The Diary of Cozette

by Amanda McIntyre

  By the time the sun began to peek cautiously over the horizon, the wood furniture shone against the imported Prussian rugs, and the table was set for a proper, but simple, tea.

  The mistress’s tea table was a monstrous oak piece with great feet that appeared like those of a lion. Its position in the room gave a captivating view of the arbor and the garden walk beyond. The arbor, pruned of its dry withered vines days before by Mr. Coven’s steady hand, sprouted new ivy beginning to curl its way up the wrought iron braces. Adjacent to the garden path was a small stone fountain, gurgling its welcome. The impish cherub seated at the top looked down with his stony grin as water flowed from the urn on his shoulder. The lawn, turned a rich, lush green, was framed with lilac bushes blooming with full heads in shades of lavender, white, and deep purple.

  Willow Manor in spring is truly a feast for the eyes. Though it was my first time spent there, I knew it would be a favorite spot to escape and read or write.

  Having been informed of Lady Graham’s love for roses, I picked a few from my mistress’s private garden of prize pink miniature roses and arranged them with baby’s breath in an extra teacup.

  Lady Archibald informed us that she wanted everything perfect as she planned to invite Lady Graham to join the Ladies of Social Responsibility. It had long been her personal mission to convince the league members of Lady Graham’s importance. Many of the women in the guild did not admire her spontaneity or independence, finding her brash and noncompliant with social etiquette. The fact that her dead husband had arranged legally for her to have everything he owned was the only point the ladies found worthy.

  “This is an important alliance, Miss Cozette.” Miss Farrington spoke as she handed me a tray laden with Mistress Archibald’s tea set she used only on special occasions.

  My hands trembled frightfully, as I kept my eye to the fine hand-painted china teapot sitting stout among the cups and saucers.

  Each piece matched the teapot, with wild roses in pale pink, brown and green painted on the sides. The handle of the teapot shone in bright gold and matched the handles of the cups and the rim of the saucers. Indeed, I’d never seen anything so exquisitely beautiful.

  The sound of a tiny clink emitted from the tray and Miss Farrington’s gaze darted to mine, her eyes wide with concern. Seeing my astonished look, she held tight to the tray, not relinquishing her hold until she was sure I had it firm in my hands.

  I nodded in affirmation that she could indeed let go.

  “This is the mistress’s finest collection. She has seven, but this one she brings out only in the case of very special guests.”

  She handed me the creamer and the sugar bowl from the protective confines of the sideboard pantry just off the dining room.

  “It holds very special sentiment for Lady Archibald, so mind you, be careful and don’t try to carry more than you ought.”

  I nodded. This was an insight into my mistress, a closed woman most of the time, she nonetheless holds my deepest respect in how well she cares for her staff and her home, and still has time to think of others.

  Reserved and quiet, she has never raised her voice in anger. Yet for all her material possessions and poise, I have often thought there is a measure of loneliness that reveals itself when you look deep into those tranquil blue eyes.

  Then there is my master, her husband, an odd man and quiet also. He is not cruel, though he speaks often in threats and warning, but his life seems preoccupied with his frequent business trips. Yet it is my observation, erroneous though it may be, that he returns with lavish gifts to bestow on his beloved wife. Rare works of art, pieces of sheet music for her piano, imported tea from far-off countries, yet it seems to me a facade that he would offer trinkets in place of his passion. In addition, it is in my opinion (though kept only to myself) that my mistress, like a garden left unattended, appears haggard, withering from neglect.

  Not to say that she isn’t a most handsome woman, indeed she most surely is! Moreover, I have observed with quiet amusement Jensen’s avid attention to her every need, insofar as he is able to provide. A woman’s needs are as vital to her as a man’s are to him, or so it is my belief. It is my fervent hope that Master Archibald is not doing more than business on his frequent outings, but my instinct warns me that there is information he is not sharing with his good wife.

  The tray carrying the service wobbled precariously as my foot caught the edge of the great rug in the parlor. A gasp from behind stole my breath and I knew that should any harm come to milady’s precious collection it would be grounds for my severance.

  “Miss Cozette, be mindful please of your step,” she cautioned. “Need I remind you of how priceless these heirlooms are to me?”

  My mistress’s voice was calm, but held a stern warning.

  “These were a gift to my grandmother on her wedding day. She passed them on to me the day I married Master Archibald.”

  She picked up a cup as I set the tray down and turned it as she gazed lovingly upon it.

  “I can remember we drank our first tea as a married couple from this very set. It was a lovely cottage by the sea, just the two of us….”

  Her voice trailed off and I caught a glimpse of the passion she must have known early on in her marriage. I averted my gaze to the floor, taught by Miss Farrington that servants do not involve their emotions openly with their masters.

  I stood silent with my hands folded chaste in front of me and waited a breath before speaking, “My apologies, mum, for my clumsiness.”

  “Miss Cozette, are you feeling well? Your eyes have a darkness beneath them and you seem ill at ease. Has something upset your digestion?”

  I kept my gaze cast to the floor, wanting to tell her that I ached for François, his touch, his gentleness, his hands on my skin.

  My gaze jerked to hers when she touched my arm. Her blue eyes were steady.

  “You have no reason to fear me, Miss Cozette.”

  “No, mum.” I curtsied, aware her hand remained on my arm. Her thumb brushed over the sleeve of my uniform and I watched from hooded lids as her perfectly manicured nails slid back and forth across my shirt.

  “Bring me the polished silver from the cherry-wood case. Tell Miss Farrington that I will assist you this morning in how to set a proper table for tea.”

  I glanced up meeting her gaze, and though her smile was warm, her expression was firm. This news took Miss Farrington by surprise. Her eyes grew wide as I relayed milady’s request.

  “Of course you are excused from your morning duties. However, do not take advantage, Cozette. The mistress can be lenient, but she can be firm as well. If she is taking on this task, she likely has very good reason for doing so. Listen carefully, do not speak until you are spoken to and for heaven’s sake do not be cheeky with the missus. Is this understood?”

  “Indeed, mum, thank you.” I curtsied and returned to milady summoning my courage with each step. Yet I could not help but be curious of why my mistress should be willing to instruct me herself, rather than to have the cook teach me.

  Lady Archibald inspected each utensil, handing me random pieces for extra polish.

  “Have you experienced a social tea, Cozette?”

  She glanced up at me as she held up a teacup, studying carefully its fine bone china rim. I was puzzled why she would ask knowing my background and for a moment considered whether to laugh or simply answer her question. I chose the latter. “No, mum, I’ve never had the privilege.”

  “But you do drink tea?”

  I nodded, uncertain just how best to respond, finally choosing Miss Farrington as my ally. “If my chores are done to Miss Farrington’s standards, mum, she and I will, on occasion, share a cup in the afternoon.”

  “Ah, well then, there is very little difference in a social tea. If you take away the attire, the oft-times drone of a lengthy story, and the amount of time it takes to plan the perfect menu.” She glanced at me with a soft smile.

  A smile played on my lips, but I suppres
sed it in haste. I dared not answer that the social etiquette involved seemed to be of more importance than the people were. Of those I’d heard of, it was simply women dressed in finery worthy of gala proportion, sipping tea with their gloves on, and chatting about the weather.

  My mistress offered me a secretive smile.

  “My dear husband feels I don’t socialize enough. Though the Ladies League is one charitable group that I find most agreeable. I host these tête-à-têtes because it boosts our credibility within social circles. Frankly, I would rather focus our energies on the charitable works alone. But we do what we must, mustn’t we?” She smiled.

  I kept my focus on the slight wrinkle in the tablecloth and pretended that her question was not directed toward me, but made as a statement in general.

  “I don’t know what is the matter with me as of late. Perhaps Master Archibald’s absence these days is affecting my sleep, making me more critical of everything. Ah, but it is a glorious day for a tea, is it not?”

  I darted a glimpse and met her gaze. Her eyes shimmered with unseen tears. I could not ignore the loneliness I saw in their depths. “I am quite certain that is the case, mum. Shall I see to the food preparations, then?”

  I waited as she sauntered in no apparent haste to the window and gazed across the front lawn. “Mistress Archibald?” I had concern for her mental state. She seemed most melancholy.

  She waved her hand to dismiss me and I curtsied and left with no more said between us. Later, when I had the chance I asked Miss Farrington why the mistress seemed in such a forlorn state, but she was quick to instruct me not to meddle in affairs that were not of my concern. Far be that from the truth—I wanted to remind my superior that Mistress Archi bald had stood up in my favor once, offering a new life from my dismal existence. How could I turn a blind eye from her unhappy demeanor? If I could help her as she had helped me, then I should not give up until I found a way.

  ~A.C.B.

  April 7, 1874

  It has been a week since the tea, but I am just now assessing what happened and further, do not know what yet may be in store for me.

  I was given the task of pouring out and in keeping with my duties, one is to turn a deaf ear to the conversations. As I held the silver tray laden with sweet cakes and nut meats to her guests, my mistress spoke to her guests.

  “See how like milk her skin is?”

  “You’re absolutely correct, Virginia. She’s an absolute study for the Brotherhood,” Lady Graham returned. “Drat that nephew of mine. This is the second time he has turned away my invitation. He may not receive another,” she sniffed, but her smile revealed she did not mean it. She sipped her tea.

  “Perhaps I can persuade him with a visit to the country in the autumn. The colors might attract him.”

  Lady Graham was a large woman and she was dressed today in a bright green fitted silk jacket and matching skirt. I had to hide my smile at the tiny fabric balls flouncing at the hem of her skirt. Outrageous attire in comparison to the sedate clothing choices of the three other guests, but I was beginning to see that being set apart agreed with Lady Graham. She stared at me quite openly as she helped herself to more of Miss Farrington’s divine petit fours. Her bright blue eyes set in her round face fairly glistened as her words shaped her scrutinizing thoughts.

  “She has the eyes, definitely large and luminous. Thomas says that is a prerequisite, without question. Her skin is absolute perfection, indeed and she’s not too skinny. The Brotherhood artists, I understand, like their women substantial.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Jane Asbury commented, aghast.

  Lady Graham enjoyed her surprise. “I abhor artists who paint skinny women, it’s not natural.”

  Her gaze followed me as I served the others. “Indeed, her breasts are ample, but not overly so and her frame solid, but sleek. Yes, I can see, Virginia, how you would consider her a potential subject. I will make haste to speak to my nephew at once upon my return and we shall set up a suitable time for a visit.”

  “Is this your nephew, the artist?” Lady Hamilton remarked. “Didn’t he decline also to Lady Archibald’s holiday party?”

  “Indeed, due to some exhibit of a friend, so he says. He’s somewhat of a rebel, my nephew, but I suppose that’s part of what I love about him.” She chuckled. “You know he was kicked out of the Royal Academy for arguing with one of the professors. He’s now under the tutelage of one of the underground artists.”

  “The Pre-Raphaelites? You don’t say, how deliciously scandalous,” Lady Jane remarked with a wicked grin.

  “Oh!” I let out a small gasp as Lady Graham patted my backside. “She’s perfect.”

  Lady Hamilton let out a horrified gasp, but covered her smile.

  I quietly scanned the faces staring at me, and realized the subject they spoke of was me! I wanted to dart from the room. My cheeks warmed. “Will there be anything else, madam?” My stance rigid, I caught my mistress’s eye and she nodded, I believe aware of my discomfiture.

  “We need more tea to pour out—see if Miss Farrington has it ready.”

  She dismissed me and I was able to gather my wits, and give Miss Farrington a good laugh at the same time.

  “It’s been a good long while since anyone has swatted my bum,” Miss Farrington teased. “Do you think if I were to serve her she might…?” She collapsed in another fit of laughter.

  “I can’t say that I find this amusing. You aren’t the one being served up to these women on a platter.”

  “Now then, your only concern is to this platter.” She handed me a tray filled with ripe strawberries and cherries.

  Indeed, for the remainder of the afternoon I kept my eye on Lady Graham and caught her secret smile more than once. Perhaps since the death of her husband, she’d taken a fancy to women. I was no stranger to the idea that there were women who enjoyed the company of the fairer sex more than they did a man.

  “Pay me no mind, child, my interest is purely an artistic one.” She stopped me once as I served her.

  “She’s exquisite, Virginia. Thomas will be thrilled, I am certain.” Lady Graham followed me as I walked around the table pouring out.

  Mistress Archibald glanced at me as if assessing the wisdom of such a venture. “I will discuss it further when Master Archibald returns from his hunting trip.”

  “Splendid, and oh, Virginia, you must let me begin plans to host a ball for your beloved league. We shall have an auction to raise money for your most worthy projects. Next spring, it will be the talk of London.”

  The plumes of white feathers stuck in her wide-brimmed hat bobbed on her head as she spoke. She lifted a petite cake to her mouth and sampled a bite, licking her lips with great flourish. Her gaze rolled upward in delight before turning to mine.

  “Delightful, simply delightful.”

  The Ladies League invited Lady Graham to membership that very afternoon. I am yet unsure what to make of this situation. Yet if it brings a smile to my mistress’s face then perhaps it is well worth my flexibility.

  ~A.C.B.

  April 9, 1874

  Master Archibald arrived home from his hunting trip today, delivering the news that he was leaving again. They did not know I was yet finishing my kitchen duties in the next room.

  “But you’ve only just returned from hunting, Robert. Is it so urgent that you cannot take a few days’ rest at home? I’m sure my father—”

  “This has nothing to do with your father, Virginia.”

  I paused in the shadows of the kitchen hallway, the silver wrapped in my tea towel ready for storing in the velvet-lined cherrywood box located in the dining room. Miss Farrington, exhausted from the rigors of baking, retired early after I promised to close down the kitchen as I’d seen her do many times.

  We’d not spoken, the mistress and I, on the subject of Lady Graham’s offer. I was curious if she’d found opportunity to apprise the master on the subject.

  “These are pressing matters, Virginia. You know that I work ver
y hard so that you have a nice home, move in the proper circles. Matters pertaining to my business do not keep, madam. How do you think that you’ve come by such fine things?”

  The master’s voice was edged with an angry roughness that I had not heard before. I suspected he had partaken of a bit of brandy during the afternoon.

  “Do you make it a habit of eavesdropping, Miss Cozette, or is this so juicy that it is worth risking my position as well?”

  Mr. Coven’s voice whispered in my ear and my arms instinctively tightened on the towel containing the silver, praying none would spill and clatter to the floor. So engrossed had I been in the conversation and with my avid concern for my mistress, that I had not heard him arrive behind me.

  I did not hide my fierce look of warning as I glanced over my shoulder and held his gaze in the shadows of the pantry hallway.

  “As for my manners, I am simply hesitating so as not to interrupt. May I ask what sort of gentleman sneaks into his master’s home in the middle of the night and makes habit of sneaking up unaware on its residents?” I hissed in response.

  “One that is making sure the silver gets returned to its proper place?”

  He offered a quick grin, his perfect teeth shining in the dark.

  “And who, by the way, is spreading nasty rumors that I am a gentleman?” he remarked.

  Had the conversation in the next room not pulled my attention fully, I would have sufficiently, and without delay, stomped the top of his foot.

  “Shh,” I cautioned, leaning closer to the double doors that led into the library. Behind me, I sensed the heat from his body hovering next to mine. If my regard for François were different, I might be tempted to see how sure of himself Mr. Coven really was. Though his body is without question most enticing, his demeanor most assuredly is not. In fact, in nearly all of my encounters with the man, I’ve found him to be most annoying.