Part 1 (2/2)

*Oh, I'm sure Mrs Deighton can always use an extra pair of hands.' He frowned heavily. *We can't take our cook!'

*Of course not, sir. I'm sure she will be happy to have some time to spend with her new grandchild.'

*Grandchild?' echoed Mr Bertram blankly.

*Your tenants, the Hadfields at Mile-End Farm.'

*Good G.o.d, Euphemia, you're my housekeeper, not my ...' He stopped, turned fiery red and swallowed. *I mean, how come you know so much about my people? We've barely been here a moment.'

*It must be my background as a vicar's daughter, sir,' I said without thinking.

*But I thought your father was ...'

*I'd better start seeing to the arrangements,' I answered and fled.

When we first met the Staplefords had a.s.sumed I was the love-child of some recently deceased gentleman because I spoke well and could read. At the time it had been easier to allow them to think this. *d.a.m.n,' I said aloud, startling both the kitchen cat and cook in equal measure.

*It's not like you to swear, Miss St John,' said our cook, Mrs Tweedy. *Has the master not seen sense yet?'

*Mr Stapleford agrees the house needs work and we are all to quit this place while it is done. All local servants will be kept on at wages, but allowed to go home. Merrit, Sam and Jenny will accompany Mr Stapleford to Stapleford Hall.'

*Well, that's very decent of him,' said Mrs Tweedy. *And I'll get time to spend with the little 'un. But what about you, my dear?'

I blinked. *I really have no idea.'

*Don't be stupid, Euphemia,' said Mr Bertram emerging from the cellar. *Of course you're coming with me.'

He stormed out of the room. I followed. *Really, sir, you mustn't call me by my Christian name in front of the other servants. It gives the wrong impression.'

Mr Bertram turned on his heel to face me. *And what impression would that be, Euphemia? Apart from the ridiculousness of addressing one as young as you as Mrs ...'

*Many women are married at 19,' I countered reasonably.

*But none of them would have the audacity to constantly contradict their master. You complain of my manners ...'

*I meant simply that it might be taken as improper considering the isolated nature of the estate and you still a bachelor, sir.'

*Good G.o.d! You're doing it again. Will you not let me finish a sentence?'

I thought of pointing out that he had just finished two, but kept my tongue between my teeth. Mr Bertram heaved a huge sigh. *And you're right again. I'm not fit to run a house on my own. I need a wife. Perhaps I shall find one at Stapleford Hall. Do you think along with all your other abilities to organise and correct my life that you might be able to find me a suitable spouse as well, Euphemia?'

*I may only be your servant, sir, but that is an unacceptable way to speak to me!'

By this point we were both breathing hard and our annoyance had brought us into close proximity.

*Euphemia, this has got to stop,' said Mr Bertram. *Our relations.h.i.+p ...'

Our eyes met, but whatever Mr Bertram was to say next was cut off by the sudden arrival of eight-year-old Sam hurtling round the corner.

*Is it true, sir, that you're taking me to the great Stapleford Hall? Is it? Oh, sir, I'll polish all them boots better than anyone ever has.'

The moment shattered into a thousand pieces.

*Stapleford Hall isn't what most people would call great, Sam, but my elder brother would tan your hide for running around upstairs.'

*Oh lor',' said Sam stricken.

*It's a much more formal house,' I said kindly. *But as long as you stay below stairs I'm sure you'll be fine. Mr McLeod, the butler, is a good man.'

Mr Bertram shot me a look of pure poison and strode off. This time I did not follow him.

It was at this moment of high personal drama that a loud crash echoed through the household. *Dear G.o.d,' I cried and ran towards the sound with Sam hot on my heels.

I cannoned into the kitchen barely stopping in time to avoid falling through the large hole in the floor. *Mrs Tweedy!' I cried in horror.

*I'm here, dear,' came a faint reply. Then slowly Mrs Tweedy climbed up the cellar steps. She was covered in dust.

*G-g-ghost!' squeaked Sam.

*Lord love you, Sammy boy,' said Mrs Tweedy in a shaky voice. *It's just dust. I was checking to see what we could save from the waters when the b.l.o.o.d.y ceiling came down on my head.'

*Are you injured?' I asked in horror.

Mrs Tweedy shook her head. *Gave me a bit of a fright, I can tell you, but that ceiling ain't no more than dust and plaster and we've been walking over it for months. This whole ruddy place is a death-trap.'

Mr Bertram arrived in time to hear Mrs Tweedy p.r.o.nounce sentence. The look he gave me clearly suggested that he considered everything my fault. After all I had been the one who had urged him to buy his own home and I suspected in his eyes this made me ultimately responsible.

Less than 48 hours later I had completed our leaving arrangements. Mr Bertram and I were studiously avoiding each other, but there were still occasions when I entered a room too precipitously only to encounter one of his black looks before he exited smartly.

It was thus with a whole riot of mixed emotions tumbling through my head that I found myself approaching Stapleford Hall. This place had been the scene of much suffering and was still owned by a man, who if not evil incarnate, was at least of black heart. But it was also where my good friends Merry the maid, Mrs Deighton the cook and, of course, Rory McLeod lived and worked. My mother would be appalled that I considered those working below stairs infinitely superior to those above, but I believe my father would have understood.

I jumped down from the cart, which had conveyed me from the station, and made my way to the servants' entrance. As a housekeeper of White Orchards I felt no need to help with the baggage. The door opened before I reached it and two figures came out to greet me. I quailed inwardly. The servants' entrance at Stapleford was almost as large as our main entrance at White Orchards. I had forgotten how big the house was.

*Did you not bring any luggage?' asked Mrs Wilson, her black eyes snapping.

*I'm glad to see you are recovered, Mrs Wilson. The luggage is on the cart,' I said. *Merrit, Jenny and Sam can bring it over. Although I daresay they would appreciate a little help.'

*Get it yourself. I'll not have airs and graces on my staff!'

*Mrs Wilson,' I said as diplomatically as I could manage. *I am not on your staff. Mr Sta-Mr Bertram has arranged for three of his staff to help out with light duties as long as they do not conflict with our current duties. As a senior member of staff I have no more intention of lifting luggage than you would have.'

*Current duties! I daresay we can all guess what those might be.'

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