A Pearl for My Mistress. Annabel Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ you to your room. I wish you a good night’s rest, Miss Blake.’

      She didn’t add, ‘You are going to need it,’ but the heavy implication seemed to hang in the air.

      Unwilling as she was to steer herself from the brightly lit kitchen and her warm cup, Hester nonetheless took the hint. She stood up, took the long-suffering suitcase, and followed sprightly Abigail into the gloomy maze of corridors.

      Was she actually called Abigail? Hester wondered. Her uncle used to serve in the magnificent household of Lord Londonderry, and, according to him, a lot of masters had a propensity for giving their servants ‘smarter’ names. He was once rechristened Charles, and plenty of maids went by the name of Abigail.

      ‘But don’t you worry, Hettie,’ he said. ‘They don’t do such things any more. Not to ladies’ maids, anyway.’

      It might have been true, of course. After all, he went into service way before the war started – therefore, as far as Hester was concerned, in unimaginable antiquity. He was hired as one of the ‘matching’ footmen, chosen for their impressive height and build. Lord Londonderry had, it seemed, very particular aesthetic preferences; his housemaids were also invariably tall. Hester’s uncle was to wait upon bejewelled guests during most splendid receptions. His hair, like the hair of the other footmen, was powdered, his gloves spotless.

      Departing for Hebden Hall, Hester half expected to find a similar grandeur here. That was silly, of course. The sheer fact that Mrs Mullet the cook also had to take up the duties of a housekeeper said enough.

      Abigail’s smile was tinged with compassion as she opened the door for her. Nodding gratefully, Hester stepped into the room – and, for the first time in this impossibly long day, found herself surrounded by silence.

      The simple outlook of the room would’ve been dear to the hearts of ancient Spartans. However, the fact that she had her own room was a pleasant surprise all by itself.

      It was strange to think of it now; but, as Hester reminded herself, this was going to become her home for the next two or three years, at least. Therefore, she had better start getting used to it.

      Waving exhaustion aside, Hester began unpacking.

      First things first, of course: print frocks, sturdy shoes, sensible woollen dresses. Hester was fortunate: unlike poor Abigail, she was spared the need to wear the uniform, the lace bonnet, and clean aprons. However, there were still certain rules she had to abide by.

      Hester grieved silently for her red lipstick. But then, she usually only wore it to dances, anyway; there would be no dances here.

      The frocks looked pleasantly new, sewn only last week. The fabric felt encouragingly fresh beneath her fingers.

      The turn of treasures came only when the necessities were unpacked and hung.

      Hester carefully placed the postcards upon her table; they seemed to glow with colour in the grey strictness of the room.

      The landscapes of Java, the boulevards of Paris. The purple of imperial palaces, the green of Alpine slopes, the white of the sea foam. Dazzling, vivid windows into other worlds.

      And now, Hester was closer to them than she had ever been.

      Her heart was thudding in her chest, but this time it was thudding with pleasant anticipation.

      Yes, she was closer to her dream than ever before. And she would reach it one day; yes, she would reach these enigmatic shores, the exotic and the urbane. Whatever cold nights and mind-numbing efforts it took.

      The stack of letters, tied with a pretty red ribbon, was the last thing she unpacked.

      ***

      Hester couldn’t have imagined the stairs to be so long.

      The breakfast tray was a deadly weight in her hands. She watched her every step, bathing in cold sweat every time the precarious balance of cups and plates seemed to be threatened.

      Please, please, please, don’t let the door be heavy …

      Her prayers were left unanswered.

      When all the dangers were finally overcome, and the threshold of her mistress’s bedroom was safely behind, Hester discovered two surprises waiting for her.

      The first was the room itself. Hester had somehow expected the bedchamber, belonging to the daughter of the house (and the only daughter at that) to be the epitome of silken luxury. However, it was quite as gloomy and almost as austere as Hester’s own, if admittedly grander in size. The stark white walls and sparse pieces of furniture seemed to have been left untouched since the first Earl of Hereford won his fortune in some medieval adventure.

      The second surprise was the fact that all her tiptoeing and worrying was for nothing. Lady Lucy Fitzmartin, the daughter of the ninth Earl of Hereford, was already fully awake, with her head propped on a pillow, her night-black hair spread across it like a net.

      And she was smiling.

      ‘Why, good morning!’ she said, turning her head to the newcomer. Her eyes were wild with delight, as if she had awaited this visit for hours. ‘I hope I didn’t startle you.’

      ‘Not at all, my lady,’ was all Hester managed to say.

      ‘Good.’ Lady Lucy nodded. ‘The rainfall must have wakened me, and then I simply couldn’t fall asleep again. My thoughts never allow me to.’ Was her tone apologetic? ‘You are Blake, aren’t you?’

      No smart new name for her, Hester remembered. Only a surname.

      ‘Yes, my lady.’ She set the tray down, dutifully careful. ‘I arrived yesterday evening.’

      ‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard about it. And how do you like Hebden Hall so far?’

      Hester hesitated. It wouldn’t do to lie to her young mistress, of course. And, in any case, she was a terrible liar.

      ‘It’s … very impressive, my lady,’ she said at last.

      ‘It certainly is.’ Lady Lucy grinned again, and Hester felt as if she had seen through her clumsy politeness clearly, as if the truth was written on Hester’s cheeks. Surprisingly, this was not a discomforting feeling; her mistress’s smile held no maliciousness.

      Or, perhaps, it was all merely a fruit of Hester’s overanxious imagination.

      She ran through her next duties as quickly and efficiently as possible. While Lady Lucy dedicated her full attention to the breakfast tray, Hester picked up the clothes she had worn on the previous evening and set about preparing her morning bath. With soothing timeliness, it was ready just in time as the lady finished her tea. So far, Lady Lucy looked friendly; however, making her mistress wait was the last thing Hester wanted to do on her first day.

      Lady Lucy climbed out of bed vigorously, as if the duvet had held her captive. She wore a long, thick nightgown, which could have belonged to her Victorian grandmother (and, in all probability, it did). Hester wondered if it truly saved her during the cold Northern nights; after all, even now she could feel the chilly draughts seeping into the room through a thousand unseen cracks.

      The lady’s skin was still СКАЧАТЬ