housekeeper done that – the one what was here afore you, ma’am. I jest does as I’m told.’
‘Has he been asked today?’ Jane said, brisk and businesslike.
‘No fear!’ the cook said. ‘She was up an’ gone yes’day art’noon and you wouldn’t catch me upstairs with old Curmudgeon, not for all the tea in China.’
‘Then I will do it,’ Jane said, ‘and I will do it now or you’ll not have time to send someone out to market. Get the scullery maid to scrub that table while I’m away. It looks overdue for a good clean. Now where would I find him?’
Then cook sniffed. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘I got enough to do wi’out wondering where the master is. Let sleeping dogs lie. That’s my opinion of it. You’ll have to ask Josh.’
Jane kept her patience with an effort. ‘Then where would I find Josh?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ the cook said again. ‘Could be anywhere.’ But when Jane gave her an Aunt Tot scowl, she offered, ‘You could try the butler’s pantry, I suppose. He offen in there.’
Josh had tossed his wig onto a row of empty bottles and was helping himself to a large glass of red wine – and he wasn’t the least bit abashed to be caught in the act. ‘’Tis to keep out t’damp,’ he explained. ‘I sufferschronic with damp. An’ when I suffers I’m neither fit for God nor man. What can I do for ’ee?’
She scowled at the wine glass to show that she didn’t think much of his behaviour. ‘You can tell me where Mr Bottrill is, for a start.’
‘I’ll just finish this,’ he said, swirling the wine in the glass. ‘Be a pity to waste it. Then I’ll tek ’ee there. Be warned though. He’s in a rare ol’ paddy this morning.’
He was also still in his nightclothes, slumped in a musty bedroom – don’t they ever clean anything in this house? – squinting at his newspaper. He didn’t look up and he didn’t speak.
‘Give ’ee good day, Mr Bottrill, sir,’ she said, carefully polite. ‘I am your new housekeeper.’
‘Speak up,’ he said tetchily and without looking at her. ‘Can’t hear a word if you mumble.’
She repeated her message in a louder voice. ‘I’ve come to see what you would like for your dinner.’
He looked up at her sideways. ‘What’s it to me what I have?’ he said. ‘I shan’t eat it.’
‘A meat pie,’ she suggested. ‘Or a little pork chop. I could serve it with a dish of baked apples, being they’re in season.’
‘Cook what you please,’ he said. ‘I shan’t eat it. All this nonsense in the papers. Have ’ee seen it?’
‘No, sir,’ she told him. ‘I’ve not had time for reading papers this morning. I’ve only just arrived from Foster Manor.’
‘We’re to rush about the country in carriages on rails, if you ever heard such nonsense,’ he said, shaking the paper at her. ‘Railways, they call ’em. All crammed in together, whether we will or no. All going the same way at the same time. I never heard the like. Some mad man called Stephenson wi’ a bee in his bonnet. That’s how ’tis. Invented an engine, so they say, what’ll pull carts and carriages instead of horses. And what’s wrong wi’ horses? You tell me that. Good strong reliable beasts if you treats ’em right. We don’t need engines. But we’re to have ’em, seemingly, whether we will or no. Bad enough when they were planning to use the dratted things a-pulling coal – I didn’t think much to that but t’government thought different – but now, look ’ee here, they’ve lost their senses. I never heard such folly. Engines carrying human beings. Human beings I ask you. Men and women – and children, for all we know – carted about from place to place like corn sacks or coal or barrels of ale. And do ’ee know what speed they’ll be travelling at in their damn fool contraptions? Twenty miles an hour! Twenty miles! Did ’ee ever hear the like? We shall all be shook to kingdom come. I don’t know what t’world’s coming to,
‘Has he been asked today?’ Jane said, brisk and businesslike.
‘No fear!’ the cook said. ‘She was up an’ gone yes’day art’noon and you wouldn’t catch me upstairs with old Curmudgeon, not for all the tea in China.’
‘Then I will do it,’ Jane said, ‘and I will do it now or you’ll not have time to send someone out to market. Get the scullery maid to scrub that table while I’m away. It looks overdue for a good clean. Now where would I find him?’
Then cook sniffed. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘I got enough to do wi’out wondering where the master is. Let sleeping dogs lie. That’s my opinion of it. You’ll have to ask Josh.’
Jane kept her patience with an effort. ‘Then where would I find Josh?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ the cook said again. ‘Could be anywhere.’ But when Jane gave her an Aunt Tot scowl, she offered, ‘You could try the butler’s pantry, I suppose. He offen in there.’
Josh had tossed his wig onto a row of empty bottles and was helping himself to a large glass of red wine – and he wasn’t the least bit abashed to be caught in the act. ‘’Tis to keep out t’damp,’ he explained. ‘I sufferschronic with damp. An’ when I suffers I’m neither fit for God nor man. What can I do for ’ee?’
She scowled at the wine glass to show that she didn’t think much of his behaviour. ‘You can tell me where Mr Bottrill is, for a start.’
‘I’ll just finish this,’ he said, swirling the wine in the glass. ‘Be a pity to waste it. Then I’ll tek ’ee there. Be warned though. He’s in a rare ol’ paddy this morning.’
He was also still in his nightclothes, slumped in a musty bedroom – don’t they ever clean anything in this house? – squinting at his newspaper. He didn’t look up and he didn’t speak.
‘Give ’ee good day, Mr Bottrill, sir,’ she said, carefully polite. ‘I am your new housekeeper.’
‘Speak up,’ he said tetchily and without looking at her. ‘Can’t hear a word if you mumble.’
She repeated her message in a louder voice. ‘I’ve come to see what you would like for your dinner.’
He looked up at her sideways. ‘What’s it to me what I have?’ he said. ‘I shan’t eat it.’
‘A meat pie,’ she suggested. ‘Or a little pork chop. I could serve it with a dish of baked apples, being they’re in season.’
‘Cook what you please,’ he said. ‘I shan’t eat it. All this nonsense in the papers. Have ’ee seen it?’
‘No, sir,’ she told him. ‘I’ve not had time for reading papers this morning. I’ve only just arrived from Foster Manor.’
‘We’re to rush about the country in carriages on rails, if you ever heard such nonsense,’ he said, shaking the paper at her. ‘Railways, they call ’em. All crammed in together, whether we will or no. All going the same way at the same time. I never heard the like. Some mad man called Stephenson wi’ a bee in his bonnet. That’s how ’tis. Invented an engine, so they say, what’ll pull carts and carriages instead of horses. And what’s wrong wi’ horses? You tell me that. Good strong reliable beasts if you treats ’em right. We don’t need engines. But we’re to have ’em, seemingly, whether we will or no. Bad enough when they were planning to use the dratted things a-pulling coal – I didn’t think much to that but t’government thought different – but now, look ’ee here, they’ve lost their senses. I never heard such folly. Engines carrying human beings. Human beings I ask you. Men and women – and children, for all we know – carted about from place to place like corn sacks or coal or barrels of ale. And do ’ee know what speed they’ll be travelling at in their damn fool contraptions? Twenty miles an hour! Twenty miles! Did ’ee ever hear the like? We shall all be shook to kingdom come. I don’t know what t’world’s coming to,
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