by Don Jacobson
“I was a child of the streets, but, as a young lad, I was fortunate to enter into the service of a churchman who taught me the King’s English. He wished me to read to him when his eyes tired and to write down his sermons in a large hand so that he could read them without his spectacles. He was a bit vain in that way,” Wilson stated.
Hastings leaned back in his seat; hands laced across his midriff, and gazed upward at the man in front of him. Wilson impressed him.
At first glance, you would assume that what God gave him in muscle, He must have subtracted from the man’s intelligence. Large men are supposed to be stupid. Not this fellow. Perhaps he will do very well here.
“I am inclined in your favor, Sergeant Wilson. Of course, I am only the gatekeeper. You will still have to pass muster with the Mistress. I assure you that while she may be young, she is nobody’s fool.
“Wait here while I check to see if she can speak with you,” Hastings concluded.
Mary Cecil was sitting at her writing desk tucked in the corner of the blue sitting room that overlooked the garden. On such a warm day, the French doors were thrown wide open to allow what few breaths of air that stirred in the fetid miasma of a London summer to fill the room with the lovely scent of blooming roses.
She silently thanked Tom’s grandmother who had redesigned the garden nearly 50 years ago for her foresight in planting a stand of American Chestnuts whose leafy canopy shielded the back of the house. Even with the thick velvet drapes pulled tightly shut most of the day, the public rooms on the front and the guest quarters above were nearly unbearable in the stifling heat. As a mercy to the servants, Mary had ordered the short staff to move their sleeping pallets from their regular quarters in the spaces beneath the eaves into the cellar corridors that were considerably cooler. She counted on Mr. Hastings and his wife to keep the maids and footmen sorted.
That she and Tom were in London instead of on their estate in Warwickshire was decidedly out of form. However, his father, the Marquess, had demanded that Tom be his secretary as he manned the Foreign Office while Castlereagh was in Vienna at the great Congress. Since Mary could not bear to be separated from Tom even after nearly eight years of marriage, she decamped from Larchmont House to Grosvenor Square with their two little ones, seven-year-old Margaret and five-year-old Marcus. There, she, Tom and the children bore up in the heat like nearly one million other Londoners.
The one blessing was that she could expect few callers. The only members of the ton in town were those too impoverished to escape to Bath, Brighton or even Ramsgate. The few whose reduced circumstances none-the-less still allowed some out-of-town respite had begun to experiment with Sanditon, the up-and-coming resort town where Tom’s sister, Emily, had been at seminary with Miss Bennet, the new governess. Sanditon, however, did not have the same cachet as the older resorts because far too many holiday visitors whose wealth came from trade bustled through the streets and shops of the seaside town.
She had completed her correspondence by the time Hastings returned with a candidate to be a man-of-all-work here at Cecil House and also on the estate. Mary counted herself lucky that her townhome butler, Hastings, had trained under Reynolds, their chief servant in Warwickshire. Hastings looked up to the older man and bore him no jealousy for his preferred position. Hastings knew full well that he was the designated successor whenever the widower Reynolds decided to retire to his cottage. If Hastings found this man employable in London, Reynolds would have no objection to his also working at Larchmont. Reynolds trusted Hastings’ judgment implicitly.
She bade the two men to enter at Hastings’ discrete knock. The vision of the well-formed Hastings, no small man in his own right, dwarfed by the man he escorted took Mary completely by surprise. He has to be at least three inches over six feet tall! And his hands are the size of small hams.
Hastings pulled up within a few feet of Lady Mary. The giant took one measured pace forward and halted, his body at full attention.
“At ease, Sergeant,” whispered Hastings in an aside. Wilson relaxed, placing his right hand behind his back and his heels precisely shoulder width apart. Then louder, “My Lady, may I present retired Sergeant Henry Wilson. Wilson, here, has presented himself for a position as a second footman at Cecil House and at Larchmont. He comes to us by recommendation of Tomkins’ brother Charles.”
Mary paused before looking intently at Wilson. Then she softly asked, “Did you serve with Tomkins, Sergeant?”
Wilson crisply replied, “Yes, my Lady. We were on the field at Waterloo holding the rise behind Hougoumont. Tomkins’ was in my file in the 33rd’ s square. He was one of our best men with the musket, but a French cannonball killed him.”
Mary reacted sadly, “Yes, our entire household was devastated by the news. Tomkins only returned last week from Warwickshire where he had gone to comfort his parents and sisters.” She shook herself as if to erase the unpleasant memory. Then she continued.
“Wilson, I take good notices seriously when members of our staff and their families vouch for someone. That is because, while we are certainly from vastly higher stations in life, my husband and I consider every person employed at our properties to be part of our extended family. Like the old Romans before the Republic began to fail, my husband sees himself as the pater familias and every soul here and at Larchmont can lay some degree of claim upon the Cecil name.
“Because our family comes from a very ancient lineage, we are naturally protective and will do everything to avoid scandal.”
She rose gracefully from her seat by the desk and walked over to a crystal carafe filled with water. Pouring half a glass, she gazed at it for a moment as if deciding whether or not she would quench her thirst. Then she spun on her heel and glided back to where Wilson and Hastings stood.
“Sergeant, please hold out your right hand, palm down,” she commanded.
A moment of confusion flickered across Wilson’s features, but he moved without hesitation. Hastings noticed this and smiled. This was something his mistress had done before!
Mary set the tumbler on the tanned skin, ridged with tendons and veins. Three pairs of eyes looked intently at the surface of the limpid pool.
Not a single ripple betrayed Wilson’s rock-steady nerves. After a few moments, the water’s surface shimmied lightly, keeping time with the slow beating of his heart. Hastings simply nodded. He had known that Wilson would not fail this crucial test. Mary squared her shoulders and removed the glass. Then she spoke.
“We have no patience for drunkards, Wilson. My mother-in-law, the Marchioness, taught me this little trick. You see, if you had been a two or three bottle a night man, as many in the ton are, even if you had avoided drink to get through this interview, your hands would have been shaking like a leaf in a Northamptonshire duster!
“You, Wilson, have demonstrated that you are the type of person who will do well in service to the Cecil family. As such, therefore, I have decided to take you on. However, as a word of warning, if you fail to perform your duties or in other ways do not live up to our expectations, Mr. Hastings here in London or Mr. Reynolds in Warwickshire will not hesitate to turn you out without character. Are we clear on that?”
Wilson offered a simple “Yes, my Lady.”
Mary continued, “If you are prepared, you can move in below stairs immediately.”
Another “Yes, my Lady” apparently brought the interview to its conclusion.
Mary turned away in dismissal, settling down at her desk, and both men began to move toward the door. However, another thought struck her.
“Wait, please. Hastings, Wilson is quite a large physical specimen. Am I correct in assuming that we do not have livery that could be adjusted to fit him?”
“Yes, my Lady, that is correct. We have never, to my knowledge, employed anyone as tall as Wilson since we adopted the new uniforms in ’96. We will have to order a set of indoor as well as a great coat and hat,” Hastings answered.
Now in he
r Lady Cecil mode, Mary started to give orders, “Well, given that we are in the depths of summer, I doubt if our uniform supplier will be over-burdened. Best you send him there right now with a note to the tailor to have him fitted out with both work-a-day as well as dress.
“And Wilson, we are not a house that will countenance our staff wearing rags. You will also have to purchase new shirts, small clothes and hose. And, while those are impressive boots, ones of which my husband would be quite envious, you will need new footwear. Hastings will give you directions to the cobbler we employ.
“You will tell the tailor and cobbler to bill everything to Cecil House. We will deduct the cost of the personal merchandise from your wages. You will also be responsible for maintaining or replacing everything but Cecil livery. Are we clear on this?”
Her question seemed to allow more than a brief response, and Wilson took advantage of the opportunity.
“I understand you completely, my Lady. However, if I may, I would prefer to settle up with the tailor and cobbler immediately.
“First, I would rather not begin my employment in debt to anyone, especially this house. I have set aside some funds over my years of soldiering. I can certainly pay for my necessary clothing.
“Second, and more important, ma’am, my experience in the Army taught me that allowing somebody to bill the regiment only encouraged sharp practices. Victuallers and quartermasters often worked together to inflate the price and then split the excess.
“Now, I am not suggesting that your suppliers are anything but honest. I would prefer, though, not to discover otherwise on Quarter Day. I think that I am capable of avoiding being gulled when I negotiate for new work boots or stockings.”
At this, Lady Mary’s eyes widened as she took in the implications of Wilson’s extraordinary speech. He had not actually accused Hastings of corruption, but one of the well-known perquisites enjoyed by butlers, housekeepers and cooks was the odd kickback folded into monthly bills sent to the great houses that lined the fashionable byways across the land.
She firmly replied, “You are quite welcome to settle your bill on whatever terms you can negotiate. We will simply pay for the livery when the bill arrives. I doubt if anyone would dare cheat you.
“Your worldly knowledge will certainly serve us in the future. As you will discover, we offer our servants above-average wages to avoid precisely that sort of deceit of which you speak. However Wilson, if you ever suspect that one of your comrades is less than honest, please do not hesitate to alert Hastings.
“Now, if we are finished, I must visit my children.”
This final dismissal sent Hastings and Wilson on their way.
But, Hastings was not finished with Henry. He gripped Henry’s elbow and addressed him with some heat.
“I am not sure what you were about there, but you certainly sounded like you had something to get off your chest. And so you did.
“Another man would have thought you were accusing him of cheating the Cecils. As a result, your time here would have been short and miserable. But let me be very clear with you, Wilson. I am not that other man.
“I have served the Master and Mistress since the day they were married eight years ago. I was with the Marquess at Burghley House for another five-and-ten before that. Short of employment at Windsor or Buckingham House, people like us do not get any higher. Do you understand? A man would have to be a bloody fool to risk his position by cadging a few shillings from the Cecils.
“And they have a very long reach. If you cheat the Cecils or those whom they consider to be their family, there is nowhere in this kingdom you could hide—and they would spare no expense to find you. Money is like water to them when family is involved. You might be safe in America under a new name.
“So, you have not harmed yourself with your little display back there. In fact, you have shown Lady Cecil that you have your wits about you and keep your eyes open. Honesty like that will serve you well, my boy. Trust me, I have sent many a man packing for thinking he can take advantage of the Master.
“Other houses do not work like that. If you see somebody dipping into another lord’s pocket, keep your mouth closed. It is not our business, and rather than appreciating your mixing in, they might make your life, and ours, really uncomfortable by putting pressure on his Lordship to force Lady Cecil to let you go.
“Never forget, they eat dinner with those folks. We only serve it. Quality will stick with quality in the end.”
Henry smiled grimly, “No different than in the Army, Mr. Hastings. No different than in the Army.”
Chapter II
July 31, 1815 below stairs, Cecil House
“Ah tell you Annie, that new footman thinks ‘e is the ‘ead of Prinny’s guard detail, accusing Mr. ‘astings o’ stealin’ from Themselves,” Sarah Small said as the two young women were huddled over mugs of dark tea in the common room off the kitchen.
Seventeen-year-old Annie Reynolds looked at her friend and shook her head. “When will you ever learn, Sarah, that gossip will bring you nothing but trouble?” she said. Where her friends in service often sounded like they had just walked in from London’s dankest slums, Annie always spoke as if she had was drinking tea with the Marchioness rather than brewing it for her.
To her good fortune, her father, Larchmont’s butler, had laid aside some of his wages over the years after the birth of his only child to be able to afford to send her to the dame school in the nearby village. As a result, unlike her fellow maids, she was able to read, write and do her sums. Her goal was to become a housekeeper like her Aunt Adelaide who managed the great house at Pemberley.
In fact, Annie had just received a letter from Aunt Addie suggesting that as the Master, Fitzwilliam Darcy, had yet to marry, she was going to ask him if she could bring on an under-housekeeper to learn the craft, so to speak, in order to succeed her when she retired. Mrs. Reynolds worried that he would never marry which would throw all the Mistress’ responsibilities on Georgiana Darcy’s young shoulders. She wanted Annie to be that person.
Imagine being in charge of a grand house like Pemberley! She remembered visiting there when she was a little girl. Although she had been confined to the service areas in the lower reaches, Annie had snuck up the servants’ stairways to peep into some of the dozens of bedchambers. The rich appointments, crisp linens and beautiful furniture worked in harmony to create an atmosphere of understated elegance that was the mark of the Darcy family. That this result was because of the efforts of dozens of well-trained hands was not lost on Annie. Her Aunt may not have made the beds or oiled the woodwork herself, but she was the one who taught the staff the Reynolds way. Now it could be Annie’s turn to rise at the right hand of Adelaide Reynolds.
“Annie…are you ‘tendin’ ta me? T’aint gossip if’n t’is true. I heard Mr. ‘astings tell his missus ‘bout what Wilson said when Lady Mary tol’ ‘im ta bill ‘is new clothes to th’ ‘ouse. ‘astings said that ‘e said ‘e ‘ad enuff money ta pay on deliv’ry.
“What footman ‘as enuff scratch in ‘is own pocket ta pay fur shoes, shirts an’ stockin’s? I’m tellin’ ya…there is sumthin’ funny about that Henry Wilson,” Sarah opined.
A second footman, Jonas Winters, seated down the table, sourly looked up from his cup and snapped at the girls, “Will th’ two of ya just shut it? A man needs a bit o’ peace when ‘e takes ‘is break. Me ‘ead is splittin’ ‘an ol’ spit ‘n polish ‘astings tol’ me that I ‘ad night duty today cuz I upset ‘is precious sleep last night.
“ ’cuuzed me o’ stumblin’ in stinkin’ o’, as ‘e put it, ‘cheap gin.’ Like ta know whut other type ‘o gin there is,” Winters groused, and then he continued on mumbling, “’cours’n if’n a man ‘ad enuff o’ th’ ready, ‘e could drink t’a best an’ spit in ‘astings eye. We’ll see ‘bout that. I’se got some deals cookin’ that’ll put Mr. Jonas Winters in some fine duds an’ fine wimmin an’ fine drink. Just you wait and see. I’ll be up on top an’ the quality will be cryi
n’.”
Annie really tried not to think badly of people, considering rather their situation. Take Winters for example: out-of-season London was next to impossible for anyone without a full-time position. She knew that he had been struggling to survive doing odd jobs until Mr. Michaels, the under-butler and caretaker when the family was not in residence, had hired him to heft and haul during the summertime renovations ordered by Lady Mary.
His size commended him to Hastings who arrived ahead of the Cecils when they suddenly returned to the city. The butler had offered him a footman’s position on sufferance because the family had left most of their servants in the country. Far from secure in his position, Winters was just one misstep away from being back on the streets. Annie could justify his grimness, but his sense of entitlement was bothersome.
You would think he would be looking ahead to his future. If he proves himself, there is a good chance he would go back to Warwickshire along with the rest of us. Instead he drinks, antagonizes his superiors and complains all the time.
No, try as she might, Annie could not think well of Jonas Winters.
As for Henry Wilson, Annie reserved judgment until she actually met the man. Pushing back from the table and standing, she nodded to Sarah and looked over at Winters. His eyes were back on the table. Shrugging her shoulders, Annie smoothed her work smock. Time to head back upstairs and sweep and scrub in the nursery while Miss Margaret and Miss Bennet were out in the park for their daily walk and Master Marcus was playing with his mother.
Wilson had visited the tailor and cobbler shops identified by Hastings. Contrary to his expectations, the prices were fair and the vendors were actually open to a little haggling, especially when he told them he was prepared to pay half up front and half on delivery. Small businessmen were often at the mercy of the great houses that would drag out remuneration until they gave in and granted a substantial discount just to secure some return. From what he learned from his interaction with these tradesmen, the Cecils were always prompt and never tried to take advantage of purveyors who had their custom.