A New Man at the Hall
“Have you seen that new man, that’s come down with the master and mistress?” Mary asked her friend. Both girls were maids at the big house and spent as much time as they could gossiping together when they should have been working.
Tilda gave a small smile, “How could I have missed him? He doesn’t seem to say much, but you really feel his presence.”
“Have you noticed his scar?”
“Poor man, it looks very painful.”
“I wonder how he got it. Do you think he killed the man who did it?”
Tilda shuddered. Although talk of life in faraway places was exciting she didn’t want think of people dying. “Do you know what his name is?”
“I think the mistress called him Sexby.”
That evening some of the workers from the hall were planning to go down to visit a group of gypsies who were passing through. The two girls intended going with them, excited by the talk of dancing and dark strangers. So for once, instead of spending time chatting, they went back to their chores knowing that they would need to be completed before they were free to go.
It was much later when Tilda was ready to leave. She had been told to sort through a pile of linen and despite being desperate to join the others had conscientiously worked through the task. She had begged Mary to wait for her, but her friend had laughed and told her to catch them up as soon as she could.
So Tilda was now following the path through the woods by herself. It was early evening and the setting sun was casting eerie shadows amongst the trees. Tilda was forcing herself to think about the fun she would have when she reached the gipsy encampment, to take her mind off the dark shapes in the wood. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Terrified, she turned round to see Sexby looking at her, the scar across his eye clearly visible despite the growing darkness.
“Go back to the house, girl. This is no place for you.”
Tilda didn’t need telling twice. She ran back up the path as fast as she could, not stopping until she reached the edge of the woods. Only then did she glance round and looking back down the path caught a glimpse of Sexby as he turned and restarted his walk through the trees.
A few days later Mary came to find Tilda.
“I heard the master telling Sexby that he wanted some wood moving out of the barn this afternoon.” Mary said.
“So?” Tilda didn’t think that this was sufficient to warrant her friend making a special effort to find her.
“I’m going to make sure I have to go to the barn.”
“But there’s no reason for you to go to there.”
“I’ll find one.” Mary smiled at her friend. “I have plans for Mr Sexby.”
Sexby had just started moving the wood when he was surprised to see one of the maids coming towards him.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I thought you might need some company,” Mary answered.
“No, I’ve no problem with being by myself.”
“I’ll just wait here anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mary made herself comfortable on the hay that filled half the barn and watched as Sexby moved the wood from the other half. It was hard work and the day was hot, so he soon removed his shirt and she saw the sweat glisten on his back. Having taken sufficient wood up to the house he returned once more to the barn.
“Still here?” he asked the girl.
“Oh yes.” She lay back in the hay. “What are you going to do next?”
He stretched his arms up and she watched his muscles ripple as he relaxed again. He turned to leave the barn.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Mary asked. “I’m sure the master won’t be wanting you just yet.” She got up and stood in front of him. “Come and join me in the hay and you could get to know me better.” She loosened her bodice and ran her hands over her breasts. Sexby went to walk round her but she grabbed hold of his arms and was pulling him back towards the hay. “Don’t you want what you see, Mr Sexby?”
He looked at her and then he was pulling her dress up. She could feel his hot sweaty flesh against her body and his breath on her face. He grasped her firmly and she trembled slightly under his hands. Then it was all over and he was pulling his shirt on and walking out of the barn without a further look.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Tilda managed to catch Mary by herself.
“Well,” she asked “did you go to the barn?”
“No, I decided not to bother,” Mary walked off without another word.
Tilda was surprised at her friend not wanting to talk, but decided not to pursue her. Instead she smiled at the tall stable lad who was crossing the yard and wondered if anyone would ever look as devotedly at her the way that she had glimpsed Sexby looking at Mistress Fanshawe.
Tilda gave a small smile, “How could I have missed him? He doesn’t seem to say much, but you really feel his presence.”
“Have you noticed his scar?”
“Poor man, it looks very painful.”
“I wonder how he got it. Do you think he killed the man who did it?”
Tilda shuddered. Although talk of life in faraway places was exciting she didn’t want think of people dying. “Do you know what his name is?”
“I think the mistress called him Sexby.”
That evening some of the workers from the hall were planning to go down to visit a group of gypsies who were passing through. The two girls intended going with them, excited by the talk of dancing and dark strangers. So for once, instead of spending time chatting, they went back to their chores knowing that they would need to be completed before they were free to go.
It was much later when Tilda was ready to leave. She had been told to sort through a pile of linen and despite being desperate to join the others had conscientiously worked through the task. She had begged Mary to wait for her, but her friend had laughed and told her to catch them up as soon as she could.
So Tilda was now following the path through the woods by herself. It was early evening and the setting sun was casting eerie shadows amongst the trees. Tilda was forcing herself to think about the fun she would have when she reached the gipsy encampment, to take her mind off the dark shapes in the wood. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Terrified, she turned round to see Sexby looking at her, the scar across his eye clearly visible despite the growing darkness.
“Go back to the house, girl. This is no place for you.”
Tilda didn’t need telling twice. She ran back up the path as fast as she could, not stopping until she reached the edge of the woods. Only then did she glance round and looking back down the path caught a glimpse of Sexby as he turned and restarted his walk through the trees.
A few days later Mary came to find Tilda.
“I heard the master telling Sexby that he wanted some wood moving out of the barn this afternoon.” Mary said.
“So?” Tilda didn’t think that this was sufficient to warrant her friend making a special effort to find her.
“I’m going to make sure I have to go to the barn.”
“But there’s no reason for you to go to there.”
“I’ll find one.” Mary smiled at her friend. “I have plans for Mr Sexby.”
Sexby had just started moving the wood when he was surprised to see one of the maids coming towards him.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I thought you might need some company,” Mary answered.
“No, I’ve no problem with being by myself.”
“I’ll just wait here anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mary made herself comfortable on the hay that filled half the barn and watched as Sexby moved the wood from the other half. It was hard work and the day was hot, so he soon removed his shirt and she saw the sweat glisten on his back. Having taken sufficient wood up to the house he returned once more to the barn.
“Still here?” he asked the girl.
“Oh yes.” She lay back in the hay. “What are you going to do next?”
He stretched his arms up and she watched his muscles ripple as he relaxed again. He turned to leave the barn.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Mary asked. “I’m sure the master won’t be wanting you just yet.” She got up and stood in front of him. “Come and join me in the hay and you could get to know me better.” She loosened her bodice and ran her hands over her breasts. Sexby went to walk round her but she grabbed hold of his arms and was pulling him back towards the hay. “Don’t you want what you see, Mr Sexby?”
He looked at her and then he was pulling her dress up. She could feel his hot sweaty flesh against her body and his breath on her face. He grasped her firmly and she trembled slightly under his hands. Then it was all over and he was pulling his shirt on and walking out of the barn without a further look.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Tilda managed to catch Mary by herself.
“Well,” she asked “did you go to the barn?”
“No, I decided not to bother,” Mary walked off without another word.
Tilda was surprised at her friend not wanting to talk, but decided not to pursue her. Instead she smiled at the tall stable lad who was crossing the yard and wondered if anyone would ever look as devotedly at her the way that she had glimpsed Sexby looking at Mistress Fanshawe.