by Joann Simon
"He should be all right now," Jessica whispered.
"Yes," Amelia agreed in the same hushed voice. "He's peaceful now." She rose, and spoke softly to Cook.
"I'll take Jessica on a tour of the house now. Keep an eye on the child."
Cook nodded.
Before leaving the room, Jessica gave one last, tender look at her son.
"Never you worry," Molly smiled. "The babe will be in good hands."
"Thank you."
Quickly Jessica followed after Amelia Beard's retreating figure, through the kitchen doorway into a narrow hall that was noticeably cooler than the kitchen.
"Back there," Amelia motioned leftward, "are the servants' stairs and the cellar entrance. But since I want to show you the main rooms, we will use the front staircase." She turned to the right and followed the narrow corridor into a spacious front hall, to the rear of which rose a graceful white-bannistered staircase, then went straight to the double doors to the right of the hall and swung them open.
"The dining room is in here. As you can see, it is convenient to the kitchen. No need to begin your duties until the morning, but then be sure first thing to take out the cold ashes and light a new fire, dust, and sweep. Rachel will take care of the table. We will need a morning fire, too, in the front parlor across the hall."
As Mrs. Beard spoke, Jessica observed the large, square room. The gleaming dining table and chairs were of elegant construction, perhaps Chippendale, as were the side pieces arranged along the walls. Yellow satin draperies adorned the four tall, paned windows. A pewter chandelier hung from the ceiling over the table, and a fire was blazing in the fireplace opposite the door. Pine branches were spread upon the mantel in keeping with the holiday season. The table was set for three, and serving dishes sat, ready for use, on the sideboard.
"I see my husband and daughter are not down yet, but then I am an early riser and generally up well before them.
You will have a chance to meet them shortly." Amelia turned and, with Jessica at her heels, stepped out into the hall.
She closed the doors behind them and motioned across the hall toward a matching set of doors. "Over here is the front parlor, which we use daily."
It was a room of warm colors, slightly larger than the dining room. A tall, white fireplace faced the door. The wood floor was partially covered by an oriental carpet of beige, gold, and a touch of red. Arranged before the fireplace were a sofa and two wingback chairs, upholstered in colors to complement the carpet. Deep-rose draperies hung at the windows.
Along the walls were various straight chairs and tables, and a Sheraton secretary, its satiny finish glowing.
Jessica was impressed with the beauty and good taste the large room displayed in all its aspects. "It's lovely."
"Thank you," Amelia smiled. "Many of these pieces are family heirlooms. Others Mr. Beard and I acquired over the years. I take pleasure, and probably a bit too much pride, dear, in decorating and maintaining the house at its finest. We will go out this way"—she pointed toward another set of doors, at the back of the room—"into the back hallway."
They proceeded across the corridor, to the first of two doorways.
"This is the summer parlor," Amelia explained. "A set of French doors open into the garden and make it quite pleasant in the warmer months."
The room was about half the size of the front parlor and decorated in lighter colors—pale greens, sunny yellows.
"We rarely use this room in winter," she added, "so for now you will need to do little more than an occasional dusting and straightening."
The tour continued, bringing them to the next doorway along the hall: Mr. Beard's study, Amelia advised.
It was furnished in deep reds and browns. A large desk was placed opposite the fireplace, a floor-to-ceiiing bookcase covered the wall behind, and two leather armchairs sat on a thick Turkish carpet before the fireplace.
"Mr. Beard spends a great deal of time here on his business matters, and he's very particular about his desk—do rake a care not to disturb any of the papers when you are cleaning. It may seem disorderly, but I assure you, he knows precisely where everything is. One more room to show you downstairs, and then we will go up to the second door."
They followed the hall away from the center of the house, toward a set of doors slightly more ornate than the others in the house and possibly, Jessica thought, of more recent design.
"This is the ballroom," Amelia swung the doors wide. "It will be chilly in here. Obviously, we do not light the fire unless the room is in use. The ballroom is our little extravagance in the house, added by Mr. Beard's father after the Revolution, since he entertained so extensively for hisbusiness."
How marvelous! Jessica thought as her eyes scanned the interior. The whole end of the house was given over to this long, high-ceilinged room. Tall windows to the right and left let in light that bathed the room in brightness, glinted off the two crystal chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, and made golden trails on the parquet floors. The furnishings were few: side chairs along the walls, and a long table pushed to one side. Still, the splendor of the room took Jessica's breath away. "Do you and Mr. Beard entertain often?" Her voice echoed in the huge expanse.
"We have a large party once or twice a year. Now with the war, of course, not as often. The last big affair was our daughter Mary's wedding last spring. Quite a celebration."
"I can imagine."
Amelia smiled swiftly at the memory. "There were over a hundred guests. The ceremony was performed in the garden with a ball afterward. And such a beautiful bride she was! That is a mother's pride speaking, but it did go off well. She and her husband, Roger, also live in Eastport in a small house he inherited from his grandfather. It is con-venient for them, now that he is employed in Mr. Beard's mercantile business."
"And you have another daughter at home?" "Elizabeth. You will meet her shortly. She is our youn-gest child, just eighteen, and a lively one. Mary is more se-rious You may meet her as well today, since she and Roger will be joining us for our Christmas dinner. Well, I had best show you the upstairs and the room you and Kit will be using; then you will have time to rest and settle in before the servants' party. All the help have Christmas afternoon and evening off for their own celebrations in the kitchen. Molly prepares a feast, and other friends come in. You will enjoy it, I am sure."
As she spoke, Amelia led Jessica back to the front hall. As they approached the staircase, Jessica heard voices and looked up to see a distinguished-looking, heavyset gentleman of about fifty descending the stairs, at his side a lovely blond young woman.
"Bertram and Elizabeth! Merry Christmas!" Amelia Beard called gaily.
Elizabeth was the first to reach Mrs. Beard's side, dropping a kiss on her mother's cheek. "The same to you, Mama."
Mr. Beard came forward to give his wife a jovial squeeze. "Merry Christmas, my dear. A lovely day." His lively blue eyes looked over to Jessica, who stood as unobtrusively as possible a few paces behind Mrs. Beard.
"And who have we here?"
"Oh, Bertram, you will not believe . . . but this is our new maid arrived just this morning, and quite a troublesome journey she had, losing her luggage in a coach mishap."
"Well, young woman, we had about given up hope of your arriving at all, but welcome."
"Let me introduce you properly." Amelia motioned Jessica forward. "Bertram, this is Jessica Dunlap.
Jessica, my husband, Mr. Beard."
Jessica extended her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Beard." An instant later she remembered that in this era it would be more customary for a servant to bow or curtsy to an employer.
Graciously ignoring her faux pas, Bertram Beard accepted her hand and returned the light pressure.
"The pleasure is mine, Jessica. Most unfortunate about your journey, but I hope you will be happy with us."
"I am sure I will."
"And, Jessica," Amelia continued, "this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Jessica Dunlap."
> Although Elizabeth was smiling, there was a coolness to her manner, an air of superiority lacking in the elder Hoards. Jessica became very aware of the dowdiness of her own appearance—the worn and mended drab gray dress, opposed to the pale-blue satin and lace concoction adorning Elizabeth's trim figure. Still, she instinctively forced her chin up proudly as she smiled, then nodded. "How do you do, Elizabeth."
"So you are the new maid." Elizabeth's gray eyes swept over Jessica, missing nothing—neither the worn gown nor the lovely face. "Somehow I was expecting someone quite different. You are not from Eastport."
"No, from New York."
"Well, I shall have plenty for you to do. Being without a maid for the last month has left my wardrobe in a shambles." And, at the puzzled look in Jessica's eyes: "Mama did tell you that one of your duties would be to assist me, since as yet I have no personal maid." "No . . ."
"My apologies, Jessica," Amelia said quickly. "I should have mentioned it, but with all the confusion this morning, it slipped my mind. Elizabeth can advise you when she needs your assistance. Your regular household duties will take priority, of course."
Elizabeth smiled, satisfied. Jessica only nodded in acknowledgment.
"Both go have your breakfast now," Amelia said to her husband and daughter. "I will join you when I finish showing Jessica the rest of the house and her room." Elizabeth looked up. "She is not staying in the cottage?" "Temporarily I thought I would give her one of the attic rooms. Come along, Jessica."
Amelia headed purposefully up the stairs. Jessica followed quickly, wondering why Amelia Beard hadn't told her husband and daughter the whole story . . . about Kit, about her being a married woman.
As though reading her mind, Amelia answered that question as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. "I will tell them about the child and your situation when we can talk privately. It's not a subject to bring up in the front hall, with all the explanations required." "Do you think your husband will object?"
"Bertram? Heavens no. He has a generous heart for others' misfortunes, and he gives me free rein in household matters. He has enough to keep him busy with his mercantile business, the mill and the farm."
They arrived at a landing at the top of the stairs, from which halls led off in two directions. "Only two bedrooms are in use now, obviously, and there are four other guest rooms. The master bedroom is over here." Mrs. Beard turned to the left and led Jessica into a large, sunny room that faced out to the road in front.
From this height Jessica had an excellent view of the river across the roadway, and of the pasture and woodland beyond. An old canopy bed was centered at the back wall, with a Queen Anne style dresser between the front windows and a small lady's desk snuggled into a corner near the fireplace.
"The dressing room is in here. I require no help with my dressing, but if you would keep the room tidy and see that a fire is lit every evening before we retire . . . the fire in Elizabeth's room as well. Jeb will bring up the wood, and Rachel sees to the morning hot water. Oh—and while we are here, I have some infants' gowns I saved from my daughters." Amelia bent before the carved blanket chest at the foot of the bed, and opened the lid. She lifted out a few articles before nodding in satisfaction. "Yes, here they are, and in remarkably good condition. Let me see . . ." She held up several small white gowns. "This should do, and this, for the time."
Handing the garments to Jessica, she replaced the other articles, closed the lid of the chest, and rose. "That should keep the child warm, and Rachel will show you where to find linens for the babe."
Jessica fingered the fine, hand-sewn gowns, the delicate embroidery around the bib. "Thank you so much.
I will take very good care of them."
"Not to worry. They are well made, as I can vouch for myself, and in the next week I will have Mr. Beard bring up some yard goods from the store so you can sew up some sew things for the babe, and a new maid's gown for yourself."
As moved as she was by her employer's generosity, Jessica cringed at the thought of creating little gowns like these or a dress for herself. She could sew passably, but she always used a modern sewing machine and dress patterns. Only with a great deal of practice could she hope to come close to duplicating the fine hand stitching that Mrs. Beard seemed to take for granted.
She had no time to worry about it then, since Amelia Beard was already leading her back to the hall, past the stairwell and toward the first door on the right.
"Elizabeth's room. Here I think you will have a bit more of a chore. Dear though she is, the child is not particularly tidy." Her words were evidenced very clearly, as they stepped into the room, by the crumpled heap of bedcovers on the mattress, the quilt dragging on the floor, the nightgown draped over the back of a chair, the dress discarded on another; and, on the dressing table, by the spilled powder and hairpins, the silver-backed brush and comb dropped in the midst.
Despite the disorder, Jessica could see that it was a lovely room of delicate feminine furnishings in pale blue and rose. It was more cluttered than the Beards' room, but charming, with the same front, river view.
"Oh, my," Amelia clucked. "Well, no time for you to straighten this today. Tomorrow morning will be time enough. I am a neat person myself and have always wondered where I got such a child. Her father often teases her that she should have been born with a personal servant in attendance." Shaking her head again, she directed Jessica back to the hall. "There are two other guest rooms along to the right here, though there is no time to take you through today. We will just stop a moment in Mary's old room before I take you up to yours.
There are some old gowns of hers in the wardrobe that I was going to give to the church charity. Perhaps one or two will fit you. You will want something prettier than that," she added, nodding toward Jessica's gray dress, "for the festivities this afternoon."
Opening the door to the bedroom behind the master suite, she stepped briskly across the carpet to the large mahogany wardrobe and began flipping through the dresses hanging within. "Mary is about your height and weight." Jessica watched as Mrs. Beard slid the gowns along the rod, and sighed at a beautiful royal-blue silk gown with creamy lace panels adorning the bodice and soft folds of the skirt, at another elegant full-sleeved red velvet dress.
But Amelia Beard passed these right by as obviously unsuitable as a maid's attire. She finally settled on a simple, high-waisted, green wool dress with long tight sleeves and a high neck adorned only by a small white collar, and a brown tweed walking dress that was unrelieved by any such accent and not much more complimentary than the gown Jessica was wearing. But both were serviceable, warm, and very well made.
"These should do." Amelia handed Jessica the gowns, then went to the dresser and returned with a pile of folded white cotton and cambric. "And a nightgown and change of underthings, mended I am afraid, but still a lot of wear in them."
Carrying the undergarments, Amelia went back to the hall. "I will show you your room now. Left here, and up the back stairs. We have one spare room in the attic that we keep for guests when the house is full.
There is a small cot there, too, that we can use for the child."
The stairs were narrow and steep, bending up under the eaves and opening into yet another narrow hall.
Amelia gestured toward a door on the left. "Rachel's room is there. Cook's, down on the right. To the other side the servants' workroom and storage areas. Your room is here." She opened the first door on the right. "As you can see, it is cozy, and there is a small fireplace." She strode over to the bed and dropped the undergarments on it. Jes-sica noticed some hooks on the wall by the door and hung the two dresses there, then surveyed the room. The fur-nishings were simple, but adequate: a maple four-poster bed and a nightstand, a rough dresser, a washstand with pitcher and bowl, an old rocking chair near the fireplace, braided rugs on the wide-board floors, and a narrow cot pushed into the far corner of the room.
"I thought," Amelia continued, "if we slid this cot up beside the bed
with some rolled blankets along the edge to keep him from falling, it would work very well for the babe."
"Yes," Jessica agreed, "and it's close to the fireplace, so he'll be warm." "Unfortunately we only have one cradle, and it would seem better to leave that in the kitchen so he will be in a safe spot while you are working. Cook will be there to keep an eye on him."
"She really won't mind?"
"Molly adores children. Never had any of her own and makes up for the lack with the neighborhood youngsters— always one or another of them coining to the kitchen door begging a cookie and cup of milk. Not that I mind—keeps the place lively. Well, you should be all right for the time. I will go down and join my husband and daughter. If you are in need of anything, ask Cook or Rachel. Tomorrow being Saturday, the household will sleep in, so there is no need for you to be up too early at your chores, though do see that the front parlor and dining room are tidied and the fires lit in both rooms. Mary and her husband will stay the night, so we will be five for breakfast. On weekdays we are up by eight, except for Elizabeth who often rises later. I will no doubt see you later, but Merry Christmas, and welcome."
"The same to you, Mrs. Beard—and thank you so much."
The older woman smiled. "If you follow the back stairs all the way down, they will bring you out to the kitchen hall."
"I'll put these things away, then go down."
"Good day then, and do not worry over my husband's reaction to the child. . . I sense it may still be on your mind. He will raise no objections."
With that she hurried away, closing the door behind her. Jessica let out a sigh of despair, her mind spinning with all that had happened in the last few hours. Slowly she walked to the windows and stared out at the snowy scene as she tried to compose her thoughts.
Despite Amelia Beard's warmth, she found this all terribly frightening and felt nervously unprepared for what lay ahead. She had only the smallest clue to the running of the household. Nothing in her own twentieth century had prepared her for the lack of labor-saving devices, the need to light fires, to carry water from a hand pump, to empty chamber pots. There would be no vacuums or/ commercially available cleaning aids for her now, just brooms and dustpans, soap and water. Not that she doubted her physical ability to handle a maid's chores—she was healthy and strong; but she did wonder if she could carry it off efficiently and not make herself look like a fool. The Beards and their servants would expect her to have experience in all this, to say nothing of a familiarity with the habits and customs of the time.