Sleeping arrangements
The housemistress kept them quartered very close, most like to save on coals. Two to a bed, and six beds in narrow pairs in each low ceilinged room. It was not so very different to the way things had been at home for him. At least here there was a pair of blankets each, and lamp oil enough not to bicker over it.
The constant closeness kept his mouth closed and his hands closer still, balled in his blankets the better to keep his secret. He watched though, as they stripped and washed and dressed. Listened to their teasing and their gossip.
He was an inside boy - by age he should have been bedded with the other lads, but they were outside boys, reporting to the kennel mistress, or the head groom, or the gardener. Madame Berry would no more let one of her staff mingle with those scruffy scamps as she would hand over her keys to a ghost. She'd said as much when he first arrived. Instead he bedded with the least regarded of her own staff, the locksmith's apprentice, two of the Lady's most junior clerks, bottle washers, kitchen runners, and fire tenders.
He shared his bed with Sen, who never quite got all the ash out of his limp blond hair, so the pillow was always smutted, and Sen kicked, sometimes, when he dreamed. The apprentice was only a couple of years older than he
was. The two clerks, though, and the fire tenders were young men, in their twenties, and oh but he did watch them close, all through his first winter with the house.
Come harvest though, it was all change. The move to the estate was a charming rustic escape for the family and their coterie, and endless work for everyone else. Life below stairs became a steadily accelerating blur of washing and packing, stitching and polishing, carrying out and putting away, and then finally, all was ready.
For all his tired arms and burning eyes the directed chaos of the move had a certain air of magic for him. Never in all his years had he so much as set foot outside the Borough. Everything from the fields to the stables, the cottage itself and the rutted mud track that marked the last two hours of travel was gilded with novelty. The water was cold and heavy, from a well, not a pipe. Even the air tasted different.
The cottage had only accommodation for the chiefs of staff, and all others, women and menfolk alike, slept out in the clear bright night. The women took the coveted shelter of the walled orchards; the men sleeping catch as catch can in the meadows. Come the morning they would all turn labourers, working to capture the summer's largess. But for this night - bedding down under the stars was almost a holiday itself. They could never expect him to sleep not his first night out in the open like this.
*********
"Hush!" The fire tender's voice was harsh but quiet, not to disturb the low chatter from the braziers around them. "You think this is some kind of story? Romance and happy endings? Shush you now and not another word on it."
He bit his lip and turned his head away, wishing he had never spoken. The sky seemed huge; the unfamiliar space between bodies enough to get lost it. His stomach knotted with misery. He should not have spoken.
He could hear the fire tender sit up sharply, punching his bundled clothes into a better pillow, still shaking his head and muttering.
"But there are stories?" The words slipped out, quiet and hopeful. "About people like ...?"
"Did I not just tell you to shush?" There was a sigh in the darkness, and the fire tenders voice softened. "Lad, if you want a happy ending, you find you a good girl, who'll keep you from the bread line and raise children with you, and you forget every notion of yours, you hear me?"
He rolled on to one elbow, looking evenly at the silhouette of the older man.
"And if I know that that will not make me happy?" he kept his voice low and even, for all he was desperate for the answer.
"Then you must make your way as best you can in the world." it came, heavy and hopeless.
"As you have done?"
The silence was thick. Accusatory.
"Has it made you happy?" he pressed.
"Life's not story books, lad. There's no law that promises a man happiness. Hush now and get some sleep."
The silhouette moved, pulling the blanket up high over bare shoulders. For a moment the alien rustles and silences of the country were overlaid with the familiar sounds of someone turning away and setting to closing off the outside world.
He should never have spoken.
The constant closeness kept his mouth closed and his hands closer still, balled in his blankets the better to keep his secret. He watched though, as they stripped and washed and dressed. Listened to their teasing and their gossip.
He was an inside boy - by age he should have been bedded with the other lads, but they were outside boys, reporting to the kennel mistress, or the head groom, or the gardener. Madame Berry would no more let one of her staff mingle with those scruffy scamps as she would hand over her keys to a ghost. She'd said as much when he first arrived. Instead he bedded with the least regarded of her own staff, the locksmith's apprentice, two of the Lady's most junior clerks, bottle washers, kitchen runners, and fire tenders.
He shared his bed with Sen, who never quite got all the ash out of his limp blond hair, so the pillow was always smutted, and Sen kicked, sometimes, when he dreamed. The apprentice was only a couple of years older than he
was. The two clerks, though, and the fire tenders were young men, in their twenties, and oh but he did watch them close, all through his first winter with the house.
Come harvest though, it was all change. The move to the estate was a charming rustic escape for the family and their coterie, and endless work for everyone else. Life below stairs became a steadily accelerating blur of washing and packing, stitching and polishing, carrying out and putting away, and then finally, all was ready.
For all his tired arms and burning eyes the directed chaos of the move had a certain air of magic for him. Never in all his years had he so much as set foot outside the Borough. Everything from the fields to the stables, the cottage itself and the rutted mud track that marked the last two hours of travel was gilded with novelty. The water was cold and heavy, from a well, not a pipe. Even the air tasted different.
The cottage had only accommodation for the chiefs of staff, and all others, women and menfolk alike, slept out in the clear bright night. The women took the coveted shelter of the walled orchards; the men sleeping catch as catch can in the meadows. Come the morning they would all turn labourers, working to capture the summer's largess. But for this night - bedding down under the stars was almost a holiday itself. They could never expect him to sleep not his first night out in the open like this.
*********
"Hush!" The fire tender's voice was harsh but quiet, not to disturb the low chatter from the braziers around them. "You think this is some kind of story? Romance and happy endings? Shush you now and not another word on it."
He bit his lip and turned his head away, wishing he had never spoken. The sky seemed huge; the unfamiliar space between bodies enough to get lost it. His stomach knotted with misery. He should not have spoken.
He could hear the fire tender sit up sharply, punching his bundled clothes into a better pillow, still shaking his head and muttering.
"But there are stories?" The words slipped out, quiet and hopeful. "About people like ...?"
"Did I not just tell you to shush?" There was a sigh in the darkness, and the fire tenders voice softened. "Lad, if you want a happy ending, you find you a good girl, who'll keep you from the bread line and raise children with you, and you forget every notion of yours, you hear me?"
He rolled on to one elbow, looking evenly at the silhouette of the older man.
"And if I know that that will not make me happy?" he kept his voice low and even, for all he was desperate for the answer.
"Then you must make your way as best you can in the world." it came, heavy and hopeless.
"As you have done?"
The silence was thick. Accusatory.
"Has it made you happy?" he pressed.
"Life's not story books, lad. There's no law that promises a man happiness. Hush now and get some sleep."
The silhouette moved, pulling the blanket up high over bare shoulders. For a moment the alien rustles and silences of the country were overlaid with the familiar sounds of someone turning away and setting to closing off the outside world.
He should never have spoken.