Elizabeth's Story, 1848

by Adele Whitby

  Katherine nodded. “I was very worried about Oliver Twist, but he has managed to escape the Beadle.”

  Mr. Fellows eyed me all away across the room. I was leaning on the doors to the study, far from Katherine and the book.

  “I was too provoked to sit still,” I said to him. “Poor Oliver Twist!”

  “Perhaps another book would serve you better,” Mr. Fellows said dryly.

  Katherine snapped the book shut. “I think you’re right, Mr. Fellows. In fact, I think Lady Elizabeth and I had rather go for a walk before lunch. We were quite taken over by the story.”

  “Whatever you say, milady,” Mr. Fellows said with a bow. He entered Papa’s study and placed the paper on his desk, looking around to make sure all was as it should be. He stopped short, looking at the shutters, and closed the one I had left ajar.

  If the butler knew I had been snooping, he said nothing. “I’ll let the footman know you’ll be needing your parasols,” he said, and left the library.

  I ran over to Katherine and took her hands. “Maggie O’Brien did work here, just when Mr. O’Brien said she did. She disappeared after taking a holiday. No one knows what happened to her. There’s a notation in the book about it, and her wages were put aside for her.”

  “Oh, that is too bad,” Katherine said. “We won’t be able to tell Mr. O’Brien what happened to her.”

  “Maybe we can—the book says that she shared a room with another kitchen maid named Clarice.”

  “We still have a kitchen maid named Clarice,” Katherine said, her voice rising.

  “We must convince Essie to talk to her and find out what happened.”

  Katherine shook her head. “We can’t ask Essie to do that. She’s far too nervous about losing her position. We can’t put her at risk like that, Elizabeth.”

  I knew Katherine was right. That left us with only one option.

  “We could talk to Clarice ourselves, without Essie knowing,” I said.

  “I do hate to keep secrets from Essie,” Katherine answered. “And if Papa finds out, he’ll be unhappy with us. So will Mr. Fellows.”

  “But we have to risk it—for Mr. O’Brien. We have to find out what happened to his Maggie.”

  Katherine bit her lip nervously. I could tell she was trying to come up with another idea, one that carried less of a risk with it.

  But we were out of options. Finally, she nodded her head, having reached the same conclusion I had moments before: The only option we had was to somehow talk to Clarice ourselves.

  On our walk, Katherine and I tried to think of a way we could talk to Clarice alone. It wasn’t going to be easy. The servants’ hall and the kitchen were always buzzing with activity, and Mr. Fellows clearly desired us to stop going downstairs at all.

  “We simply have to keep slipping downstairs until we can find Clarice on her own,” I said, “no matter what Mr. Fellows believes about ladies being downstairs.”

  “He’ll know we’re up to something if he keeps finding us,” Katherine said. “Essie will as well.”

  “Not with the birthday ball just a week away,” I answered. “We’ll use that as our excuse!”

  Over the next two days, we managed to slip away from Essie twice by making up errands for her to run. We ventured downstairs only to be waylaid by Mrs. Cosgrove or Mrs. Fields with questions. Mrs. Cosgrove wanted us to approve the flower arrangements. Mrs. Fields wanted us to taste a new hors d’oeuvre or the small practice cakes she had made to be certain they were what we expected. The flowers and the cakes were indeed beautiful and delicious, but I felt thwarted and disappointed at every turn.

  One afternoon, I thought I saw Clarice alone, stirring a pot of soup. We had just entered the kitchen when Mr. Fellows pounced like a cat on a mouse, telling us to go back upstairs and ring for Essie.

  We were turning to leave when we heard a lucky piece of news. Mrs. Fields let Clarice know that she was to launder all of the linens for the birthday ball the next afternoon. “And you’ll have to do it alone, I’m afraid. Mildred is down with a cold, and Gertie’s taking her half day.”

  “That’s it,” I whispered to Katherine as soon as we were upstairs again. “We’ll talk to Clarice while she’s doing laundry.”

  Katherine shuddered. “In the basement?” she asked.

  We knew the maids avoided the basement whenever they could. Essie said they believed it was haunted. Katherine and I were down there only once, during a game of hide-and-seek on our eighth birthday. Katherine was sure she saw a ghost, not to mention a mouse or two.

  I nodded, willing to brave the damp, dark cellar to discover the truth about Maggie O’Brien. “The basement—right after luncheon.”

  Essie came upon us in the great hall. “Mr. Fellows said you needed something,” she said.

  “We wanted to admire the cakes again,” Katherine said.

  “Is that what you were whispering about, then?” Essie asked.

  “Only the party,” I answered quickly. “And the boys we’ll dance with.”

  “Your first dance, after Lord Chatswood, will be with your cousin Maxwell,” Essie reminded me. “After all, he will be your husband someday, and won’t it be lovely to say that you danced together at your twelfth birthday ball?”

  I made a face, but agreed. Cousin Maxwell was perfectly nice, but why was I constantly reminded that he would one day be my husband?

  “I hope a boy asks me to dance,” Katherine said with a laugh. “How terrible to have to dance with an old uncle or something while Elizabeth is dancing a reel with Maxwell.”

  “I’m sure a nice boy will ask you to dance, Lady Katherine,” Essie said. “You and Lady Elizabeth will be the stars of the party.”

  Katherine did a little twirl. “And we’ll be wearing the prettiest dresses.”

  “Speaking of your lovely dresses, Madame Dubois will be back tomorrow right after luncheon for your final fittings,” Essie said.

  “Tomorrow?” I asked, my heart sinking. That was exactly the time Clarice would be alone in the basement. “Can’t we put her off?”

  “It wouldn’t do to wait, Lady Elizabeth,” Essie said, giving me a curious look. “What if the dresses aren’t perfect?”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “I had just forgotten.” It was hard enough to evade Essie, Mr. Fellows, and the rest of the servants. Now we’d have to somehow escape Madame Dubois, too.

  I thought about it while Essie led us upstairs to dress for dinner. She and Katherine talked of dresses and dancing and boys. My mind was on other things.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered to my twin while Essie was distracted for a moment. “I have a plan.”

  Later that night, after Essie helped us get ready for bed and said good night, Katherine and I met in the dressing closet. Our pile of food had clearly grown. I had straightened it up a number of times, only to find it toppled again. That morning, I had even managed to snag a half-empty jar of Mrs. Fields’s delicious plum preserves from the breakfast table.

  Katherine came and plopped onto my bed with me. “Now, tell me your plan.”

  Between Essie, who seemed to know we had a secret, Mr. Fellows, and Papa, I hadn’t a minute to tell her about my secret plot to talk to Clarice.

  “Madame Dubois can’t tell us apart anyway,” I said. “You’ll have to be both me and you for the dress fitting, and I’ll go to the basement to talk to Clarice.”

  “Alone?” Katherine asked, her eyes wide. “Won’t you be frightened?”

  I shook my head, ignoring the nervous fluttering of my heart.

  “What about Essie?” Katherine asked.

  “She hardly ever stays for the fittings,” I reminded her. “She said she had to walk to the village tomorrow. I’ll make sure she goes right after her own luncheon. Madame Dubois can help us undress.”

  I heard a scuttling noise and sat up. Could Essie be spying on us?

  Katherine heard it too. She kissed my cheek and ran through the dressing closet to her own bed. On the co
unt of three, we said our “sweet dreams” and blew out our candles.

  I could hardly wait for the next afternoon when I might finally find out the cause of Maggie O’Brien’s mysterious disappearance.

  I watched from the drawing room window as Madame Dubois arrived in one of Papa’s carriages. Essie would be finishing up her lunch any minute and walking to the village. I was afraid she might find a reason not to run her own errand, so I added one of my own. I had asked her to choose a red ribbon for me at the store on High Street and put it on Papa’s account. Katherine had asked for a blue one. We had ribbons enough, certainly, but Essie didn’t question our request.

  “You hurry upstairs,” I whispered to Katherine. “While the footman’s back is turned, I’ll slip down to the servants’ hall. I must make my way to the cellar stairs before they finish their luncheon.”

  Katherine and I walked together into the great hall. Then, just as the footman began to open the door for Madame, I slipped though the servants’ door and Katherine dashed upstairs.

  I could hear the servants at their luncheon, talking and laughing, full of excitement about the ball. I had worried the extra work would cause some friction, so I was pleased to hear them sound so happy.

  I tiptoed past their dining room toward the door to the cellar. A chair scraped across the floor and I heard Mrs. Fields’s distinctive voice.

  “That’s it, then. Back to work.”

  I had just a second or two before they all entered the hall, heading to their afternoon duties. Quickly, I opened the cellar door. I cringed when it let out a loud squeak but was on the other side of it before anyone could see me.

  I cringed even harder when the door closed behind me. Gaslight had never been installed here. The basement was spooky and dark. Why didn’t I think to bring a candle? I reached the bottom of the stairs and felt the sticky threads of a cobweb break against my face. I brushed them away frantically, hoping their creator hadn’t landed in my hair.

  Then I heard a tinkling sound—a ghostly bell. I was tempted to turn around and run right back upstairs, but I forced myself to walk down the dark hall to the laundry area. I had promised Sean O’Brien, and I would keep my promise. With my next step, I nearly laughed, realizing that the eerie bell was my own chatelaine.

  In the laundry, a small window near the ceiling, partly covered by a hedge, let in a small amount of light. I took a deep breath to steady myself and waited for Clarice.

  A few moments later I heard a scuffle coming toward me. Was it a mouse? A light seemed to flicker. I jumped back and nearly screamed when a ghostly presence entered the room. But it was only Clarice, carrying a candle in one hand and a mound of white linens in the other.

  The maid was just as startled as I; she dropped the linens and jumped back with a terrified whimper.

  “It’s me, Clarice. Lady Elizabeth,” I said, stepping out of my corner.

  “Milady, oh, I am sorry. I thought . . .” Her voice trailed off and she corrected herself, curtsying quickly. “How can I help, milady? Let me lead you back upstairs. We can—”

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” I said, cutting her off. “I must speak with you alone, and this is the only place that affords us privacy.”

  “Speak to me, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “You and Maggie O’Brien shared a room when she worked here twenty years ago, did you not?”

  Clarice nodded, her eyes suddenly wary.

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Oh, milady, Mr. Fellows told us not to speak of her when Essie made inquiries last week. He gave strict orders, and I’ve no desire to lose my position.”

  “I won’t let that happen to you, Clarice. I just want to give a sad man some information about his long-lost wife. I promise that your good name and position won’t be in any danger.”

  The wariness left her face and she softened a bit.

  “You remember Maggie O’Brien, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Oh, indeed I do, milady. We were two young girls together, starting out in service. Only Maggie had grander dreams—she wanted to be a teacher.”

  “That’s the Maggie Sean O’Brien spoke of,” I said, excitement bubbling in my chest.

  “She tried to teach me to read,” Clarice said with a smile. “I never could. The letters danced about the page so! But I didn’t let on to Maggie. She tried so hard and was pleased as punch when I finally seemed to catch on. The truth was that she had just the one book and I had memorized the words. It was a harmless fib, and it made her so happy.”

  “Do you remember when Maggie left?” I asked.

  Clarice shook her head. “I was on my yearly holiday, visiting my family in Wales. When I got back, Maggie had gone without ever saying good-bye. I missed her terribly. She was a sweet girl, and a hard worker.”

  “Did Maggie ever mention a husband?” I asked.

  “Oh no, milady. Married girls weren’t taken into service. Maggie wouldn’t have been hired if she had a husband.”

  “So she could have had a husband and kept him a secret,” I said, thinking aloud.

  “I’m sure I don’t know anything about that,” Clarice replied. “Though I always thought she ran away to be married. That’s frowned upon when you’re in service.”

  I remembered that Maggie’s family thought she might have gotten tired of waiting for Sean and that she had run away with another man. “Did she have a suitor?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of, milady, and she wasn’t the type to keep secrets, not like some. Except about her box, that is.”

  “Her box?” I asked.

  “Maggie kept her wages in an old wooden box under a loose floorboard in our room. Letters, too,” Clarice explained. “It was the first thing I checked when I learned that Maggie had disappeared. I thought for sure she would’ve taken it with her, but it was still there under the floor. She hadn’t locked it, but that’s an easy thing to forget. There were some letters on top, and her wages were there. The key was hidden in a corner of the bureau, like always.”

  “What happened to the box?” I asked.

  “I locked it and gave it to the butler—Mr. Adams he was then—for safekeeping. I held on to the key though. I wanted her wages to be safe in case she ever came back for them.”

  “Do you know what Mr. Adams did with the box?”

  “It must still be here in the basement, in the storeroom just down the hall,” Clarice said. “I hid the key in the library, behind a big blue book. I used to see it when I was dusting, and then one day it was gone.”

  “Can you take me to the box?” I asked.

  “This way, milady,” she said, taking her candle and leading me down the hall. She was just about to open the door to the storeroom when we heard a loud squeak. Clarice gasped. “The door, milady. Someone’s coming. You can’t be found here!”

  Clarice pulled me to the other side of the hall as the footsteps neared. “I’m sorry, milady. You must hurry,” she pleaded.

  I wondered where she intended to hide me when she pushed against what appeared to be a solid wall. Then a door appeared like magic.

  “A secret passage, milady,” she said, seeing the question on my face.

  An unlit candle sat in a nook just inside the door and Clarice used hers to light it for me. “Follow this hall until you reach the stairs, then take them until you find a door on your right. You’ll be in the library.”

  A secret passage, how exciting! I thought. My excitement waned as the door closed behind me and I was left alone. The darkness seemed to swallow the light of my candle. With careful steps, one hand holding the candle in front of me and the other touching the cold, damp stone of the wall, I moved forward, jumping at every noise. I could practically feel the presence of ancient ghosts. I tried to stop my imagination from running wild, but I couldn’t help wondering if any of those ancient ghosts had used this passage for vile deeds.

  My candle flickered and I feared it would go out, so I took my hand off the wall and cupped my fi
ngers around it. I was unsettled in the dark and moved as quickly as I could, but I feared I would trip on the rough stone floor. Finally, I banged my toes against the stairs Clarice had spoken of.

  I held my candle aloft to judge their height. They were steep and curved and I couldn’t see the top. What if they didn’t lead to the library? What if they went up and up and up and I found myself in a gloomy attic cell never to be found? What if Maggie O’Brien had walked these very stairs thinking they were a shortcut, only to disappear? I shivered at the idea of stumbling onto her skeleton, her final words etched into the wall with the tip of her fingernail.

  Stop this silliness! I told myself. Clarice wouldn’t send you into danger. I squared my shoulders and mustered my courage. The library was two full stories above the cellar. Of course I wouldn’t be able to see the top of a curving staircase by the light of one lone candle. The draft that had caused my flame to flicker in the hall seemed to be absent on the stair. I held the candle in my left hand and ran my right along the wall, climbing one step at a time.

  Finally, I touched something that felt like wood on my right, just where Clarice said the door would be. I listened carefully for a moment in case someone was in the library. Hearing nothing, I gave the door a gentle push. It didn’t budge. My heart hammered like the dressing gong at the thought of having to make the reverse trip to the basement. I pushed harder and harder, and the heavy door finally began to move.

  Only then did I realize that the door was one of Papa’s bookcases. How ingenious!

  I had blown out my candle and taken a careful step into the library when I heard Papa’s voice. Had I been discovered? But then Papa’s clear baritone was met by Mr. Fellows’s steady bass rumble. They were in Papa’s study. I only hoped they would remain occupied long enough for me to escape the library.

  My next task was to get upstairs to my bedchamber without being seen. I poked my head into the great hall—it was empty, thank goodness—and ran up the staircase as quick as a cat. I thought I was out of danger, but I was met by the exclamations of Madame Dubois.