My Lord and Master (2 page)

Angelica experienced a rather fitful sleep that night – if you could even call it sleep. For her poor young mind could hardly receive any rest from thoughts and worries about what might happen to her in this so called Lord’s house the next morning.

You see, dear reader, Angelica had already imagined her own plans for a life: she would escape the narrow bounds of village life. Her formal education was limited to what the tiny village schoolroom could provide, and although girls were schooled no later than the age of twelve, Angelica had kept up with her studies. And in the seven years since leaving school, she had spent every spare moment with her nose in a book. When she wasn’t helping her mother around the house, or her father with his market stall, she was teaching herself French, Arithmetic and History. She hoped to move to the city, and to find a position as a governess. Angelica had heard great things about the city. There were museums, and she longed to attend the opera.

But in truth, Angelica had no idea what any of these things really meant. For despite her wide reading, she was still just a child.

Working as a maid was a far cry from what she had dreamt, but Angelica was a dutiful daughter and despite her bitter tears she could never disobey her parents. If this was the path they had chosen for her, then so be it.

For Angelica could hardly have ignored the fact that money was increasingly scarce. It had been months since she had gone to bed at night without a hunger gnawing at her belly. So she knew that she must do her best to help out her poor parents, too. After the death of Angelica’s brother, Mark, she knew that the burden of expectation rested solely on her shoulders. It was all well and good that she had been helping out at her father’s market stall most days, but she knew that she could fetch far more money by working as a maid in a Lord’s house, sending home her wages each month. And her father was getting old, too; it surely wouldn’t be long until he was far too tired out to work long hours at his market stall any more.

Oh, darn it,
Angelica sighed to herself, tossing and turning on her small bed, the thin ragged sheets barely covering her slender young frame. This life of cold and hardship was all she had known, and she couldn’t help but wonder what riches lay beyond the doors of a real Lord’s house.

He would most likely have full clean sheets that covered you as you slept
, she thought,
and the rooms would no doubt be warmer and without blasted leaks from the ceiling whenever it rained!

And as Angelica tried to get back to sleep, she found her mind turning once more to the strange gaze of the man at the market stall – the man she assumed was the Lord himself. His dark eyes had burned straight at her, as if piercing directly into her soul, and his face, well, she’d had to admit to herself that it was rather handsome; dark and swarthy, his brows thick, his jaw chiselled, his lips thick and sensual, and his skin so smooth and clean, and his clothes! Angelica had never seen clothes so fine before, and she knew from her reading that his suit was probably cut in Paris, and that the leather of his boots had come all the way from Italy.  

Why, perhaps it won’t be quite so bad after all
, Angelica told herself, pulling the thin sheets over her shivering frame as she attempted once more to drift off to sleep.

The carriage arrived for Angelica bright and early the following morning, giving her barely enough time to wash and dress herself, and to hastily pack her few meagre possessions, before it was time to kiss her parents goodbye.

And despite her parents’ insistence that this was a great thing for Angelica, when the time finally came to say their farewells, her mother burst out in great wails and sobs, clutching Angelica tightly to her ample bosom and stroking her thick locks of hair, telling her just how much she loved her and just how much she would miss her, urging her to write to them at the very first opportunity.

“Of course, mother, of course,” Angelica laughed, herself feeling surprisingly confident now about setting off with this tall dark stranger who did not come into the house but instead remained standing sullenly by his large black carriage.

It would be the first time Angelica had ridden in a real horse-drawn carriage and again, she found herself rather excited at the prospect – just as she had felt herself grow excited last night when imagining the luxurious furnishings of the Lord’s house.

As she bade her mother a final farewell and then looked around for her father, Angelica noticed that he had gone out to the carriage to speak to her new master – and as she watched the two men talking, Angelica noticed the stranger surreptitiously draw an envelope from his pocket of his beautifully tailored jacket and hand it to her father, who quickly stuffed in away in his dirty old breeches.

And again, those odd words the stranger had uttered at the market place –
How much for the girl?
– echoed around Angelica’s pretty little head, and again the suspicion that this was not just a regular maid’s job struck her. 

But before she could consider her predicament any further, it was time for her to depart. She gave her mother one more quick hug goodbye, then said her farewells to her father, too, who remained rather evasive and sullen, his cheeks flushed a deep dark red and his eyes once more downcast and shifty. They had always been close, father and daughter, particularly since the death of her brother. And working side by side on the market stall had given them an easy intimacy. So why now was he unable to look her in the eye?

Angelica gave the small tumble-down house she had lived all her nineteen years of life in a final sad glance before stepping up and into the carriage.

The stranger slammed the door shut, enclosing the two of them in the dark and silence of the wood-panelled carriage, and then he knocked on the wood in front of him, giving his driver the signal for them to set off.

Angelica turned to wave goodbye to her parents from the window, but realised that the curtain was drawn, and so instead she simply rested her hands between her bare bony knees, poking out from the hem of her threadbare dress, as she felt the carriage start up, taking them away down the lane, settling into a slow clopping pace.

The silence hung in the carriage, growing with each minute that the two remained unspeaking, both of them facing forwards, sitting just a few feet apart on the padded leather bench. Angelica became aware all over again of just how
big
this strange man was, in comparison to her tiny little figure. He must be well over six feet, and the fact that he was dressed all in black gave him even more of an imposing countenance.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” he said all of a sudden, his voice puncturing the silence, low and firm, each word enunciated so beautifully and clearly – so unlike the kinds of folk that Angelica normally heard speaking down at the marketplace or around the village. “My name is Lord Angus Sutherland. But you shall address me simply as My Lordship. Understand, girl?”

“Yes, My Lordship,” Angelica said in her best speaking voice, hoping she did not sound too common or unladylike.

There was something about this dark, handsome Lord that a certain part of her seemed desperate to please.

“And what is
your
name?” he continued. “Of course, your father has already told me, but I would like to hear you speak for yourself.”

“My name is Angelica Brook, My Lordship,” Angelica said, feeling herself blushing as Lord Sutherland turned his dark brooding gaze upon her, so intense and unflinching, he may as well have been stripping her clothes from her body.

“And are you as wild?”

At this strange question, Angelica found her head spinning. Whatever did he mean?

“I beg your pardon, My Lordship?” she asked timidly.

“I said,” he began with a disdainful sigh, “Are you as wild as the angelica that grows on my lands?”  

Finally Angelica realised just what he was getting at. The poor young girl had heard mention of the herb that was her namesake, but had never come across it herself.

She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say, a strange flustered feeling overcoming her, as she squirmed beneath the Lord’s cold hard gaze upon her. And further more, she found herself blushing, a sharp flush of heat rising to her cheeks, suffusing her pallid complexion with a rosy pink glow. For, Angelica realised deep within her, there seemed to be some other suggestion to what he was saying – something perhaps a little untoward. It had that same dark, animal,
male
quality to it: similar to the leers and whistles Angelica was used to from working at the market stall, on days when her father left her there alone ...

“A girl of my station would have little cause to be wild,” she stammered, her cheeks burning with shame. “I was five when I was first put to work, keeping house alongside my mother. I was not brought up to wildness.”

“I see,” Lord Sutherland said, nodding more to himself than to Angelica. “Well, Angelica, I am pleased to hear that your parents have instilled in you the virtues of hard work. But I wonder whether you might not benefit by learning something of wildness, too. Now, I suggest you get some rest. It’s a long journey ahead of us.”

And with that, he leant back in his seat, pulling his hat down over his eyes. 

“Yes, My Lordship, thank you, My Lordship,” Angelica replied quietly.

She did not understand what he meant by learning of wildness, but he had made it clear that the conversation was now at an end, and it was not her place to ask any further questions.

But although she tried, Angelica was unable to fall to sleep as her master suggested. The air felt charged now with anticipation, and as the carriage rolled steadily on down the lane Angelica felt alive and awake, puzzling over the curious things this man had said to her, and wondering just what would happen to her when they finally arrived at their destination.
 
 

Where am I?

Angelica awoke with a jolt, for a moment unable to process her surroundings. Wherever she was, she was moving. She could feel her body being gently rocked to and fro, and her head resting upon ...

With a start she pulled her herself away from her resting place, there upon Lord Sutherland’s shoulder, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. She didn’t know much about what duties might be required of her as his maid, but she was certain that using him as a pillow would be deemed unacceptable.

Luckily, Lord Sutherland seemed still to be slumbering, and as Angelica remembered where she was – of course, she was still here in this carriage, as it made its way towards her new home – she finally gave into the temptation that had been plaguing her for most of the journey: to take a peek from the window.

She reached out and nervously pulled back the curtain, just a fraction, then leant forward in her seat, putting her eye to the small crack in the cloth she had made.

She gasped. She couldn’t help herself. Because she found she was looking out onto the most sumptuous, green gardens she had ever laid eyes upon.

Was
this
what the world was like, outside of her tiny village?

They passed acre after acre of beautifully sculpted lawns and rose-bushes, trellises and pathways.

Just ahead of them on the path was a huge, imposing mansion house.

Of course, Angelica realised, this was not the world outside of her village. This was Lord Sutherland’s world. It had to be.  

And just then, as if to prove this point, the carriage drew to a halt and Angelica heard the driver disembarking from his horse and heading around to open the door to their chamber, the bright light flooding into the carriage as he did so. The rays of sunlight illuminated Lord Sutherland’s slumbering form, and Angelica found she was too scared to look at him in the light.

“My Lordship, we’ve arrived,” the driver said nervously, obviously just as scared of incurring Lord Sutherland’s wrath as Angelica felt herself to be. Clearly she was not the only person who felt intimidated and wary of this brooding man.

Quick as a flash, Lord Sutherland awoke, snatching his hat from his face and putting it back upon his head in one smooth motion, his dark eyes flicking first from the driver then to Angelica.

“Take her to the maids, they’ll know what to do with her,” he said coldly, addressing the driver.

“Very well, My Lordship,” the driver said, turning his beady, piggy little eyes from Lord Sutherland to Angelica. Then, in a much less reverent tone, he said to her, “Well, you heard, come with me.”

He reached out his chubby little hand to help Angelica out of the carriage. She did as she was told, letting the driver help her out, not daring to look back to Lord Sutherland, wondering again just what he had in store for her.

And as the driver led her towards the huge house – standing out from its dazzling green surroundings, so imposing and dark, its brickwork a brooding grey, so similar to the way Lord Sutherland himself stood out from a crowd – Angelica couldn’t help but let her mind drift back to the way he’d talked
about
her like that to the driver, as if she was simply an object:
Take her to the maids ...

How much for the girl ...

She wondered what her new living quarters were to be like. She hoped they would be warmer than her draughty bedroom at home. But Lord Sutherland had said ‘maids’. That suggested she was going to be living with the other servants, other women. She felt a wave of trepidation flow through her, for often other girls did not seem to like her very much.

The driver led her around the side of the house, to what was clearly the servant’s quarters and kitchen at the rear: to a simply furnished black door on which he knocked boldly, three times.

A pause and then the door swung open, to reveal a girl older than Angelica, in her mid twenties, she guessed? Her plump frame was clothed in a simple black and white maid’s uniform, her dark hair pulled tight to her head, her big brown eyes flicking first to Angelica, then to the driver, then back to Angelica again.

And Angelica was sure she could pick up something strange cross the woman’s face – was it pity, perhaps?

“Not another one?” she said to the driver.

“Aye,” the driver said quietly.

“Very well,” she said, nodding to herself. Then, addressing Angelica, “Well, my poor love, you’d best come with me ...”

And with that she led Angelica through a large kitchen, past a pantry and a scullery, and down a series of winding corridors. These were obviously the back stairs – the passageways used for servants to keep them hidden from view and away from the finery of the house.

It seemed like a rabbit warren to Angelica. She had no idea where they were within the house, and it suddenly occurred to Angelica that she had never been inside a building larger than her parish church before.  

She found herself trying to memorise which way the maid had led her, but it was no use; even if she were allowed to leave, she’d never remember the way back out again.

Angelica felt utterly helpless. She was lost in a huge house and her liberty was no longer her own.

Automatically, she found herself putting one foot in front of the other and following the maid up a steep flight of stairs, and then along another corridor. Passing a small window, she realised that they must be right at the very top of the house now, two, perhaps three storeys up. And as they went along the corridor, Angelica found herself passing a curious room – the door slightly ajar.

Something about the room made her slow down and peek inside.

It was her first glimpse into the house itself. Not just the corridors and rooms for the servants, but for the enjoyment of Lord Sutherland and his guests.  

It was purple. A plush, velvet purple. The
whole room
was purple. There was a large four-poster bed, dressed in purple silk sheets, and a plush, purple velvet throne-like chair, standing right in the centre. And Angelica saw strange things within the room, too: riding crops and cow whips, glistening metal clamps and strangely shaped wooden toys, all things that had no use being in such an elegant purple room as that.

Still puzzling over quite what she had seen, it took a few more moments before Angelica realised that she was finally at her destination, another, much simpler wooden door right at the other end of the corridor from that curious regal room.

“Here you go, my dear,” the maid said, a surprisingly kindly tone to her voice.

“Thank you,” Angelica replied. “And what is your name? My name is Angelica.”

“I’m Mary,” the maid said, smiling somewhat sadly. “Angelica? What an unusual, pretty name. It suits you somehow.”

Angelica smiled, feeling herself blushing a little at the compliment, and also recognising in Mary’s tone the suggestion, not the first time she had heard it either, that she was not quite like other girls.

“Well,” Mary said, stepping aside from the doorway, “in you go. This is your room ...”

Angelica gasped when she laid eyes on the room she would now call her home. It was beautiful! Large and elegantly furnished, the walls and bed carved from dark wood, the sheets clean and crisp white. And furthermore, there was a bathroom of her very own too! With a large marble bath standing right in the centre, just for her. Angelica had to laugh. In her wildest fantasies, all she had imagined was a bedroom that wasn’t freezing cold. And this was to be her reality now.

Back at home, Angelica had had to strip wash at the kitchen sink, sharing the hot water with her mother and father, and always the last in the queue, and the idea of her
very own
bath – not to mention her very own
bathroom –
had her smiling and shaking her head in wonderment all over again.

“There must be some mistake!” she exclaimed. “This cannot be mine!”

“No mistake,” Mary replied. “Lord Sutherland was very clear that this was to be your room.”

“Goodness!” Angelica gasped. “Lord Sutherland must be such a kind master, for all the maids to have such wonderful quarters as these!”

But at this, Mary laughed and shook her head. “Oh, my poor love,” she said quietly. “Did nobody tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Angelica replied, puzzled.

“You’re not here to be a maid,” Mary said simply.

“What do you mean?” Angelica asked, utterly confused now.

She waited for Mary to explain it to her, but the maid simply put a hand on her shoulder and tidied away a few stray strands of Angelica’s unruly red locks, just as her mother used to do.

“You’ll find out soon enough, my love,” Mary whispered. “You’ve had a long journey, you should get yourself freshened up. So make sure to take a nice long bath. Get yourself good and ready. And I’ll lay you out some fresh clothes too. You won’t be needing these anymore ...” she said, indicating the raggedy, threadbare dress that Angelica was currently wearing.

Angelica looked down at her dress. It was her one good dress. She had been so proud of it. She had sewn it four summers ago, using cloth she’d been given as a birthday present. She had looked after it well, saving it for Sunday best and carefully darning any worn patches. But she had grown so much over the past few years that there was no denying, the dress was too small for her now, showing far too much leg than was appropriate for a woman, and too tight around her budding breasts.

Mary’s look said it all. She was a woman in a child’s dress, and it was time to put childish things away.