The Earl and The Chambermaid

by Sophia Wilson

  “I do,” Abigail said. “And I am so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Jeremy said. “He was a good man and did not deserve for his life to be cut so short. But I hope to honor his legacy.”

  “I am sure that you will,” Abigail said.

  “Thank you,” Jeremy said. “Where do you work?”

  “Mostly in the kitchens,” she said. “But your mother sometimes requires my help on other matters. My mother was more of a chambermaid than a kitchen servant but that takes training, of course, so I am trying to replace her as much as possible.”

  “I’ve never seen you before,” he said, and she shrugged her slim shoulders.

  “I try to keep out of the way,” she said. “The house is often a very busy place, and there is enough to do without a servant getting in the way.”

  “You wouldn’t be in the way,” he assured her. “Especially if your art of conversation came out.”

  She laughed out loud at that, and Jeremy smiled.

  “Did I say something funny?” he asked.

  “The art of conversation?” she asked him. “I am not a lady, my lord,” she said. “I assure you, I have no art of conversation.”

  “Everyone can have that art,” he assured her. “And even those ladies who went to finishing school can lack it.”

  “Does Lady Rose have the art of conversation?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Because she doesn’t say much. It’s not that I question her intelligence or wonder if she has any unique thoughts. I just think that our thoughts are very different. We would clash terribly over building the estate.”

  “It is unique that you want to consult her on building the estate,” Abigail said, and Jeremy shrugged.

  “Of course, it would be my responsibility, but if she was to be the lady of the house, then she would have an opinion on many things. And they wouldn’t match mine. She does not seem open to change or growth.”

  “If those things are important to you, then you should have a wife that matches your opinions,” Abigail said.

  “For example, this garden,” Jeremy said, pointing to the roses. “Those roses have been there for generations and they are lovely, but each year, fewer and fewer plants come back. I would have them removed and plant a whole new breed of roses. My mother won’t hear of it and says that if even a single rose survives, it’s worth it. But I don’t think it is, when it looks patchy. Generations of no change can run an estate into the ground, don’t you think?”

  She was terrified of giving the wrong opinion, and so she chose an answer that was safe.

  “I think that the roses look lovely,” she said. “But change could also look lovely.”

  He chuckled at that.

  “But what do you really think?” he asked. “Don’t be afraid. This conversation won’t leave the garden.”

  She sucked in a breath and gathered her courage simultaneously. “I do think the roses look rather tired,” she admitted, and he laughed.

  “That is what I was waiting for,” he said and leaned forward to examine them in more detail. “What color would you put in if we changed them?”

  “Yellow?” she suggested, and he nodded.

  “I’ve seen yellow roses in so many other gardens and they always look lovely.”

  They talked for a few minutes longer and then Lord Jeremy rose up and yawned.

  “I should leave you to your thoughts,” he said. “I apologize for intruding.”

  “No need to apologize,” she said. “First of all, these are your gardens. Also, I was headed to bed myself in a few minutes.”

  “Then I have kept you awake,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Neither of those things is acceptable.”

  “Really, it’s no trouble,” she said. “I enjoyed speaking with you.”

  “I enjoyed speaking with you as well,” he said. “Where did you say you worked?”

  “The kitchens, mostly,” she said. “Although I go anywhere I am needed.”

  “My mother is lucky to have such a talented woman at her disposal,” he said. “Do you have a half day tomorrow, like the others?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “My half day is on Mondays, to make up for the other servants’ half day.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “I haven’t noticed the estate come to a standstill on Sundays, even though I know many are on a half day.”

  “We try to have you not notice, my lord,” she answered. “Have a wonderful night.”

  “You as well,” he said and headed back to the manor.

  Abigail watched him go and then bowed her head, resting it in her arms.

  She’d had an enjoyable conversation with him, but she was worried that word would get back to his mother and she would never hear the end of it, which terrified her.

  She hadn’t realized how kind and levelheaded the young lord was. He had so many interesting ideas, and she wished she could speak more to him.

  Instead, she rose once he was gone and headed back to the estate, taking the back stairway to her bedroom. She shared a dormitory room with several other female servants who were already asleep for the night.

  Abigail slipped into the room and changed quietly. Her night had taken an interesting turn but she couldn’t dwell on it. Tomorrow would be another hard day, and she needed her rest.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Abigail rose before the sun as always. She found that she was more tired than the night before and assumed that was because she had been up a bit later than normal. She had dreamed of sitting in the back garden with Lord Jeremy and awoke feeling relaxed on top of being slightly sleep-deprived. Despite her relaxed shoulders, her colleagues commented when she went down to breakfast.

  “You look half asleep,” Gwen said to her.

  Abigail sipped on her tea and tried to open her eyes wider. “I’m all right,” she replied. “Thank you for your concern, Gwen.”

  Gwen looked like she wanted to say something more, and Abigail had a feeling that it wouldn’t be something kind. However, she continued to sip her tea, letting it seep into her body. She rose when the bell rang and headed to Lady Charlotte’s bedchambers, ready to answer her beck and call. Lady Charlotte didn’t say that she looked tired but she did criticize Abigail several times for not doing things exactly the way her mother did.

  Abigail took a deep breath and tried to smile, but by lunchtime, she felt like she might explode. She was working on kneading bread and was being a little more aggressive with it than she should be. Just as she was about to give it one final punch, she heard a voice at the kitchen door.

  “Hello,” said Lord Jeremy, and she almost dropped her dough in surprise.

  “Hello,” she said. “Apologies, my lord, I just …”

  “You are extremely talented at kneading bread,” he said as he looked at the pulverized bread dough. “I think.”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed.

  “If anything, it will be well mixed,” she said and then realized they should not be talking. “Was there something that you wanted, my lord? Something I could help you with?”

  “Oh,” he said. “Right. I just wanted a ... snack.”

  “A snack?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. That was a bit odd, given the fact that he could ask anyone on the upper floor to bring him something to eat.

  “And I had a craving for something freshly baked. Straight out of the oven.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. She wasn’t about to question his craving or accuse him of being downstairs for another purpose. That would be egotistical of her, and she would surely be fired for such a thought. “I can see what is baking.”

  “That would be wonderful,” he said. She left the loaf of bread and went into the other room to find that a tray of fresh biscuits had just been pulled out of the oven. She picked up two and put them on a plate, bringing them to Lord Jeremy.

  “Wonderful!” he said, his eyes widening. “Thank you, this is exac
tly what I was craving.”

  “Of course,” she responded. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “That is all,” he said, and disappeared, smiling.

  Abigail went back to her dough and found that she was smiling as well. It was a pleasant surprise, even if it was a bit odd. By the time lunch was over, she felt more relaxed.

  “Was that Lord Jeremy I saw talking to you?” Gwen asked her as the servants sat down to their late lunch.

  “Yes,” she said, sipping her soup. “He was hungry.”

  “If he was hungry, he could have asked someone upstairs to bring him something.”

  “I didn’t tell him that,” Abigail said. “Because I am sure that he knows that, and it would be rude to say otherwise.”

  “That is fair,” Gwen answered. “I just thought it was a little bit strange, didn’t you?”

  “It is not my place to say that,” Abigail responded, and finished her lunch.

  ***

  Several days later, Abigail found herself in the exact same situation she had been in before. She was taking her frustration out on a ball of dough when Lord Jeremy appeared again in the kitchen.

  “I haven’t baked anything this time,” she said when he appeared.

  He shook his head with a smile. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ve come to ask your opinion. Can you spare a few minutes?”

  “My opinion?” she asked, confused.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Would that be all right?”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said, even though she was confused. She left the ball of dough, hoping that it wouldn’t fall, and followed him out of the kitchens and into the garden.

  To her surprise, the rose garden that they had been sitting in the other night was completely dug up. In its place, there were several yellow roses, clearly waiting to be freshly planted in the waiting holes.

  “What do you think of this color?” he asked. “These are the most popular kind of yellow ones, correct?”

  “I—” she was so surprised that she could barely speak. “Yes?”

  “Perfect,” he said and spun to talk to the gardeners, as if he hadn’t completed some massive project in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t just let the experience wander by and approached him after a few confused moments.

  “Did you do all this because I spoke of it the other night?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I had been thinking of it for quite a while,” he said. “And the truth was, I just needed a little push, which you provided me with your idea. As soon as this is done, I’ll show my mother, and I am sure that she will love it.”

  Abigail turned pale at that.

  “Oh,” she said. “Please don’t tell your mother.”

  Jeremy looked confused at that.

  “Why not?” he asked her.

  “Well, please don’t tell your mother it was my idea, at least,” she said. “Please. She will …”

  “Oh.” Jeremy seemed to understand at once and shook his head. “I won’t tell her it was your idea, if you don’t wish me to. But it is such a wonderful idea, and you should take credit it for it. Perhaps it will lead you to …”

  “Please don’t,” Abigail repeated, and Jeremy nodded.

  “As you wish,” he said. “I will say that I was inspired by the Hamlets, in the south. They have yellow roses.”

  “They are lovely.” Abigail tried to lighten the mood by looking around and pointing out one in particular. “That one is different. What is that?”

  “It’s a hybrid,” he said. “The gardener that sold it to me told me that it will come in as a mix of yellow and red, to pay tribute to the old garden.”

  “Oh, that is lovely,” she said. “I cannot wait to see it when it is completed.”

  “I will be sure to come and get you when the time comes,” he promised and she blushed and thanked him.

  When she got back to the kitchens, though, her colleagues were looking at her very strangely.

  “Abigail, is everything all right?” Mrs. Perry asked. “I saw Lord Jeremy come down and …”

  “He just needed ... something,” Abigail trailed off. “It’s hard to explain.”

  Mrs. Perry was not as inquisitive as Gwen and nodded.

  “Just don’t leave dough like that again,” she said after a moment. “It will fall.”

  “I know,” Abigail said and went back to work. After a moment, however, she couldn’t hold in her secret any longer and told Mrs. Perry what Lord Jeremy had told her.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Perry said. “This is dangerous territory, my love.”

  “Just talking to him about roses?” Abigail said. “I would say it’s an experience of a lifetime. God knows Lady Charlotte will not let me speak to anyone ever.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Perry said. “But you know how men are, and that is dangerous.”

  “I don’t think it’s like that at all,” she answered. “He is simply ... frustrated with his situation and confided in me for a moment. That is all.”

  “But that is a mistake, my dear,” Mrs. Perry said. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but you have nothing in common with the young lord, no matter how you feel. You are two very different people in two very different situations in life. You cannot possibly understand him and he cannot understand you.”

  Abigail hung her head at that. She disagreed, but she didn’t want to disrespect Mrs. Perry. So instead, she put the dough in the loaf pan and slipped it into the oven.

  “May I go and write a letter to my mother?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Perry said. “How is she doing, dear?”

  “I’m not sure,” Abigail admitted. “I haven’t heard from her in a little over a week and normally, we exchange letters a few times a week.”

  “I understand,” Mrs. Perry said. “Perhaps she is just feeling a little tired this week? I am sure she will write soon, my dear.”

  Abigail tried to smile but the worry overwhelmed her.

  “Thank you for giving me the time to do so,” she said. “I will be back down in time to take the bread out of the oven.”

  She headed up the stairs to her room. During the night, it felt completely crowded and she could barely get a moment’s peace. During the day, however, it was peaceful and almost luxurious. She sat on her bed, which was in the middle of her room, and pulled out some parchment and ink.

  She stared at the empty paper for a long moment and then tried to think of something to write. She knew that each moment that slipped by was a wasted moment. She could practically feel the bread rising in the oven and limiting her time.

  She got off her bed and headed over to the window. The servants’ quarters were at the back of the house, and they overlooked the garden.

  She could see the gardeners working on the rose garden, and she stood and watched for a few minutes. They were planting the new rose bushes so lovingly, and she could already see the new rose section of the garden taking shape.

  Her eyes wandered around the garden until she found Lord Jeremy standing in the middle of it. He was saying something and pointing to the outer rim of the gardens. The gardeners carried a few bushes over to the path, and Abigail smiled as she realized what his idea was. She agreed completely with the garden design, despite the fact that he had not discussed any of it with her. It was as if they could read each other’s minds.

  She eventually sat down on her bed again, and picked up the quill.

  Dear Mother,

  I hope you are well. I have not heard from you for quite some time, and I am hoping there is a harmless reason. I am hoping to visit you soon but things are quite busy here on the estate. There are a number of balls coming up, and in addition, the rose garden is being redone, with yellow roses in the heirloom section. They are stunning, and I hope that you will return to see them soon.

  Lord Jeremy has taken over the garden design, and he seems to throw himself into his work. His mother has recently announced his betrothal to Lady Rose, although I am not sure that w
ill take place.

  Write back soon,

  Abigail

  She knew her mother was curious, like herself, and she was hoping a letter like that would draw her into writing back, no matter how she was feeling.

  Once the ink was dry, Abigail sealed it and put it in an envelope, hoping to mail it tomorrow, which was her half day off. Even if she got back a letter scolding her for being a gossip, she would be happy.

  She could not address the possibility in her mind that there was a reason her mother wasn’t writing back. She wanted to assume that the letters were just lost in the post, rather than assuming the worst.

  She knew that God had a plan for everyone and that when one’s time came, there was nothing they could do. She went to church every Sunday and trusted God in every moment of her life. But she couldn’t accept that her mother being taken away from her was part of a higher plan that was for the best.

  She headed back down to take the bread out of the oven, focusing her mind on the warm pan and the smell of her creation. She half hoped that Lord Jeremy would come down again but told herself that was silly. He wasn’t going to come down every day; he had better things to do. And Mrs. Perry was right; they weren’t friends and they had nothing in common.

  Chapter 4

  A week later, Abigail was overjoyed to finally find a letter from her mother in the post. She had been prepared to use her half day off to rush all the way down to the cottage, and hopefully rush back before she was missed. She knew that was nearly impossible, given that it was a two-hour carriage ride, but she would have done it if she didn’t get a letter. Seeing her mother’s handwriting made her smile. She took the letter and scurried out into the garden, hoping to read it before anyone else came upon her.

  Dear Abigail,

  I am sorry that I have not written you as of late. I have been feeling exceptionally tired. However, you will be pleased to know after that last bout, I am feeling much better. It seems that the constant fever I had has broken and with it, the many aches and pains. I am suspicious of this instant recovery, as the doctor seems baffled, but I have decided that I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.