady Rose's expectant eye.

She glanced at Lady Rose and returned her gaze on the page, starting from the beginning once again.

Lady Rose could not wait any longer but exclaimed, ”'Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind', isn't it glorious! Doesn't it make you want to achieve precisely that? A chainless mind, now that is something to aim for.”

Norah read the first row again. After hearing Lady Rose pronounce it out loud she understood the line.

”Why can't they say things in plain English? Why does it have to be so – flowery?” she muttered.

”Just because the language is decorative doesn't mean that the things said aren't true and real,” Lady Rose said. ”Poetic language is like music: it communicates directly to our ear and our soul.”

Norah was not sure how to reply to this eloquence, so she kept her eyes on the page. Then she made a gesture to get up again.

”I should really begin to fix your hair now, My Lady,” she said nervously.

”Let us finish one task, before hastily rushing into the next,” Lady Rose said. ”That is the only way to ever complete anything.”

Norah sank unhappily onto the chaise again.

”I despise people who see art and poetry as some kind of decoration on life's surface,” Lady Rose said. ”My mother is one of those people. Was your mother one of those people?”

Norah flinched.

”I... I don't know. She really only wanted to have the prayer book read to her, especially during the final days.”

Lady Rose was not easily flustered.

”Still, you should think yourself fortunate. At least you had a loving mother.”

”You still have yours,” Norah pointed out.

”Well, I do and I don't,” Lady Rose said enigmatically.

”What do you mean, My Lady?” Norah asked. Now she was sincerely curious.

”When I was a child I had a nanny and later, a governess, Miss Marion. She was a great chum of mine, but she married a few years ago and moved away. But my parents – well, my mother has always kept her distance. I only ever saw her for an hour after dinner.”

Lady Rose contemplated for a moment and added, ”Only recently she has started to take more of an interest, now that the time is nearing to marry me off.”

Norah didn't know what to say. She concentrated on the poem again.

”What does 'when thy sons to fetters are consigned' mean?” she asked after a while. Precisely then there was a short knock on the door and Nellie stepped in.

Norah bounced up from the chaise and on to her feet. For a moment Nellie looked at her as if she had just witnessed something indecent. Then she turned towards Lady Rose and directed her words only to her, ignoring Norah who was standing in attention and twiddling with the book in her hands.

”Excuse me, My Lady,” Nellie said. ”Her Ladyship asked me to tell you that she needs to talk with you in her room immediately.”

”Right this second? What in the heavens' name can be such urgent business?” Lady Rose said. Nellie shrugged. It was not
her
business to know what the Countess might want to say.

”Fine, tell her that I will be there presently,” Lady Rose said. Nellie curtsied and left the room without glancing at Norah's direction.

Lady Rose sighed and said, ”You have better go then, Norah. Come back here when the dinner gong is rung.”

Norah was grateful that the lady clearly did not have any idea of her mortification.

Norah sprinted across the alabaster corridor. She only had one objective in her head: to get to her room. Once she got there, she would be free to collapse on her bed and cry. Her footsteps echoed as if there was another anxious person following her. She glanced behind her, but nobody was there. She hastened ahead.

”Norah!” Mrs. Motley said, appearing from her room. Norah was forced to come to a halt.

”Where do you think you're going, love?” Mrs. Motley said.

”I am only – I need to change my apron,” Norah said and looked down. She could feel a hot tear making its way down and out.

”To change your apron or to have a good old weep?” Mrs. Motley said. Norah's silence was enough of a reply.

”Come, let us go in my room and have a little chat,” Mrs. Motley said. Norah had no choice but to follow her.

”Come, come,” Mrs. Motley said while they walked. Her friendly tone gave Norah an inkling that Mrs. Motley was not going to scold a minion after all. The housekeeper was using a kind of voice that one uses when comforting a child. She was filling all silences with soothing clucking. ”This way, love, this way.”

Norah had not been in Mrs. Motley's room before. It was almost as sparsely decorated as her own room, but it was bigger and equipped with a table and four chairs around it. A faint whiff of milky tea lingered in the air, and as inevitably as a plaster for the wounded, a cup appeared in front of her.

”I know the girls have told you to be afraid of me, but I understand you better than you think,” Mrs. Motley said to her, once they were both sitting down. ”When I came to this house thirty years ago, I was very much like you: a young girl who had just lost her mother.”

Norah was glad to have the cup of tea to hold on to. Although Mrs. Motley was being kind, it still felt like she was in the teacher's chamber getting a proper talking-to. Another memory popped in her head: that time when her mother felt she needed to explain some basic facts about life to Norah. The gist of her message was that Norah must shed blood each month for the same reason that a flower must shed pollen. The conversation had been punishingly awkward for them both.

Mrs. Motley continued in a kindly voice, ”Child, I am not a fool. I can see that it was not your idea to sit and read in Lady Rose's room.”

”Did Nellie tell you?” Norah asked, horrified.

”Yes, she couldn't come to me fast enough,” Mrs. Motley said with a curt laugh. She took a sip from her own cup and paused. ”You do understand why Nellie bears a grudge, don't you? You have the job she has been working and striving for and she remains a parlour maid. You did not even get the post through any effort of your own. You got it by accident. No, not
that
accident...” Mrs. Motley put her hand on her mouth and backtracked.

”By happenstance, is what I meant to say.”

Norah was appalled by this injustice. ”Is that true? Nellie should have the post then. I will tell Lady Rose –”

”Don't be daft, child. Do you think that Lady Rose could tolerate Nellie's chatter for hours each day?”

Mrs. Motley took a deep breath and plunged into a speech.

”You are not yet well acquainted with the life in service, so I will tell you something. There needs to be a connection between a lady and her maid, a certain similarity of temperament I will call it. However,
however
, an excessive familiarity between the mistress and servant is never a good idea, and I say this more for your sake than Lady Rose's. There are limits. Lady Rose has fine intentions, but you must not let her knock down all boundaries. Do not let yourself to think that she is your friend.”

”But how can I –” Norah protested, but Mrs. Motley dismissed it by an elegant gesture.

”You are only beginning to learn the rules of the house. Lady Rose has no right to ask you to break them. You must convince her to let you do your job.”

Norah nodded her head, in a hurry to have this over with rather than in agreement. She stared at a lonely drop making its way down the copper cheek of the pot. Finally it reached the wooden surface of the table and met its fate.

Mrs. Motley was not done yet. ”For all her good intentions, her lack of sense of propriety may end up getting you fired. That's not what you want, is it?”

Norah shook her head. Mrs. Motley stared into the depths of her cup unhappily. She had a formidable nose, and now she blew it forcibly.

”I would never say this to Nellie, but I believe you are not a gossip: this is a sad house. It has been a sad house for almost as long as I have been here. Lady Letitia, Lady Rose and Lord Charles' upbringing has lacked some... how should I say it, something is just lacking. I think they have been denied the chance to learn the aristocratic etiquette properly. They should have had a good governess all these years. Their governess left to get married four years ago, and I thought a new one would be hired, but it never happened. And then what happened to poor Elsie –”

Norah plucked up her courage and said, ”Nellie said something about Elsie and... Lord Charles. What did she mean by it?”

”If Nellie kept her tongue in check, how likely is it that you'll get it out of me?” Mrs. Motley laughed heartily. ”A line was crossed, that's all. I will do my blasted all to make sure it is not crossed again.”

Norah's cup was empty, and she supposed from Mrs. Motley's concluding tone that the agony was coming to a close. But now Mrs. Motley was looking at her carefully, with her head tilted to the side.

”I have been wondering whether to approach this subject with you or not, but I think I will.”

Norah waited with some trepidation.

”Your mother worked here a long time ago, didn't she?” Mrs. Motley said.

”Yes,” Norah said surprised. ”That is what my aunt told me, though my mother had never talked about it with me.”

”I thought so. I remember Mary well. You are the spitting image of her.”

”What was she like?” Norah asked, leaning forward. ”I mean, what was she like when she was young? What did people think about her here?”

”About Mary? She was a good worker. She was very
practical
. Especially for such a young person.” Mrs. Motley mused for a moment. ”She was so practical that it was like an art form to her.”

”Really? Maybe I am the same,” Norah said.

”Maybe,” Mrs. Motley said but she looked doubtful. ”Of course she was a real beauty, too. It didn't go unnoticed. She left this house with your father. He was an underbutler here.”

”I did not know that,” Norah said. ”You see, I was only two years old when my father died, and I don't remember him. My mother said he worked in a pub.”

”I think your mother had her reasons for cutting her ties with this house and never talking about it,” Mrs. Motley said gently. ”If I was you, I would not spend too much time speculating. Water under the bridge.”

Norah hummed her consent.

”In any case, I am glad that her daughter has returned here with us. There is something very satisfying about making a full circle,” Mrs. Motley said. ”Did I hear that you want to learn to sew better?”

Norah coloured deeply. No doubt this comment had been spurred by Nellie's account of the chemise Norah had been trying to fix last night.

”If you like, I can give you some pointers, and so can Miss Sweets, Her Ladyship's maid. She is very handy with that sort of thing and she will be helpful to you. If she is not true to her name, I will order her to,” Mrs. Motley said with a shrewd smile. ”It is good for a young woman to have a skill.”

”One more thing before you go, deary,” Mrs. Motley said. ”I keep this house ticking, but I also do my best to look after you chicklings. If you have any troubles, I am the one to ask for help.”

”Thank you, Mrs. Motley,” Norah said. Mrs. Motley patted her arm.

”When you have lived as long as I have, you will see that every household has its own rhythm, a certain hum to it. Now you better get yourself back to work. I assume you no longer need to change your apron?”

Norah smiled.

”No, I think this one will do for a while longer.”