Page 1 of Lady for a Season (Regency Outsiders)
“ You’re wanted, Maggie.”
Maggie rocked the baby girl she was holding. Number 18,723 was asleep, unaware that her weeping ragged mother had just left the room, probably never to see her again. She would go back out into the cold January streets of London, childless, with an endless absence in her heart, and her daughter would be raised by strangers.
The Foundling Hospital staff around Maggie were busy with other babies of varying ages, from a newborn up to a confused toddler who could only just walk, turning his face in all directions, searching for his mother.
Maggie laid the baby down in a basket. The nurse by her side was briskly completing the paperwork for the new child, noting her stated age of three months and the name her mother had given her, Mary. The name would be changed at once, of course, giving the child a fresh start in life, but her file would include these details, along with a description of her current clothing and any distinguishing marks. Noted and filed, too, would be the small scrap of lilac ribbon the mother had left, a token she could refer to if it were ever in her power to reclaim the child. Judging by her clothing, Maggie doubted this would ever be possible. The lilac ribbon would never be seen by the child. She would shortly be christened Betsey and given the surname of Guildford, one of the roads surrounding the Hospital. Betsey would be sent to a foster family in the countryside to be raised until her sixth birthday, after which she would be returned to the Hospital, there to live until she was fourteen, when she would be sent out into the world as a servant, while a boy child of the same age might be apprenticed to learn a trade.
“You’re wanted, Maggie. Matron’s in the parlour with a visitor.” The girl sent with the message hovered anxiously in the doorway.
Maggie touched the sleeping baby’s cheek. “God bless you, Mary,” she whispered, knowing hers would be the last lips to speak the name the child’s poor mother had given her. She wondered, as she always did, what her own true name had been, what token her mother had left for her, hoping against hope to one day be reunited. She had never dared look for her file, not even in the six years she had worked in the receiving rooms at the Hospital since turning fourteen herself. While most girls left the Hospital at fourteen, the Matron at the time had approved of Maggie’s calm demeanour with the younger children and kept her as a member of staff.
The parlour was a small, neat room, with stiffly uncomfortable chairs, where Matron held weekly meetings with the chaplain or sometimes received visitors such as parents asking to reclaim their children. Possible benefactors or other visitors of greater importance would not be shown in here; they would be taken to the grandly painted and gilded ‘court’ room which Maggie had only ever half-glimpsed through an open door, where the governors held their meetings.
Today Matron was accompanied by a smartly dressed man, perhaps forty years old.
“Come forward, Maggie,” she said. “This is Doctor Morrison.”
Maggie bobbed a curtsey.
The doctor inspected her. “She might do. I cannot take one of your younger girls, you understand, I need a steady hand, as we discussed. How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty, sir,” said Maggie.
“She is not particularly pretty,” said the doctor to Matron approvingly.
Maggie did not feel hurt by this. It was her opinion also, having seen herself occasionally in a looking glass. Her plain brown hair and eyes, her pale skin, were unlike those girls at the Hospital who had rosy cheeks or sparkling blue eyes, ready with smiles for the lady visitors who sometimes gave out treats, favouring the children who were better looking than the rest. She knew she was plain, but as the sins of pride and vanity were frequently railed against by the chaplain during prayers, it was probably for the best.
“The girls of the Hospital are clean and neat and that is all that is required of them in the way of looks, sir,” said Matron.
He nodded. “Indeed. And you will understand, of course, Matron, that good looks would only be a possible temptation which is to be avoided.”
Matron’s eyes narrowed. “Is the gentleman inclined to interfere –”
“Oh no, no, let me reassure you there has been no such trouble, he has never… I only meant to say that I would not wish to hire a girl with excessive charms. One does not wish to unnecessarily excite… but no matter, I can see that Maggie is a very likely sort of girl for the position I have in mind. Is she calm where others are excitable? Whilst the gentleman in my care is mostly very amenable, there can be moments when one must be firm to secure tranquillity and obedience.”
“She is not a flighty girl by any means,” Matron reassured him.
“Then I believe she will do very well.”
Matron nodded. “She will be ready for you tomorrow morning as agreed.”
The doctor rose and gave Matron a brisk bow. “You have been most helpful,” he said. “Until tomorrow.” Without any further word to Maggie, he left the room.
“Well, now, Maggie,” said Matron. “You may sit down.”
Maggie sat down on the hard chair, mindful to maintain a straight back, for Matron disliked slovenly posture. “Am I to assist the doctor in some way tomorrow morning, Matron?”
“Doctor Morrison came to me to help him find a most particular servant. As a physician, he specialises in the care of lunatics and those who are afflicted with such nervous excitement or melancholy as renders them unfit for usual and proper society. These poor souls are generally cared for in institutions such as Bedlam here in London, for those of the lower orders, or Ticehurst House, in East Sussex, for the gentry. But there are a few whose families have requested that they be housed privately, and such a one is a young man named Edward, who is in Doctor Morrison’s care.” She nodded meaningfully at Maggie, who gazed back, still uncertain of what was happening.
“You will join the household in which he lives. Your chief duty will be as a companion to him, to keep his spirits high but not recklessly so, and to give what domestic and attentive comforts may be appropriate when he is afflicted.”
“I am to be his servant?”
“You will be a superior kind of servant,” explained Matron, seemingly well pleased. “There is already a cook and a maid of all work there, as well as a local man from the village who will take care of any heavy work, so you are more in the way of a personal attendant. A gentleman would usually have a manservant or valet, but it seems Edward does not respond well to men. He does better with women about him and so the good doctor has decided it would be best to humour him in this.”
Maggie’s head was full of questions but one above all was now on her lips. “I am to leave the Hospital?”
“Yes.”
“For good?” Out into the world, all alone… a little flutter of fear ran through her.
Matron gave a small smile. “I know you have grown fond of the Hospital. It is all you can remember and all you have known. You have stayed with us beyond the usual time when you would have been sent out into the world. But this is a very great opportunity for you, Maggie, to be placed under the employ of a physician who ministers to the gentry and care for one of his private patients. I will be sorry to see you go, but I could not have asked for a better position for you.”
“Who is the patient? You said he is a gentleman?”
“It is all I know of him and all you will know of him, Maggie. Discretion is vital to the doctor in his line of work. You are not to gossip with the maids or villagers or speculate on who his family might be. You need only care for him and be grateful for your good fortune.”
“Yes, Matron.” She clenched her hands together, nerves rising.
“There will not be time to make you clothes, as we did not know you would be leaving so soon. But Tabitha has already sewn herself two dresses for when she joins the milliner to whom she has been apprenticed and she is close to your size. You can take hers and she can start again.”
“Where is the house where I will be working?”
“It is in a village named Harbury. In Warwickshire, to the north-west of London. It is more than eleven hours’ travel, so with the short days it will take a day and a half. The doctor has his own carriage. He will collect you tomorrow morning and take you there.”
Maggie tried not to gape. She had thought the doctor’s patient would be somewhere in London. Instead, she was to travel away from everything she knew to another county, one she knew nothing of.
Maggie followed Matron to the sewing room, where Tabitha was informed of what was planned.
“You will help Maggie pack,” said Matron. “I will send one of the boys to the dormitory with a trunk.”
“Yes, Matron,” said Tabitha.
“I’m sorry to be taking the dresses you made for yourself,” said Maggie when they were alone. “There is no time to make my own.”
Tabitha shook her head. “I have another two weeks before I begin at the milliner’s, I can make more.” She pulled out the two dresses she had made, identical grey wool, with long sleeves and high necks. “They’re very plain, but Matron said they are serviceable and that I should not seek to draw attention to myself.” She made a face.
“Perhaps when we are out in the world, we will be able to make dresses like the ones the benefactor ladies wear,” said Maggie, knowing full well that such elegance would always be beyond their means as servants and apprentices.
Tabitha giggled. “Imagine, all silks and lace, with flowers and ribbons on our bonnets.”
Between them they rapidly filled the small wooden trunk provided with Maggie’s meagre possessions: one of the dresses, a petticoat, two shifts, three day caps, two night caps, two bibs and aprons, and a pair of stockings.
On her bed Maggie laid out the clothes she would wear on the morrow: the other dress, a shift, a petticoat, stockings, and a cap.
Matron reappeared in the doorway. “These are also for you, Maggie.” She handed over a Bible and a folded letter on thick paper. “Keep them in your trunk and turn to them should you need guidance in the world.”
“Yes, Matron,” said Maggie.
“Ooh it’s the letter everyone’s given when they leave the Hospital,” said Tabitha excitedly when Matron had gone. “Let’s read it. I wanted to see Mary-Anne’s, but she wouldn’t let me.”
They sat, heads together, and read the letter.
You are placed out as a servant by the Governors of this Hospital. You were taken into it very young, quite helpless, forsaken, poor and deserted. Out of Charity you have been fed, clothed and instructed; which many have wanted.
You have been taught to fear God; to love him, to be honest, careful, laborious and diligent. As you hope for Success in this World and Happiness in the next, you are to be mindful of what has been taught you. You are to behave honestly, justly, soberly and carefully, in every thing to every body, and especially towards your Master and his Family and to execute all lawful commands with Industry, Cheerfulness and good Manners.
You may find many temptations to do wickedly, when you are in the world; but by all means fly from them. Always speak the Truth. Though you may have done a wrong thing, you will, by sincere Confession, more easily obtain Forgiveness, than if by an obstinate Lie you make the fault the greater, and thereby deserve a far greater Punishment. Lying is the beginning of everything that is bad; and a Person used to it is never believed, esteemed or trusted.
Be not ashamed that you were bred in this Hospital. Own it; and say, that it was through the good Providence of Almighty God, that you were taken Care of. Bless Him for it.
Be constant in your Prayers and going to Church; and avoid Gaming, Swearing and all evil Discourses. By this means the Blessing of God will follow your honest Labours, and you may be happy; otherwise you will bring upon yourself Misery, Shame and Want.
It did not make for cheerful reading, the dire warnings making Maggie more nervous rather than less, and even Tabitha looked dispirited.
“Are you afraid?” she asked Maggie. “I know there was one girl, apprenticed out to a milliner like I’m to be, and she got beaten something awful. The governors had to intervene; it was that bad.”
Maggie swallowed. “The Hospital do their best to provide good homes and occupations for us all,” she said, trying to sound brave. “I will pray for you to be happy,” she added, hoping to offer further reassurance both to herself and Tabitha.
“And I you,” said Tabitha, giving her a fierce embrace.
Maggie was still anxious when it came time for bed, but she reminded herself that Matron had been well pleased with her prospects, and that was a thought worth clinging onto. She took off her brown and red uniform for the last time, slipped on her nightgown and got into the cold bed that had been hers for the past fourteen years. She lay in the dormitory, listening to the growing sounds of sleep around her, wondering in what kind of bed she would next lay down her head.
In the grey light of dawn, Maggie stood shivering, less from the cold than from shock. She wore the long, plain grey woollen dress Tabitha had sewn and a coat over it of brown drugget. The dress felt odd to her, for it had no waist like the Hospital uniform, gathered instead just below her breasts, though not tightly, for Tabitha had been more generously bosomed than Maggie. She had tied her hair in the two plaits she had always worn at the Hospital and pulled on a small woollen bonnet in the same brown drugget, tied on with a strip of the grey fabric that had made her dress. The same laced-up ankle-height boots she had worn for the past two years, worn but well polished, completed her outfit. Behind her were the gates of the Foundling Hospital. In front of her, the wide fields that surrounded it, where the children were brought out to take healthful exercise. Beyond the fields, a few scattered buildings, growing denser as she looked outwards, to the centre of London, around which a faint mist of the smoke from morning fires rose, grey against the yellow dawn.
The last time she had been outside the precincts of the Hospital she had been but six years old, returning from her foster home, which she now could barely recall, only a jumble of faces and names. Maggie had not been poorly treated, but there had been a briskness to her foster mother when young Maggie had craved affection, and she was frequently reminded that one day she would be returned “to the ‘orspital,” so there was never any doubt in her mind that as a foundling, she belonged entirely to the Hospital. The girls with whom she had grown up had gone into service long ago, but Maggie had been sheltered within the walls for an additional six years, and now the world outside the Hospital was large and frightening. There was a road coming up towards the Hospital from London and it was this that she watched, supposing that Doctor Morrison would arrive from that direction. It would have been some small comfort if Matron had stayed with her a longer, but the farewell had been quick and without emotion.
“Know your place and work hard, Maggie, and all will be well.”
“Yes, Matron.”
And she was gone.
A neat black carriage with two brown horses was approaching at a brisk trot along the road from London. Maggie took a deep breath. What if she should be snatched away by an unscrupulous man and taken… somewhere? Maggie was unsure where that would be exactly, but dire warnings were often issued by matrons making veiled threats about how cruel the outside world could be, how men might “take advantage” and be the “ruination” of an unwitting and too trusting girl. They never gave much in the way of particulars, all that Maggie had gathered from them was that men, in the outside world, were not to be trusted by girls who wished to remain godly and content. And yet here she was, standing outside the Hospital, about to get into a carriage with a man whom she had only met for a few moments, and become his employee.
The carriage pulled in close, and Maggie stepped back. It had rained heavily the night before and she did not want her clean new dress spattered with mud. The door swung open and there was Doctor Morrison. He nodded to her to step in, while the driver dismounted, pulled down the steps, then lifted her trunk onto the back, settling it on top of a far larger trunk already strapped in place.
Maggie climbed inside the carriage, which was impressively smart, lined with a dark grey wool and with seats which had been padded, so that they were softer than Matron’s parlour chairs. There were even curtains for the windows, all made from the same fabric, with a narrow braid trim in a similar shade.
Doctor Morrison nodded to her. “Good morning, Maggie. I am glad to find you punctual.”
“Yes, sir. Good morning, sir.” She had been so intent on the carriage she had barely looked at the doctor sitting opposite her.
The driver closed up the stairs and the carriage door, then resumed his seat. Doctor Morrison rapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane. The carriage moved forwards at once, jolting Maggie. She grabbed the edge of her seat to steady herself.
“Have you never travelled in a carriage before?”
“No, sir.” She had been in a cart once, fourteen years ago now, but never since.
“You will be used to it by the time we reach Harbury. We will drive all of today and arrive there late tomorrow morning. We will stay at a coaching inn along the way.”
“Yes, sir.”
The carriage rocked along the road. Maggie dearly wanted to press her face to the window and look out, to observe the streets from this place of safety, but Doctor Morrison was speaking, and she had to pay attention.
“My practice is based in Leamington Priors in Warwickshire. It is known for its healthful spa waters and has long been a place for invalids to recuperate from their maladies. A fine Pump House and Baths will be opened there in the next few months, as demand has grown from people wishing to take the waters. Harbury is a village outside of the town, half an hour away by carriage from Leamington Priors.”
Maggie nodded. She had never heard of Leamington Priors, nor of Harbury. Doctor Morrison might as well have been telling her he was taking her to the Americas.
“My patient, the young gentleman I spoke of, resides in Harbury, in a cottage which I procured for his convalescence. He has a delicate nature, prone to melancholy and occasional fits of fear or rambling, which his family felt were unsuited to his position in society. He was placed under my care some eight years back, leaving the school which he had until then attended.”
“How old is he, sir?”
“Two and twenty years, which means he is now of age, of course, but his family feel he is safe and comfortable in my care, so he remains there.”
Only two years older than herself. “Who are his family?”
The doctor frowned. “Discretion does not allow me to tell you that, Maggie. And I hope that you will not prove to be a gossiping sort of girl, who seeks out information of this kind. All you need to know is that he is of a good family who wish the best for him and that, due to his affliction, I consider it best for him to live as simply as possible. No airs and graces, nor formality. He lives a wholesome life, well provided for but with simple comforts. The servants are encouraged to treat him as they might a family member.”
“What should I call him?”
“You will call him Edward.”
That response was odd, implying that the doctor had re-named his patient, much as the foundlings were re-named as soon as they came into the Hospital. “Is that his real name, sir? Does he respond to it?”
“It is his Christian name. AsI said, you will treat him as a loving sister or cousin might treat an afflicted brother or cousin. You will not use formalities with him, he has not responded well to them in the past. I believe they stir up too many memories of his previous distresses and confusions. Thus, you will call him Edward and he will address you as Maggie. There will be a sense of kindness and kin between you, which will help him to remain settled. I have studied many of the great practitioners in this field and they agree with me that the patient should be removed from all objects that act forcibly on the nerves and excite too lively a response. The insane do best when removed from their houses and friends and confined at some distance from home, preferably in the country, which is better for both privacy and opportunities for healthy exercise. Ivy Cottage is blessed with a large private garden. Part of your care of Edward will include daily walks within its confines. Maniacs respond well to kindness and tenderness, hence your position as his companion.”
“Does he receive treatments, sir?”
“Most certainly. Aside from your attentive domestic comforts and healthful exercise, I myself regularly administer such treatments as bleeding, purging, vomiting and bathing. All of these are known antimaniacal remedies and have done him good. There is also a delivery of spa waters once a week, which enable him to take the waters in complete privacy. And there are other remedies, should he require them.” He looked her over. “You may wonder at his manner of dress, which is very simple. But it is beneficial for my patients to be dressed warmly and comfortably but without overt elegance or reference to their prior station in life.” He regarded Maggie seriously, making sure he had her full attention before continuing. “I ask furthermore that you do not inquire after his family name, his previous circumstances or any other such matters from his past, as they are only likely to cause him further distress. You will confine your conversation to his present life, for example the weather, the natural world around you, and so on. He likes to read. You need not concern yourself when he does so. The books I have provided are those I deem suitable for his current state of mind, inviting interest without excitement.”
Maggie nodded and asked no further questions, gazing instead out of the window as they passed buildings and people going about their business, and the wider open spaces as they left the city’s outskirts behind them.
For the most part, Doctor Morrison dozed. There were regular stops at coaching inns, large, noisy places where they could relieve themselves if necessary. They ate both their midday meal and dinner in one, Doctor Morrison in the main dining room, Maggie sent to a room where servants ate bread and cheese or ham with weak ale, rowdy rooms that she was glad to leave. They slept in the inn where they took their dinner, Doctor Morrison presumably in a private bedroom, Maggie dispatched to sleep with the maids of the inn. It was a cold chamber with four beds, though she was accustomed to both cold and dormitories, so it was not a hardship and the bed, at least, was relatively clean, without any sign of fleas. It was noisy, however, with snoring and boisterous singing from the inn downstairs late at night, as well as coaches and carriages coming and going. The second day of their journey, Maggie joined the doctor in dozing as they travelled through the countryside, occasionally waking to see farmland and tiny villages go by, one very much like another. Maggie was glad of her woollen dress and coat, which kept her warm enough.
In the late morning, the doctor sat up and showed more interest in their surroundings.
“We are close to Harbury,” he declared. “I will introduce you to Edward as well as the rest of the household, then leave you for a few weeks, as I have business to attend to in Leamington Priors. I will return every two months to administer Edward’s treatments.”
Maggie straightened up and peered through the window. The countryside was undulating, with green fields, dotted with sheep
“The earth here is poor,” said the doctor. “Farming yields smaller crops here than parts of the country with richer land. Of late there has been quarrying for limestone, which has employed many of the men from the village.”
They came to the outskirts of a small village, in the centre of which stood a red brick windmill, three times the height of the two-storey buildings surrounding it.
“The new mill,” said the doctor. “It brings more work into the village, for those who still raise grain crops.”
Maggie nodded.
“That is All Saints’ Church.” The doctor pointed at a crenelated tower rising behind a grey stone wall. “The vicar will visit each week to pray with you both, as Edward cannot leave the grounds to attend church. Too many people around him might unnecessarily alarm or confuse him. The cook and maid, of course, may attend church on their own account.”
The carriage pulled up outside a large cottage and the door opened at once, as though the occupants had been looking out for them. A stout older one emerged, wiping her hands on her apron, followed by a younger one with fair hair, adjusting her cap, no doubt to look neat for her employer.
“And this is Ivy Cottage. Good morning, Eliza, Agnes,” said the doctor. “This is Maggie, Edward’s new companion.”
“Morning, sir,” they chorused, bobbing curtseys. They nodded pleasantly at Maggie, who nodded back, relieved that they appeared friendly.
“Eliza is the cook, Agnes the maid of all work,” said Doctor Morrison. “Eliza, I hope you have a good meal for me. I’ve had nothing decent since we left London.”
“Oh yes, sir,” said the stout woman. “I’ve a rabbit pie and a good ham ready for you, baked bread just this morning.”
“Good girl,” said the doctor. To the driver he said, “I’ll be ready in an hour or so.”
Doctor Morrison followed Eliza into the house, leaving Maggie with Agnes and the driver.
“I’ll fetch you a plate,” said Agnes to the driver, simpering, for he was not a bad-looking man. She hurried back into the house.
“D’ye need a hand with this?” asked the driver as he lifted down Maggie’s trunk.
She shook her head. “I can manage.” It was not heavy, and it gave her something practical to do, since she felt uncertain. Should she walk into the house or wait to be lead there? The Doctor had simply gone in. She took a couple of steps forwards but Agnes was back before Maggie had even stepped over the threshold, carrying a plate with two thick slices of bread with ham and a tankard of ale.
“There’s my girl,” said the driver, winking at her, which made Agnes blush. “You’d better lead her inside,” he added, pointing at Maggie. Agnes appeared disappointed to be so easily dismissed, but smiled again when he added, “When she’s settled, you’ll have time to keep me company while I get this down me, eh?”
Agnes lifted one side of the trunk and Maggie grabbed the other. “Why, it don’t weigh much,” she said. “You ain’t got much in the world, have you?”
“No,” said Maggie. Almost everything in the trunk were things she had not had two days ago. To her it had seemed a sudden largesse of possessions.
“My, but you’re plainly dressed,” continued Agnes. “Are you one of them Quaker girls?”
“No,” said Maggie. Although Agnes’ own dress was a simple one, Maggie could see that more care had been put into making it look fetching, being made in a bold blue with puffed sleeves at the shoulder which only served to make Maggie’s dress look even more plain than it had when she had first seen it.
Once inside, Agnes pointed right and left. “That’s the kitchen, that on the other side’s the parlour. There’s an outhouse out the back. And a pump. We don’t have to go to the village pump, got our own,” she added proudly. “There’s a big garden out the back, goes right down to the stream. We need to lug this upstairs.”
They made their way awkwardly up the creaking stairs, into a corridor with three doors.