Rebecca Stubbs: The Vicar's Daughter Read online

  Now I had seen myself as they saw me, and it all seemed so horribly true. I studied myself in the looking glass and saw the grim-lined face of an ageing spinster with a shrivelled heart. I had bags under my red eyes from a week of short nights, and my hair was brushed back far too severely in order to fit under my unflattering cap. I couldn’t help thinking of the beautiful face of Miss Sophia, fresh, wholesome, and playful. How naive and foolish I had been to imagine that Edward would ever see me as a suitable wife—Edward or, for that matter, any man. My future was staring me in the face: one of servitude and of a bystander, watching other people’s lives unfold and flourish while mine stayed monotonously static.

  After a quick weep, I forced myself to regain composure and get back to work. It was Clara’s turn to serve the evening drinks, so I was able to retire early and benefit from a good night’s sleep. Our guests had been with us for seven days and were due to go on the tenth; I longed for their departure.

  I was saddened that on Sunday the company decided to remain at home rather than attend the evening service. I understood the reluctance to leave a warm living room and instead sit in a cold church, listening to a dry and lifeless sermon, but I wished Edward had shown his Christian colours more openly.

  On Monday evening, Miss Sophia retired early due to a headache. She called me to her room and requested a cold compress, and I stayed to help her undress and recline on her bed. Afterwards, I went down to my sitting room to write an order for the butcher, make a pot of tea, and toast some bread on my little stove. As I sat mindlessly watching the flames, I burnt the toast so had to open the window to disperse the smoke.

  I was just about to pour the tea when Edward knocked on the door and walked straight in. I was very surprised to see him. He flung himself into his normal chair and asked if there was enough tea for two. He explained that he had escaped from his visitors, as he was sick of playing bridge yet again. I was delighted to have his company but also realised that it was mainly due to the absence of Miss Sophia rather than his boredom with bridge or the desire for my company.

  We had just started sipping our tea, when there was another knock at the door and the voice of Miss Sophia softly calling, “Mrs. Stubbs.” In one neat movement Edward jumped out of his chair, dashed to the window, and leapt out into the garden (into a rhododendron bush, to be precise). With the same haste, I hid the second cup behind my chair and answered the door. Miss Sophia wanted to see if I happened to know the whereabouts of Mr. Thorpe, but I (ignoring the sound of breaking twigs outside the window) feigned ignorance and suggested he may have taken Rex for an evening stroll. Miss Sophia apologised for disturbing my evening, and I graciously accepted her apologies, wished her goodnight, and closed the door. I heard a faint chuckle of laughter as I closed the window and drew the curtains.

  Normally I would have found such an incident amusing, but now I just felt annoyed. It seemed to sum up Edward’s whole attitude toward me: I was useful when there was not a better option but, being a mere servant, I was without feelings so could easily be dispensed with when more worthy company was available. As I looked back on our friendship I realise how little he had ever enquired about my comfort or well-being. He moaned if I was not available in the evenings when he wanted company, thus never encouraging me to have a life outside Biggenden Manor. He never seemed to mind that I often sat alone of an evening because I thought he would be around and would require my company, not knowing that he had suddenly changed his plans and gone out. It was clear that over the years I had known him, Edward had never quite forgotten that I was a hired servant, making me something less than a proper woman.

  Once again, I was angry with myself for being so foolish as to imagine that such a gap in status could be bridged—or that there was any willingness on Edward’s part to even consider trying. I was annoyed with Edward for his insensitivity and selfishness, and I’m afraid I was also annoyed with God for allowing me to dream and pray fervently for such an unlikely outcome. It seemed as if He allowed me tantalizing tastes of happiness with Edward, which boosted my hope, only to have them all crushed. I could almost imagine God sneering at my foolishness.

  In flooded the voice of the evil one with his insidious lies, suggesting that God does not hear prayer, and that if He couldn’t be trusted with my future happiness, how could I trust Him to care for me and preserve my soul? My resistance to this barrage of untruths was weak, and I soon lost all joy in spiritual things. My spiritual diet had been very meagre due to the poor preaching, and so my sickly soul crumbled at this onslaught.

  CHAPTER 19

  AT LAST THE SHOOTING PARTY disbanded, and our guests went home. As we stripped the beds and dismantled the drooping flower arrangements, everyone gave a sigh of relief. We had all foregone our half days to cover the extra work, and now we were keen to get out of the house. But there was still plenty of work to be done so, much to Molly and Clara’s disappointment, although they were able to sleep at home again, they were unable to take an afternoon off until the end of the week.

  I praised the team for their hard work during the past fortnight and hoped that Edward would do the same, but no such recognition was forthcoming. In fact, Edward hardly seemed to realise our existence: he wandered around the house in a daydream, only becoming animated when he heard the post-boy’s footsteps. After days of disappointment the desired letter arrived and almost having hugged the post-boy, Edward rushed into his study, fondly fingering the precious envelope. It did not take much deduction to realise this was not an agricultural invoice, but a letter from the beautiful Miss Sophia.

  That evening, for the first time since the visitors’ departure, Edward invited me to join him for evening drinks. I joined him with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity as to how much information he would divulge to me. I did not have to wait long. Edward was like an agitated champagne bottle, ready to burst. Before we had even sunk our teeth into coffee cake, Edward introduced his theme.

  “What an agreeable bunch of people my guests were!”

  “Yes, indeed,” I agreed.

  “What an honour to enjoy their company for so long!”

  “Hmm.”

  “But how quickly the time has gone!”

  I could not agree less, so kept quiet.

  “But did you notice how wonderful Miss Sophia is? Why, you could not have helped noticing!”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  Edward failed to note my lack of enthusiasm and continued to gush as he gazed into the distance.

  “And so utterly enchanting and beautiful. She is such delightful company, so refined and cultured, yet natural and free. Indeed, I have never met a person with so many fine attributes all wrapped together and adorned with such beauty!”

  Even in my pain I had to smile to myself at the eloquence of the besotted man in front of me—but a shadow soon passed over his glowing face as he wondered aloud of her feelings toward him. He recounted some of her actions and words to him.

  “What did they mean? Can you, as a fellow woman, explain her motives or design?”

  I was unable and entirely disinclined to offer such an interpretation and pleaded my ignorance on all things related to love. Much to my annoyance, he muttered, “Yes, I suppose so.”

  He revealed that he had received a thank-you letter from Miss Sophia today in which she expressed her sincere appreciation of her visit, the time they spent together, and getting acquainted with his lovely house. But, he mused, was this just a standard response she would have sent to any host? He plagued himself with the thought that she would return to her sophisticated Surrey life and soon be swept up with more dazzling and cultured circles of society than his. She would meet richer men and soon forget about Edward and his rustic abode.

  I commented that surely she wasn’t so mercenary, which made Edward sit up and retort, “That is not mercenary, but sensible!”

  “Oh, sensible,” I responded vehemently. “If I was in love with the poorest labourer on your estate and he with me, I wou
ld marry him despite his poverty.”

  “What a lot of sentimental codswallop,” answered Edward. “Money and influence are essential cogs in romantic alliances.”

  “Maybe they are in the high circles you now move in, but love, friendship, and mutual Christian convictions are good enough for my humble class.”

  “Well, naturally,” said the ruffled Edward. “But there are considerations that have to be taken into account.”

  “Bank account, you mean,” I joked bitterly, provoking a slight smile. “Anyway, sir, to save more arguing on a subject we clearly view very differently, I think I will retire to bed. Good night.” With that, I swept out the room with all the haughtiness of one who knows she is in the right.

  That evening marked a change in my relationship with my employer: freed from the desire to impress and please him, I was able to assert my opinions much more freely during our evenings together. Even in the day-to-day running of the house, if I felt something could be managed better, I would suggest my idea to Edward, not fearing whether he would accept or reject it.

  Edward noticed this change and teasingly said I must be the feistiest housekeeper in England. But beneath my brasher exterior, part of me still pined for Edward’s affections and secretly hoped that Miss Sophia would be swept off her feet by a titled eldest son, and that in his subsequent heartbreak Edward would fall into my sympathetic arms—but all this seemed an unrealistic dream. If Edward had failed to find me attractive in the three years we had known each other, it was unlikely that anything would change his opinion now.

  Indeed, enduring evening after evening on the theme of Miss Sophia, I began to question whether Edward and I had as much in common as I had previously supposed. I was surprised at his lack of concern for her liberal view on Sabbath observance, but when I tentatively raised the issue, he immediately accused me of being “too judgmental” and that “not everyone wears their Christianity on their sleeves,” as if I was some sort of prudish Pharisee. This really hurt me, because it was not long ago, back in the library of Barton Manor, that we seemed wholly united in our spiritual thinking.

  Within a fortnight of the Harringtons’ departure, Edward received a letter from them inviting him, at his convenience, to be their guest and enjoy the shooting opportunities their estate afforded. Edward found it would be convenient for him to go almost immediately, so after a few brief deliberations with his farm manager and long deliberations over what to pack, he was off to Surrey, the hansom cab weighed down by a huge trunk and an assortment of guns.

  The shooting must have been a success and the company congenial, as Edward stayed for ten days. Then, without giving us any notice, he was back, but only to attend to some business affairs before he was off again to an estate of a Harrington third cousin twice removed (or the like).

  Thus the pattern for that winter was set: For the most part, we servants were left to run the house. After a thorough clean-through, I was at a loss to know how to keep the housemaids well occupied and not allow ourselves to drift into slovenliness. By keeping fed, clothed, tidy, and clean, we created a certain amount of work for ourselves, but when I began to contemplate darning old dishcloths as a worthwhile occupation, I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. I did not want to lay off Clara or Molly because I was aware of their families’ dependence on their wages and besides, I would need Edward’s permission to do such a thing. Furthermore, at any time we might be called upon to accommodate Edward’s friends in return for their hospitality. We were living the life of the servants in the parable, knowing neither the day nor hour of their master’s return.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE WINTER SEEMED ENDLESS AND the days blurred into predictable monotony. My bedtime became earlier and earlier, as keeping my parlour stove burning just for myself seemed a waste of winter fuel. As soon as I was sure the Kemps were safely in bed, I took the oil lamp and checked around the house, stoked the kitchen range, locked the doors, and went to bed, often with a book. I should have enjoyed the enforced rest Edward’s absence produced, but I was living with the daily suspense of wondering if his romantic hopes were being realised. I had laid the whole situation before the Lord many times and I should have left it there, but instead I kept mulling over the subject fretfully.

  My daily highlight was taking Rex for an afternoon walk. Clad in warm clothes and stout boots and with an enthusiastic dog by my side, I could walk for miles over fields and through muddy woods, admiring the bare and bleak beauty of winter. In Rex I found a suitable companion; he shared my fondness for our master and seemed to miss him as much as I did.

  Rex’s energy and curiosity for the great outdoors, however inclement the weather, made every walk rewarding. His delightful habit of bounding ahead, then rushing back with a smiling face and wagging tail to check on me and receive a pat, never failed to lift my spirits and bring a smile to my face. On cold wet days I would try and delegate the walk to the garden boy, but the trusting, expectant look on Rex’s face would melt my resolve and, somewhat unwillingly, I could not but oblige, warning Rex it would be only a short walk. But once we were out and had warmed up, any idea of cutting the walk short evaporated, so we often ended our walks drenched and covered in mud, but happy and refreshed.

  From the waning light and gathering chill of the short winter afternoons, we would enter the somewhat stuffy warmth of the kitchen. For Mrs. Kemp, our entry signalled the approach of tea time, and she had the kettle steaming away on the range with a teapot at the ready. Mr. Kemp would rub Rex dry and say, “You look like you’ve ’ad a good time, me lad,” as Rex’s tail thumped happily against the kitchen floor. Then we would all sit down for a bit of bread and cheese, washed down with tea, before the housemaids left for home.

  The Kemps seemed to relax and thrive during this quiet time at Biggenden. Mr. Kemp started whistling tunelessly again, and Mrs. Kemp was happy to do more cooking, “cos I know that you lot don’t look down ya nose at me good, honest food.” This made things slightly awkward for Agnes, who was keen to be the chief cook, but she had worked long enough with Mrs. Kemp to know how to handle her. Agnes cooked the food every other day, “just to keep me ’and in, in case we suddenly have some top brass as guests again.”

  Indeed, we had some top brass before the year was out. One Tuesday morning, a messenger boy cycled up the drive with a message for me from Edward. I was used to receiving such communications, usually only a line or two with instructions like “Please send my brown overcoat” or the likes, so I took the message and opened it without a second thought.

  What I read was of far more consequence than brown overcoats. It said, Be ready to welcome me home on Thursday, with my bride-to-be—the darling Miss Sophia!! P.S. Her parents are coming too.

  At my elbow Molly asked, “What does ’e need this time?”

  I had to regain my composure, and with all the pretense of authority I could muster, I told her to ask all the staff to gather in the kitchen immediately. I must have looked shocked, because, when I entered the kitchen, I overheard Clara saying, “I ’ope ’e ain’t gravely ’urt.”

  “No, Clara,” I said almost imperiously, “Mr. Thorpe is not hurt. On the contrary, he has written to inform us of some happy news. He and Miss Sophia are engaged to be married.”

  At this the girls started clapping, but I raised my hand to hush them and went on. “Furthermore, he is bringing her here, along with her parents, on Thursday, and we have got to give them the very best of welcomes.”

  Then we settled down with excited chatter to decide on how we could impress our important guests, especially the lady who would soon be our new mistress. The news excited great interest in us all, and we seemed united and girlish in our curiosity to know the facts of the relationship, how he proposed, when they would marry, and most importantly to us—what sort of mistress she would be and if she would make many changes?

  I suppose I should have curtailed this sort of gossipy talk, but the housemaids’ questions were also mine. After Clar
a and Molly had gone home, Agnes and I went to the parlour to begin organising the menus and food orders for the next week. We had no idea how long our guests were staying or even what time on Thursday they would arrive so had to cover all eventualities. It was late into the night before we had settled on a satisfactory plan. This rush of activity was good for me, and I went to bed with my head full of thoughts of pounds of bacon and butter rather than that Edward was marrying and would never be mine. The Lord has many ways of being kind to us; some are strange, but all are effective.

  The next day I awoke with a vague awareness that something was amiss. Then, all of the events of the previous day came flooding back. I lay in bed with a heavy heart and a sense of despondency, even my limbs feeling heavy and unwilling to move. I would have dearly loved to be a fine lady at that moment, able to give in to my feelings and lie morosely in bed all day, wallowing in my ill-fated love life, but I could not. I had work to do and staff to organise, so I heaved myself up to do my morning Bible reading and prayer. I prayed for strength and wisdom to get through the day, as usual, but also I prayed for special grace and submission in the unfolding events.

  I wish I could report that I immediately felt special strength and help from above, but alas, this was not the case. Nevertheless, in a strange, unaccountable sort of way, the news of Edward’s engagement was a relief after weeks of speculation. My loyalty to Edward had almost been a self-inflicted chain, binding me to Biggenden, putting him first in my every decision, but now I felt released, though somewhat afraid and daunted by my new freedom.

  The whole house was spick and span, but the bedrooms needed airing and warming, so after letting in great gusts of cold November air, we shut the windows and lit the fires and then kept them roaring. The kitchen was a hive of activity as various delivery boys brought in their orders and Agnes set about making the ingredients into beautiful delicacies. Rightly or wrongly, we had gotten the impression from her last visit that Mrs. Harrington viewed us as inept country bumpkins. We were determined to prove her wrong and, to avoid any unseemly disorganisation, we practised lining up outside the front door to welcome the guests. The gardeners acted, with great exaggeration, as dignified guests, and we curtsied to them and made appropriately welcoming noises before collapsing with laughter. Mrs. Kemp coerced the head gardener into giving Mr. Kemp a thorough wet shave, which made him at least look presentable, but we determined to keep his involvement with the visitors to the bare minimum. Rex came to see what was going on and looked at me beseechingly for a walk, but with great reluctance I had to delegate the task to the garden boy, wondering how long it would be before I would have the pleasure of a walk again.