by Jane Harris
Playing along with her Phantasy, I put this to her: had she always known the purpose of what ‘Mr Levy’—(this great Paragon!)—had commanded her to do? She thought for a moment and then said that she had understood the porpoise of most things he had wanted, without even having to ask him, but that some of the things he made her do had indeed left her a little baffled. However, as she seemed unable (or unwilling) to be specific about or to describe what these particular duties were, we had to drop the subject. (Mr Levy, apparently, did not mind if she used newspaper to wipe coal off the carpet.)
Hell roast her, I thought. Calling my Mr Levy a figment! It seemed she had got no reply to her letter, which made me a bit hopeful. But what she had said in the title about a ‘most particular case’ still had me worried and so I read on.
COAXING PHASE
Alongside the element of disorientation I have introduced, by degrees, the ‘coaxing’ or ‘bonding’ process, whereby the disoriented subject is encouraged to form a closer, trusting relationship with the mistress. As a means of spending more time with the subject when our daily labours had ended, I instigated punctuation lessons. (Perhaps dear Nora did not have this girl’s vocabulary, but she certainly knew what to do with a full stop!) The evening lesson gives us a chance to be seated side by side, in quiet and intimate circumstances, and I believe that Bessy would already (secretly) rather that we were friends than mistress and maid. She has a tendency, unless instructed otherwise, to seek out my company at every opportunity, for instance, walking me to and from church. If I retire to my room, it is only a matter of time before she will come knocking, often with little excuse. She is also keen to get me to divulge information about myself and my husband and often asks questions that are a little ‘off colour’. Rather than discourage this, I have been (very subtly) encouraging it, in the interests of gaining her trust. From time to time, I tell her a little about myself, giving her something of my history with one or two mild embellishments. Rest assured, I reveal nothing too personal, but simply give her enough to make her feel that
I am confiding in her. I do believe that she is quite ensnared by me. (By the by, she will also now perform 40 sit/stand repetitions, without question or complaint. However, here we seem to have stalled—if only I could get her to 50 it would feel like real progress!)
By this time I was sick to my stomach and I had the sweats. But that was nothing compared to how I began to feel when I came across the title of her next entry, whereupon I was filled with dread.
AN INTRIGUING LETTER FROM A JEWISH GENTLEMAN
This morning, I was most surprised to receive a short communication from a Mr Samuel Levy of Candleriggs, Glasgow. It seems that he is the brother of ‘Mr Benjamin Levy’ of Crown House, the gentleman (now indeed deceased) whom Bessy claims was her former employer. Mr Samuel Levy says that he found my letter at Crown House when he went there to supervise the clearing of the premises, which have been shut up for several weeks, ever since his brother’s funeral.
According to Samuel Levy, there was an Irish girl who did indeed spend a number of months in his brother’s house. However, he says that this girl’s name was not Bessy Buckley, and he requests that I send a description of the girl that I have engaged, so that (in the first instance) he can establish whether or not we are speaking of the same person.
I must admit I am now rather intrigued, and have responded by return of post. I strongly suspect that my description will not match that of the ex-servant. It is my opinion that Bessy, in a moment of panic, gave me the address of one of her female acquaintances, perhaps a maidservant that she met one day while out walking in the park. Bessy may even have visited this girl at her place of work and had a glimpse of the master (which, no doubt, is where she will have gleaned her impression of the famous ‘Mr Levy’). The maid may also have spoken of her master’s death, hence Bessy’s story as told to me.
It remains to be seen whether I should confront her with her lies or not, and what course of action I should take. However, in the meantime, and until I hear from Mr Levy (brother), I intend to continue with my research.
STARTLING NEWS CONCERNING BESSY
I have just, this very morning, received a reply from Mr Samuel Levy. To my great surprise, it seems that my description of Bessy matches perfectly that of the girl who used to live at Crown House. Mr Levy says that there is no mistaking her, despite the difference in names. He claims that although the girl was ostensibly employed as his elderly brother’s housekeeper she was, in fact, kept there under IMMORAL CIRCUMSTANCES, the specifics of which he does not enter into but which can be guessed at, even by someone like myself who has not been much in the world.
This girl’s name, he writes, is not Bessy but DAISY (!). No surname is known. The brothers Levy were apparently estranged for many years, a family argument having caused them, in earlier times, to set up in competition as rival furriers and although Benjamin was retired, the feud continued until his death (aged 62). Subsequently, Samuel came to know what went on in his brother’s house and upon learning full details from the neighbours he closed up the premises and ordered the girl to leave.
Could it be possible that he is mistaken? This girl is so young—I find it hard to believe that she can have been involved in anything of the sort. Nonetheless, he does mention brightly coloured clothes and a habit of sucking her fingers—and apparently her parting words as he put her out on the street were that she didn’t care ‘a farthing dip’ anyway because she already had a position lined up at the Edinburgh Castle (which sounds very like Bessy!).
Despite this, I am strongly inclined to think that what he has been told about the girl is simply malicious gossip, spread by another servant who may have her own reasons for wishing to slander her rival’s name. This kind of thing is not uncommon, I believe, especially in town, where the servants live in close proximity to each other and are in the habit of forming jealousies and alliances.
I have replied to Samuel Levy’s letter by return of post with a number of questions which I beg him to answer.
In the meantime, it would be a terrible mistake to jump to any conclusions. I must admit that, upon reading Levy’s letter, I did become slightly anxious that I was harbouring a degenerate. Suddenly fearing what she might be up to, I tracked the girl down to the kitchen, from behind the closed door of which emerged a loud and repetitive rasping sound, accompanied by heavy breathing. Now that doubt had been cast over her history, I was perfectly prepared upon entering for an offensive or licentious sight to greet my eyes, and I pounced through the door at once—only to discover her in the act of scouring the table, an occupation both innocuous and useful. May I venture to assert that one should be careful not to judge too quickly, even when dealing with the lowliest of persons.
THE MAID WITH A SHADOWY PAST
I believe I can say without fear of contradiction that we know too little about our servants. All the evidence we have about them is written on a single piece of paper, by a former employer, who—for all we know—may be glad to be rid of them and to this end invents an immaculate character for them instead of giving us the lamentable truth. Occasionally, depending upon circumstance, we may not even have a written character for them. Why then should we blame ourselves if something comes to light about a servant’s past which surprises us? Clearly, it would be a mistake to chastise oneself, if this were the case. Even if a servant arrives with excellent testimonials, we take on him or her as a matter of trust. How are we to know what has really gone on in their lives before they come to us? And (some might say) is it really our concern, provided that they perform their duties punctually and well?
My own experiences of recent days bear this out. I have received another communication from Mr Samuel Levy. In reply to my questions he assures me that there is no mistake about what went on in his brother’s house. It is some relief to learn that Crown House was not, in fact, a public brothel for use by all and sundry, but a ‘respectable’ residence, and that Benjamin Levy, who was apparen
tly besotted with the girl, kept her there exclusively, as his sole concubine. This is small comfort, but at least we can be sure that the girl was not wandering the streets like an animal to ply her trade and that she has been sullied by only one ‘satyr’. Samuel Levy says that he cannot tell me where the girl came from (because he does not know) but says that she was reputedly sold into his brother’s care by an elder sister, who in return collected a weekly payment from Benjamin Levy’s solicitor (this payment has now been stopped, at Samuel’s command).
One is forced to wonder what kind of person would sell her younger sibling for immoral purposes. Such a person can be no less than a monster. Of course, the family would have been in financial straits after the death of both parents, but surely there are other means of living before resorting to such depravity?
However, one must also consider that—if she didn’t like it—the girl could always have run away from this man. Clearly she did like it, as apparently she remained there for almost a year. According to Samuel Levy, the neighbour’s servants claim that she was hardly ever dressed, and spent most of her time (when not engaged with Mr Benjamin Levy), reclining on a chaise beneath a chenille rug, eating lollipops and reading novels.
Of course, many of the characteristics that the girl displays—characteristics that I have previously remarked upon in these pages—do fit well with this new information about her. For example, her sultry looks and the unsettling mix she has of innocence and worldliness: these qualities are, I am sure, to be found in girls of her sort around the globe. It is now easy to understand her overwhelming attachment to her ‘dear’ Mr Levy and why she chatters about him in such glowing terms: she was none other than his mistress!
What on earth is the householder to do upon learning such a disturbing set of circumstances? I must admit that I have become somewhat disheartened since receiving this letter, and have even harboured some doubts about the likelihood of fully domesticating this girl. How can it be possible, given what I now know? Despite some progress in other areas, we are still stuck at 40 stand/sit repetitions and I begin to despair of coaxing more out of her.
I have even begun to find her presence a little unsettling, although I try not to show it. At one point yesterday, as we worked, I had reason to be standing next to her and—quite by accident—my sleeve happened to touch hers. The shock of brushing so close against her was overwhelming. It was as though a spark had leapt up my arm and shot into my heart. I hardly know how I managed to stop myself from crying out. I simply gasped and clutched at my chest, but managed to pass off this state of agitation as a mild digestive disorder. The girl expressed concern for my welfare and begged me to rest while she made me a drink. She busied herself with the teapot, apparently very happy to have me present in the kitchen while she saw to my needs. Indeed, she seemed almost elated to be tending to me. I must say that, despite everything, she does seem a sympathetic little soul, but I do wish that she would not fuss over people quite so much, with quite so much familiarity. It is unnerving to have her so near at hand, rubbing one’s back and tucking a rug over one’s knees.
Of course, there are some people—lovers of scandal and the like—who might derive a thrill or base excitement from proximity to a person of her sort, but I need hardly say that I am not one of them. It is true, I have always been interested in those less fortunate than myself (as evidenced by my youthful preoccupation with the poor), but my curiosity is always scientific in origin and owes nothing to the emotions.
A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
It is with great pleasure that I record an unprecedented 55 repetitions of the stand/sit test, as performed by Bessy this morning. Recently, as the preceding pages will confirm, I had been very disheartened about her progress and, in fact, had almost made up my mind to get rid of her, fearing that she was beyond my help. In this spirit, I made a small, rather desperate wager with myself: if I could get her beyond her usual 40 repetitions then I would retain her services; if not, I would give her notice.
In truth, I did not expect her to perform and so it was with great excitement that I saw her hesitate for a second as she sat on her 40th repetition, before bobbing up swiftly into a hitherto unheard of 41st! I caught my breath and believe I must have held it through a subsequent 14 repeats as, when she finally desisted and requested permission to get on with her work, I almost fell to the ground in a dead faint! When asked what had caused her to have made such an advancement she simply shrugged and said that she didn’t know for sure, only that she thought it might give me ‘pleshur’. Pleshur indeed!
Given this remarkable breakthrough, I have elected to keep her here. The poor wretch should be given a second chance in the world! Otherwise she might end up once again at the hands of an exploiter or debaucher. Good sense also proclaims that it would be a waste of time and effort to dismiss her now that she knows how things are run. She is clearly capable of concealing the details of her history from anyone she encounters. I have tested this ability by (amongst other things) asking her supposedly ‘innocent’ questions about her stint at Mr Levy’s residence and she did not betray herself with so much as a blush. Indeed, she has the ability to talk around a subject in a way that makes the listener forget what they asked in the first place. Of course, there is the small consideration of the inconvenience to my research, were she to leave, but this is of secondary importance. What really matters is allowing this subject a new start and helping her to make the most of a decent life in service. She will never be as perfect as dear Nora, but I will use her to demonstrate that a decent servant can be made from even the lowliest of prostitutes (and I have altered the title of this section accordingly). I now have no qualms about retaining her and am very interested to see what can be achieved.
This admission may perhaps have excited in the reader feelings of horror and outrage, who might have expected me to dismiss the girl without question upon learning about her shadowy past and I am prepared, briefly, to look into these attitudes to discover whether they are justifiable. I find that there is no cause for revulsion. It is possible for a householder to turn a blind eye to a servant’s past, as long as said householder is vigilant and does not take advantage of the situation.
A TEMPORARY PAUSE
For the past week or so, I have been anxious that the subject may have formed too great an attachment to me and I am sorry to recount that my fears have not been without foundation. This has become inescapable over the last few days. Yesterday, while we happened to be tidying my press in preparation for my husband’s return, the girl blurted out something that seems to go beyond the bounds of what might be viewed as appropriate, professing a love for me and stating that she would do anything for me, including laying down her own life to ensure my happiness. Needless to say, I had to bring our little rendezvous to an abrupt end and have tried to avoid her company ever since.
Then today, I had to send her on an errand to the village. As I was describing the purchase I required, I noticed that she had leaned towards me and seemed to be actually sniffing me, in the area of the neck. I do not think I was mistaken. So unnerved was I by this that I recoiled and, anxious to get away from her, I muttered something and fled to my room. Moments later, I remembered that in my hurry to escape, I had neglected to tell her about my husband’s arrival. (It had been my intention to call something out to her about it as she left. In this way, I would not have to explain too much, or deal with any of the sulks that were sure to be forthcoming when she learned that our little idyll was to be disrupted.)
Readers might be forgiven for thinking that I have been misguided in (perhaps) cultivating her affection a little too much. However, I do not believe that to be the case. Such coaxing is a perfectly acceptable means of managing a young girl. If a servant becomes too engaged then it is hardly the fault of the mistress. The girl should have been more in control of herself.
I have come to the conclusion that I must now disengage from her. This is easily enough done: henceforth, I will simply avoid her as much as p
ossible and, by whatever means, attempt to distance myself from her. This must be done carefully, so as to avoid making her feel rejected. I can imagine that she might make things very awkward for me, were she to be offended.
Here was where the entries in The Observations ended. After that, it was nought but blank pages, waiting to be wrote upon.
I have to admit that despite all evidence to the contrary—and right up to the last—I did hold out a glimmer of hope that Arabella was making up all what she’d wrote. That there was no such person as Nora and that missus did not really mean the rotten things she said in there about me. Or perhaps she wasn’t writing about me, only about another girl called Bessy.
Of course deep down I knew the truth. It was a desperate blow to learn that she had found out some aspects of my past, let’s just say I would have preferred her not to know. But what was worse was how she thought of me. Hells teeth, how can I explain the wretched despair I felt, except to say that my heart was banjaxed. I was no more than a ‘thing’ to Arabella, a thing that might be experimented upon, toyed with and cast aside at a whim when it had outgrown its use.
Bad cess on her.