"It's actually a self-portrait. He dabbled in art. He never developed any sort of reputation, but...it's good," she said, nodding. She looked at me anticipating some sort of reaction.
"I'm afraid I don't know who he was," I said. She laughed that thin jingle of a laugh again.
"Oh, of course, I forgot. He was the original owner of Endfield Place. And I want to tell you right away," she added with a serious face, "the stories about the spirit of his dead mistress wandering the hallways of this house are purely imaginative. Don't let Leo or Mary Margaret or Mrs. Chester or anyone else tell you otherwise."
"Dead mistress?"
"There is a ridiculous tale that he housed his mistress in some secret room because she had become pregnant with his child and rather than have his reputation soiled, he brought her here to give birth without society knowing about it. Legend, and I stress it's legend, has it that his wife poisoned her and she wandered and haunted the house forever and ever afterward until his wife committed suicide."
"How horrible," I said.
"All poppycock," she declared with a wave of her hand, "but the stuff that makes for good teatime chat. Very well now. Let's get you settled in."
I gazed around the bedroom again and then followed her out. Something was gnawing at me as we descended the stairs. It was the sort of feeling you have when you know you have something to say, something to ask, but what it is exactly is just a little beyond your thinking because you've been so distracted or you're so tired. It's like a feather tickling at the back of your brain.
I glanced again in the rooms we had seen as we joined Mary Margaret and Leo who waited in anticipation. Boggs was still in the entryway, his hands behind his back, rocking up and down on his heels impatiently.
"Do show Rain her quarters now, Mary Margaret, and as I said, take her immediately afterward to meet Mrs. Chester," Great-aunt Leonora commanded. I noticed whenever she spoke to the servants, she tilted her head back so that the tip of her chin pointed at them.
Boggs cleared his throat rather emphatically.
"Oh," Great-aunt Leonora said, "but, of course, before you do that, bring her back here and let Boggs describe her duties." She turned to me. "Welcome again, my dear, and good luck with your studies."
She started back toward the stairway. My eyes followed and then drifted off to look at Boggs, who had turned to glare at me. There was still no sign of welcome in his face. I followed Mary Margaret down the hallway and as we turned to enter what they called the servants' quarters, I realized what it was that had been nudging at my thoughts.
In none of the rooms, not even their bedroom, did I see a picture of their dead child.
If Grandmother Hudson had not told me of her, I would never have known she had even existed. How odd, I thought. Was it something English to hide the members of the immediate family who were dead?
I've got a lot to learn about this place and the people, and quickly too, I thought.
My bedroom was only slightly longer and wider than Grandmother Hudson's walk-in closet. I had a creaky, groaning iron bed with a mattress so thin, it made my bed back at Grandmother Hudson's house seem like a cloud. There was a small window with a faded yellow shade over it, and the floor was uncovered hardwood so damp and dark and grainy that it looked like it might be the original floor of the house. Leo set my suitcases down with relief and immediately left us, hobbling away. Against the wall on my right was a mahogany wardrobe which served as the only closet. Beside it on the floor was a little wooden chest with shallow drawers. The room smelled like mothballs.
"Can we open that window?" I asked Mary Margaret.
She stared at it and shook her head.
"I dunno," she said with big eyes. "Never did."
I went to it and struggled with the rusted lock until I had it unlatched. Then I pushed up with the heels of my palms. It didn't move.
"I won't have any air in here." I complained gazing around.
"I'll go fetch Boggs," she said and left before I could tell her I'd rather struggle with it myself. I tried again, but it didn't even squeak. It's probably been shut tight for a hundred years, I thought.
I put my suitcases on the bed and opened them to take out my clothes and get some of them hung in the wardrobe. Moments later Boggs appeared. He paused for a moment to look at me and then went directly to the window. With a closed fist, he hammered around the frame. Then he put the heels of his palm against it and pushed up. The window groaned and lifted.
"I'll get some oil on this later," he muttered with annoyance. "Hurry along now," he said before he left.
I looked at Mary Margaret.
"This wasn't the room Sir Godfrey Rogers's mistress died in, was it?" I asked, half kidding.
She paled to an even whiter shade, almost the color of snow.
"Who told you?"
"It is?" I asked more vehemently.
"No one is supposed to talk about that," she replied.
She walked away and a little while later returned with a uniform folded in her arms. She placed it on the bed without a word. I unfolded it and held it up against me. It was close to my size.
"The loo is just down the hail here," she said.
"The what?"
"The loo." She thought a moment. "The lavatory."
"Oh, you mean bathroom. Okay, thanks?' I said. "I'd like to throw some cold water on my face. I feel like I'm still flying?'
She didn't smile.
"Better get along?' she advised. "Mr. Boggs is waitin' on us."
"Right," I said. "We don't want to keep him cooling his heels," I muttered.
She tilted her head as if I had said something totally beyond her I just shook my head and headed down to what she called the loo. It wasn't much of a bathroom. There was no shower, just a tub and a sink and a toilet. Above the sink was a small mirror. Every part of the house had been modernized apparently, but not the servants' quarters. They better not complain about Americans being class conscious and
prejudiced, I thought.
I put on the uniform and then followed Mary Margaret back to the front of the house where Boggs was waiting. He looked me over from head to foot.
"Pin your hair back," he ordered. He looked at Mary Margaret. "Why didn't you tell her that?"
She looked nervous and frightened.
"She didn't have time to," I said. "She was afraid to keep you waiting much longer."
"I'm not talking to you, am I?" he asked me with fury in his eyes. "I'm talking to her."
Mary Margaret dropped her gaze and lowered her head quickly. I took a deep breath to keep myself from exploding and waited.
"You'll help serve breakfast and dinner and then help clean up the dining room after supper. There'll be dusting and polishing on Saturday mornings with Mary Margaret.
Wash the floor in the billiards room, too. See that every loo has paper and keep the bathroom off the billiards room spotless. Mr. Endfield's guests use it. Mrs. Chester will show you what she wants done in the kitchen. Whenever she needs something from the greengrocer, she'll tell you or Mary Margaret to go fetch it."
"What's a greengrocer?"
"It's a fruit and vegetable store. Margaret can show you the way the first time."
"Anything else?" I asked dryly. Didn't Greataunt Leonora tell him why I had come to London? I had school to attend and studies.
"Just know your place," he ordered. "Everyone who knows 'is place gets along fine. Step out of it and you'll have to answer to me."
"Are you kidding?" I asked him, now feeling myself growing furious.
"Mr. Endfield prides 'imself on how well 'is house is run. There's no kidding about that 'ere. Take 'er to Mrs. Chester," he ordered Mary Margaret.
She nodded.
"This way, please," she said.
I hesitated and glared back at him. Mama would have said someone stepped on his hand when he was a baby and formed his personality in an instant.
I trailed after Mary Margaret, suddenly feeling the jet lag
that everyone at home had warned me about. I felt more like I was floating along, walking in my sleep. Why didn't they at least give me a chance to adjust? I wondered. If I complained, would I sound ungrateful?
I was beginning to wonder if I cared.
.
"So yer the Yank come ta study ta be an actress, are ya?" Mrs. Chester said after Mary Margaret brought me into the kitchen. She had her hands on her hips.
She was a stout little lady with rolling-pin arms and heavy hips and an ample bosom. Her hair was blue gray, pinned in a tight bun. Her cheeks were rosy on the crests, but her complexion was the shade of faded old paper with some age spots under her temples and a small mole on the right side of her neck.
She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at me. "Well, yer a pretty bird. I'll say that, but can ya hold up ya end?"
"Hold up my what?"
"Do your part?"
"Oh yes," I said.
She nodded, looking at me with a tightness around the corners of her mouth. "We start preparin' breakfast at six-thirty. Mr. Endfield likes a cup of tea taken up ta 'im by seven. Who's ta do that now?" she asked looking from Mary Margaret to me.
"I do that," Mary Margaret said quickly, almost as if she was afraid I would volunteer and take the pleasure away from her.
Mary Margaret wasn't unintelligent. I couldn't help but wonder why she wouldn't want to do something more with her life. Was it just shyness? She acted like she was from some lower caste of people who were forbidden to address or confront their betters. She made me feel even more class conscious than I did back home with some of those rich girls at Dogwood.
"Good. I just don't want the two of ya confusin' yer duties and buggerin' up so that I gets the gov on me arse, hear?" she asked firmly. Mary Margaret nodded, her eyes wide.
"Who's the gov?" I asked.
"Who's the gov?" Mrs. Chester looked at Mary Margaret. "It's Mr. Boggs, it is. 'E's in charge. [ thought ya was supposed ta be a smart one," she said. "Ya open yer mouth just once to 'im and you'll know who's the gov round 'ere, eh Mary Margaret?"
"Yes, mum."
"Yes, mum," Mrs. Chester mimicked. She turned to me again. "Ya don't want ta cross Mr. Boggs when 'e's got a cob on. Now as ta what you'll do 'ere," she said. "First, I don't want none of me dishes broke or me glasses or cups, 'ear? Ya carry them around with care and watch 'specially during the washin' up. I don't need no clod e mess up me kitchen. We keep everything shipshape. See 'ow me cooker shines," she said nodding at the stove. "Mr. Endfield, 'e's a regular Captain Bligh when it comes to 'ow this 'ouse is run." She thought a moment and then added, "Ya better know right from the start, should 'e ask ya for a cup of tea, 'e's a mif, see?"
"Mif?"
"Milk in first, girl. I thought ya was supposed ta be smart," she said with more disdain this time.
"I just got here a few hours ago, Mrs. Chester. I don't think it's fair to expect me to have learned all of your funny expressions by now?'
"Funny expressions!" She looked at Mary Margaret, who, of course, looked down. "Ain't she the sassy one?"
"Mrs. Endfied wanted you to give Rain a cup of tea and a tea biscuit," Mary Margaret practically whispered to Mrs. Chester.
"She did now?"
"I don't need it.I'll wait for dinner," I said sharply.
"Will ya? That's a relief. All right, Mary Margaret. Show 'er 'ow ta set the table. For yer information, we eat after we serve them their evenin' meal, so you'll be waitin' a while," she told me. She stared at me for a moment.
"What?" I asked.
"You and ya family on the dole in America, are ya?"
"The dole?" I looked at Mary Margaret.
"Government handouts," she whispered.
My back straightened instantly.
"What makes you think that?" I demanded.
"I hear all yer black folks in America is, is all."
"You hear wrong," I said. "I guess there's a lot I'll be able to teach you."
Her eyes seemed to wobble in her head a moment. Mary Margaret held her breath, and then Mrs. Chester let out a loud cackle and pressed her hands against her round stomach.
"Ain't no tellin' what'll come spuin' out of 'er gob. Mr. Boggs got 'is work cut out for 'im, he does. I'm goin' ta enjoy comin' ta work 'ere every day, as long as ya here, that is," she said with a wink. "Okay, dearies, let's get ta work. Set out two extra plates tonight, Mary Margaret. They got guests?'
She laughed to herself and turned back to her dinner preparations. She was making Yorkshire pudding, which she explained was a popoverlike bread served with roast beef, made by baking a batter of eggs, flour, and milk in the drippings of the beef. I had to admit to myself that it did smell delicious. And for what Mary Margaret called the afters, desserts, she had made custard to pour over a Madeira cake, a kind of pound cake.
"Mrs. Chester was born within the sound of Bow bells, but she's been a cook in the finest houses," Mary Margaret said as we prepared the dining room table.
"Bow bells'?"
"That's what a Cockney is. An East Ender," she continued. I shook my head.
"Less jabberin' out there and more work, ya hear?" Mrs. Chester called from the kitchen.
Mary Margaret zipped her mouth shut and worked faster. This is a house of slaves, I thought, slaves who order slaves.
Mama, we didn't have it so bad, after all.
I laughed to myself and folded the linen napkins. Afterward, I had some time to go back to my closet of a room and finish unpacking. I thought I would just lie down for a moment or two and catch my breath, but unfortunately jet lag took hold and I fell into a deep sleep.
A hard thump on the side of my iron bed sent an electric vibration up my legs, into my spine to the back of my head. I woke with a jump and sat up quickly. Boggs was standing there with a broom handle clutched in his hand like a club. He looked like he was about to whack me with it next. For a moment I was so confused, I forgot where I was. I blinked and blinked until my garbled thoughts settled down and cleared the screen of my memory. Then, I got mad.
"What are you doing in my room?" I demanded. It just occurred to me that there was no way to lock the door, but I had closed it. I was sure of that.
"You're late for servin' dinner," he said.
"I fell asleep. I flew here all the way from the United States today. Maybe you people call it a pond, but it's an ocean and there's a big time difference!"
"None of your excuses. I told you to fulfill your duties. That comes first. Now, get yourself to the kitchen. Mrs. Chester is waitin' on you and Mrs. Endfield asked after you," he said undaunted.
"You have no right to come into my room."
"This ain't your room," he said with a cold smile. "You're just sleepin' in it and only because Mr. Endfield is charitable." He walked to the doorway and turned, pointing his long thick forefinger at me. "If you miss another duty, I'll see to it you work on your Sunday."
He left, his footsteps pounding over the rustcolored floorboards. I scrubbed my face with my dry palms and then hurried to the bathroom to wash it with cold water. My hair was messy, but I
remembered I had to have it pinned up anyway, so I did that quickly and then I went to the kitchen.
"Well, look who's gracin' us with 'er presence," Mrs. Chester cried as I came through the rear door. Mary Margaret looked up from the tray she was preparing. She looked frightened for me.
"I fell asleep. Big deal. I happen to have jet lag. There's quite a time difference, you know."
"Is that so? Maybe I'll come in late tomorrow and tell Mr. Endfield I got jet lag, too," she quipped. "Help Mary Margaret serve the Yorkshire puddin'."
I took the other tray and followed her into the dining room. Great-aunt Leonora clapped her hands together as soon as I appeared. There was an elderly looking woman to her right and a very short, plump bald man to her left. My Great-uncle Richard had his back to us, but turned when Great-aunt Leonora cried, "Here she is, Richard."
I looked into the face of a very d
istinguished looking, handsome man with hair as black as mine and almond-shaped green eyes that most women would envy. That certainly went for his long and thick lashes as well. Because of his rich hair color and his ruddy complexion, he looked younger than Great-aunt Leonora. He was a little over six feet tall, and trim and fit looking in his pinstriped suit. Besides his wedding band, he wore a gold pinky ring on his left hand. It had a small diamond in the center. His hands were long, but as graceful as I imagined an artist's might be.
What impressed me was his posture, the firm way he held his shoulders and his back straight with his head high and regal. He turned toward me slowly as if every move, every gesture, had great
significance. He didn't smile. His eyes narrowed, darkening with thought, and he held his perfectly shaped lips tight. There was great discipline in his face, not a wrinkle, not a twitch or a movement giving his feelings away.
"This is Rain Arnold, the au pair my sister sent over from America," Great-aunt Leonora began. "She is here to study at the Burbage School of Drama. This is my husband Mr. Endfield, Rain," she continued.
"Hello," I said, still holding the tray filled with Yorkshire pudding. He didn't move his lips. He nodded slightly, still looking me over as closely as would a doctor.
"And this is Sir Isaac Dudley and Lady Dudley, Rain," she added.
A smile flickered on Sir Dudley's plump face, his thick, soft lips curling inward and over his teeth so completely, he looked toothless for a moment. His wife barely glanced at me. She looked down at the Yorkshire pudding Mary Margaret had placed before her instead.
"Rain just arrived today," Great-aunt Leonora announced.
Mary Margaret raised her eyes and indicated I should serve the Yorkshire pudding on my tray. Sir Dudley was eyeing it so covetously, he looked like he might reach up and take his serving himself if I didn't move. I quickly did.
"To the left," Great-uncle Richard muttered. My arm froze and I went around him to serve from the left. This close to him, I inhaled the mixed aroma of his rich aftershave and a recently smoked cigar. I could feel his gaze still locked on me. It made my hand shake as I put the dish down with a bit of a heavy clang.
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