Miriam, the third housemaid, bearing a cup of tea and telling me she’d run my bath: apparently, yesterday hadn’t been a one-off but was to be the way all of my days would start. Well, I thought, that’s a bit of luck, anyway: no one had ever brought me a cup of tea in bed before and it seemed that, in Miriam, I was to have my very own servant. But the next thing she said made it clear that this was to be the only luxurious part of my daily routine.
‘Please, Miss Mulley, you’re to have your bath and dress and be downstairs at seven-thirty. Mrs Sapstead has done you an egg and some toast but she will have Her Ladyship’s tea ready for you by then, so she says you’ve to be quick about your breakfast. It doesn’t do to be late for Her Ladyship.’
So this was how it was to be. There’s an old saying we used to learn in school: ‘Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them. And little fleas have littler fleas and so on
ad infinitum.
’ I felt like one of the middle fleas – privileged up to a point but only so long as the ‘big flea’ was happy. Still, I enjoyed my cup of tea, slipped into my dressing gown and padded along the corridor to find that the bath was delightfully piping hot.
I’d hung my clothes up in the wardrobe as soon as I arrived but, when I went to get my dress for my first full morning in service, my heart sank again. The wardrobewas huge and my few garments looked so sparse and lonely that I once again felt a pang of homesickness. Not that I would have had any more clothes but at least they wouldn’t have looked so, well, inadequate.
I’d also been forewarned about what sort of clothes to bring. As a head servant, I didn’t have to wear a uniform like the housemaids or the footmen: instead, I was told that Her Ladyship expected me to wear dark colours. Now, my favourite colours were green and purple – I’ve always loved them and do so still. But at Croome Court such cheerful hues were not allowed and so the dresses hanging in the big mahogany wardrobe looked even more depressing than they might.
By the time I was bathed, clothed and ready to face the day it was almost 7.30am. I rushed down the three flights of stone stairs and positively burst into the kitchen. Everything there seemed to be chaotically busy, with Winnie presiding over her scullery staff as they boiled and grilled amid great clouds of steam and smoke. A tray was set on a table in one corner and no sooner had I arrived than a cup of tea was placed upon it and the whole lot was thrust into my hands with an upward jerk of a thumb to indicate that I needed to get it to Her Ladyship on the double. Back I went up the great stone steps – rather more carefully this time as I juggled the tea, a folded linen napkin and a little flower vase on the slippery tray.
When I got to my mistress’s door, I had a moment of panic: did I just knock and enter? Or wait to be summonsed? And would Her Ladyship be in bed with the Earl? Did they even share a bedroom? I knew from stories I’d read that lots of the gentry slept separately, only ever coming together to go about the business of producing heirs.
Would the Coventrys be like this? And if they weren’t, was I prepared for the sight of His Lordship in bed? You have to remember that life was very much more sheltered in those days and I don’t think I’d ever seen a man in his nightclothes. I knocked on the heavy oak door and tried to stop my heart beating so fast that it seemed likely to jump out of my chest and knock the whole tea tray flying.
In the end, my fears were groundless: I heard the deep rich voice of the Countess – ‘Come’ – and marched in to find her sitting up in bed alone. Now, at this point I should probably tell you a little bit about the arrangement of the family’s quarters on the second floor. If you go to Croome Court today – and since it’s part of the National Trust and open to the public, I really think you should – you’ll
‘Please, Miss Mulley, you’re to have your bath and dress and be downstairs at seven-thirty. Mrs Sapstead has done you an egg and some toast but she will have Her Ladyship’s tea ready for you by then, so she says you’ve to be quick about your breakfast. It doesn’t do to be late for Her Ladyship.’
So this was how it was to be. There’s an old saying we used to learn in school: ‘Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them. And little fleas have littler fleas and so on
ad infinitum.
’ I felt like one of the middle fleas – privileged up to a point but only so long as the ‘big flea’ was happy. Still, I enjoyed my cup of tea, slipped into my dressing gown and padded along the corridor to find that the bath was delightfully piping hot.
I’d hung my clothes up in the wardrobe as soon as I arrived but, when I went to get my dress for my first full morning in service, my heart sank again. The wardrobewas huge and my few garments looked so sparse and lonely that I once again felt a pang of homesickness. Not that I would have had any more clothes but at least they wouldn’t have looked so, well, inadequate.
I’d also been forewarned about what sort of clothes to bring. As a head servant, I didn’t have to wear a uniform like the housemaids or the footmen: instead, I was told that Her Ladyship expected me to wear dark colours. Now, my favourite colours were green and purple – I’ve always loved them and do so still. But at Croome Court such cheerful hues were not allowed and so the dresses hanging in the big mahogany wardrobe looked even more depressing than they might.
By the time I was bathed, clothed and ready to face the day it was almost 7.30am. I rushed down the three flights of stone stairs and positively burst into the kitchen. Everything there seemed to be chaotically busy, with Winnie presiding over her scullery staff as they boiled and grilled amid great clouds of steam and smoke. A tray was set on a table in one corner and no sooner had I arrived than a cup of tea was placed upon it and the whole lot was thrust into my hands with an upward jerk of a thumb to indicate that I needed to get it to Her Ladyship on the double. Back I went up the great stone steps – rather more carefully this time as I juggled the tea, a folded linen napkin and a little flower vase on the slippery tray.
When I got to my mistress’s door, I had a moment of panic: did I just knock and enter? Or wait to be summonsed? And would Her Ladyship be in bed with the Earl? Did they even share a bedroom? I knew from stories I’d read that lots of the gentry slept separately, only ever coming together to go about the business of producing heirs.
Would the Coventrys be like this? And if they weren’t, was I prepared for the sight of His Lordship in bed? You have to remember that life was very much more sheltered in those days and I don’t think I’d ever seen a man in his nightclothes. I knocked on the heavy oak door and tried to stop my heart beating so fast that it seemed likely to jump out of my chest and knock the whole tea tray flying.
In the end, my fears were groundless: I heard the deep rich voice of the Countess – ‘Come’ – and marched in to find her sitting up in bed alone. Now, at this point I should probably tell you a little bit about the arrangement of the family’s quarters on the second floor. If you go to Croome Court today – and since it’s part of the National Trust and open to the public, I really think you should – you’ll
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