Page 8 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

‘’Fraid I do,’ said Molly then. ‘And by heaven, Lowdie, does Mrs W look fit to burst her top with glee.’

The other maid’s expression could not be marked from where Lowdie sat tight-chested on the bed, but she could well imagine it – Molly’s cheeks would be flushed in barely concealed excitement.

Perhaps, even, with a little gloating. Wakely Hall’s longest-standing housemaid was, one must own, that sort of girl.

‘You coming then?’

And so, with such a profound feeling of sickness in her stomach, which had quite replaced the feeling of hunger that had been there afore, Lowdie followed Molly Hart down the poky stairwell of the servants’ quarters.

Presently she found herself outside the viscountess’ sitting room, and with a small smirk Molly tapped her knuckles upon the door; a soft ‘Come in’ followed, and within seconds Lowdie found herself alone with Viscountess Pépin, who watched her with an air of what could only be described as profound disappointment.

‘Loveday,’ said she. ‘Please be seated.’

Such a request felt strange – there was the viscountess, seated in all her finery behind a fancily carved wooden desk on which lay a shiny gold inkwell and a box prettily wrapt in brown paper and gingham ribbon, asking a servant dressed in stained skirts to sit on what looked to be a chair altogether too expensive for the likes of Lowdie Lucas – but said girl did as she was told and sat, nervously clasping her sore finger.

‘Well, then, Loveday. What are we to do?’

It was all Lowdie could do not to wince.

The disappointment in the viscountess’ voice was even more pronounced than the disappointment of her expression, and for the first time since arriving at Wakely Hall Lowdie became conscious of the most peculiar feeling that she did not wish to leave it.

Such a feeling precipitated a need to defend herself, and so it was that Lowdie found words spilling forth from her mouth in an abominable rush.

‘M’lady, I did not mean to break the plate! There was a chip in it, you see, and my finger caught –’ here she held up her finger and the fine red cut that could be seen upon it – ‘and I know I was rude to Mrs Wilson, but she really is very unkind, not just to me but to everybody , and I—’

Viscountess Pépin had raised a hand. Lowdie caught her tongue.

‘Are you unhappy here, Loveday?’

‘M’lady?’

‘’Tis not a difficult question. Are you unhappy?’

It was a question Lowdie had often mulled over in the darkness of night when Wakely Hall was asleep and Kate’s soft snores kept her lively mind company.

‘I’ve not been happy, I must own it. But to say I am un happy would mayhap be a little too far.’

‘I see.’ The viscountess paused. Her elegant fingers tapped the point of her chin. ‘I had hoped you might find your way to finding contentment here at Wakely.’

‘Contentment’ was also a word too far to describe Lowdie’s feelings regarding her position at Wakely Hall.

While Loveday Lucas felt regret at the loss of her family and her freedom, and as much as she missed the steady familiarity of her old life, she did not miss the harsh words which her father’s drinking provoked, nor the fear that his bitterness might find itself wielded not by his tongue but by his fist. He had driven their charwoman away with his erratic behaviour.

He lost work, too, though that had not been his fault – why come to a lowly button maker when the new factories produced hundreds of them by the day?

The wars had taken far more from Lowdie than the lives of her brothers, and so with her siblings gone and no money to support them, what else could Lowdie do but advertise?

When the letter from the viscountess arrived, such an overpowering feeling of relief had overcome her …

Until, of course, upon arriving at Wakely, Lowdie discovered a weariness of a different making.

She supposed the viscountess thought she was doing Lowdie a kindness in offering her the position of scullery maid, but it could not be said that such a grand lady should have any notion of the kind of work a scullery maid might actually undertake.

How would a viscountess know what it was to wake at the crack of dawn and draw water from the yard pump, stamping her feet to keep warm in the bitter chill of winter air, only then to lug the bucket inside and spend endless time heating it at the range?

Could Lowdie truly be supposed to find herself grateful?

To be sure she was no stranger to hard work – she had kept house for her father as soon as she had been old enough to do so – but their small cottage was nothing compared to a grand estate such as this.

How might she express these thoughts to Viscountess Pépin?

Kate might think Lowdie had no care of what she said to a person, but when that person was a viscountess, well, she knew well enough not to insult the hand which fed her, and so all she could venture was:

‘It’s not that I am ungrateful, m’lady. But life at Wakely is so different to what I’m used. I …’ Lowdie ducked her head. ‘I confess, I have struggled to adjust.’

Viscountess Pépin frowned. ‘It is of Mrs Wilson’s frequent opinion that you have not even tried.

She claims you are insolent. That you care little for your workfellows and make no effort to hold them close.

That you encourage discord belowstairs. I believe you said some choice words recently to Miss Brown? ’

Lowdie sniffed. Perhaps she had been a little unkind to Prudence, but the maid really had sounded like a winded donkey!

Exactly like the one her father used to own before he sold it for a bottle of brandy.

Well, she would apologise, for she had not meant to upset her, though there had been no need for Mrs Wilson to tattle.

Lowdie felt then such a spurt of resentment for the housekeeper, she found it quite impossible not to raise her voice.

‘Has Mrs Wilson complained of the quality of my work?’

The viscountess’ large eyes widened slightly at Lowdie’s accusatory tone.

‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘Mrs Wilson has even been prevailed upon to confess your work is more than adequate, but despite this she is most adamant that you are to be dismissed. However,’ Viscountess Pépin added, ‘while I consider dismissing anyone at this time of year a great cruelty, I do not wish to force you to stay somewhere you do not wish to be. Would you prefer to leave, Loveday?’

Such relief and gratitude did she feel that at this, Lowdie was mortified to find her vision blurred by tears.

‘No, m’lady,’ she whispered. ‘I … I don’t want to go home.’

Not to that cold and lonely cottage. Not to her bottle-bound father.

The viscountess sat back in her elegant seat of blue brocade and heaved a sigh.

‘Your mother was the kindest woman I have ever known. I always felt so at peace when she was near. Martha delivered all my children but Juliette and Rosalie, and saved my life twice – once with Charlotte and before that, with my little Edmond. I cared for her very much. For her to die in childbirth herself …’ She trailed off and shook her head.

‘It grieved me dreadfully to hear of the deaths of your brothers in the wars. And then to discover your father’s condition …

’ Viscountess Pépin shook her head again.

‘Why else would I have offered you a home here at Wakely? I could not let Martha Lucas’ daughter struggle when she had given mine life. ’

And now Lowdie could not stop her tears from falling, no matter how hard she tried. The viscountess gently pressed a handkerchief into her hand and Lowdie took it, whereupon her ladyship waited patiently for her to dry her face.

‘I have not told Mrs Wilson this,’ she continued.

‘I felt it best you did not have preferential treatment, especially as you had no experience in a household such as this. I would prefer not to confess that the reference I provided for you was false, that there exists no such person as Lady Foly. But if you truly wish to stay, you must endeavour to deserve my falsehood.’

It took a moment for Lowdie to once again find her voice, and when she did it was on the verge of breaking.

‘They do not like me, m’lady.’

The viscountess blinked. ‘Whatever do you mean, Loveday?’

‘The other servants.’

Viscountess Pépin hesitated. ‘Is this, perhaps, because you have not given them leave to?’

Lowdie found herself lifting her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, which did not quite answer the question. But then she confessed to something she had dared not put into words before:

‘I am unlikeable.’

‘Oh, dear me, my child,’ returned the viscountess without taking breath, ‘I doubt that. I like you. Katherine Allen likes you.’

Lowdie wiped her nose on her sleeve in an unladylike fashion.

‘She does?’

‘Why yes! She was most concerned for you earlier, so I do rather think it would behove you to not be quite so keen on shutting people out. I suspect, Loveday, that beneath your rather prickly exterior, there is a young lady who is just as kind and exceedingly likeable as your mother was.’

It was a little too much for Lowdie’s heart to bear. She burst forth into tears once again, and as she clutched her ladyship’s handkerchief to her face Viscountess Pépin awkwardly cleared her throat.

‘As for the periwinkle,’ she announced, ‘they were a gift from the viscount. I had seen the set in a window display in London some years ago, and liked them so much that when Louisa was born he ordered them for me as a present. It is one of the reasons why I treasure the periwinkle set so highly – the set is my way of commemorating both my daughter and Martha Lucas. Louisa, you see, was the last child your mother delivered of me.’

Lowdie gulped and lowered the handkerchief.

‘I did not know, m’lady, upon my word. I truly am so very sorry.’