Read Perfecting Fiona for Free Online Page B
Authors: MC Beaton
their wages come next quarter-day. But all had gone to bed determined to have a long sleep, made longer by the port they had drunk, and so by the time they all awoke, frightened and wondering whether they had run mad, Baxter, the Tribbles’ lady’s maid, had broken the news to Amy.
‘What are you talking about, Baxter?’ said Amy, glancing at the clock. It was seven in the morning. ‘Why did you wake me?’
‘It’s as I tell you,’ said Baxter with gloomy relish. ‘That second footman, Frank, he come back last night and he starts saying as how servants were the equal of their betters. Harris told him to go and boil his head. Then Frank says he has it on good authority that they’re not going to be paid any wages. Says a society gentleman told him.’
‘Which society gentleman?’
‘Well, mum, he says as how it was Lord Peter Havard.’
Frank had feared they would not believe the words of a plain mister, however grand, and so had said the first titled name that had come into his head.
‘Lud! And they believed him?’
‘Yes, mum. Drank the port and sang vulgar songs, they did.’
Amy lay back against the pillows and said in a flat, cold voice, ‘You are a strong woman, Baxter. Go to that butler, Harris, and drag him from his bed and bring him here.’
Baxter’s grim old face cracked into a smile. She rolled up her sleeves and made for the door. ‘Very good, mum.’
‘Wait a bit. Are all the servants involved in this rebellion?’
Baxter longed to lie and say yes, but a strict religious upbringing would not let her do so. ‘That Yvette just laughed at them and wouldn’t be no part of it,’ she said sulkily.
‘Very well. Go and fetch Harris.’
Amy climbed out of bed and wrapped her long flat figure in a man’s dressing gown and sat in a chair by the fire. She was annoyed but not very surprised. It was not unusual in a London household to find rebellion among the servants. Some servants terrified their masters and mistresses so much that a special agency for getting rid of unwanted servants had come into being. The only trouble with the agency was that they replaced the rebelling servants with their own creatures, who turned out to be even worse.
There came sounds of an altercation from the passage outside, then the door was pushed open and the butler, Harris, was thrust into the room. He was unshaven and half-dressed.
‘Well, Harris?’ demanded Amy, fixing the butler with a steely eye. ‘We have had the colonists’ revolution in America, then the bourgeois revolution in France, and now I suppose you hope that the great servants’ revolution of Holles Street will also figure in the history books.’
‘No, ma’am. It was just that Frank said as how Lord Peter Havard told him that we would not be getting any wages. I didn’t listen to his other rubbish, ma’am, but we were furious at the thought of not being paid.’
‘Frank is a second footman. Why did a butler so readily believe the lies of a second footman?’
Harris looked at her miserably. How could he explain that the ground was there, that he, Harris, was ready to be impressed by Frank’s tawdry finery and boasts of friendship with lords and talk of injustice? That most of the year he and other servants were grateful for their positions and served their masters well, but that there came the one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five when life seemed unnatural and unjust?
‘Often we hear tales of staff not being paid their wages, ma’am,’ said Harris. ‘Often and often. We had no reason to disbelieve Frank.’
‘And where is Frank supposed to have met Lord Peter?’
Harris twisted uncomfortably.
‘Come along, man. I assume he had leave to go out. Where did he say he was going?’
‘He said his mother was poorly.’
‘His mother died five years ago,’ said Amy, who made it her business to know the backgrounds of the servants before she employed them. ‘So where did he meet Lord Peter – Lord Peter, who,
‘What are you talking about, Baxter?’ said Amy, glancing at the clock. It was seven in the morning. ‘Why did you wake me?’
‘It’s as I tell you,’ said Baxter with gloomy relish. ‘That second footman, Frank, he come back last night and he starts saying as how servants were the equal of their betters. Harris told him to go and boil his head. Then Frank says he has it on good authority that they’re not going to be paid any wages. Says a society gentleman told him.’
‘Which society gentleman?’
‘Well, mum, he says as how it was Lord Peter Havard.’
Frank had feared they would not believe the words of a plain mister, however grand, and so had said the first titled name that had come into his head.
‘Lud! And they believed him?’
‘Yes, mum. Drank the port and sang vulgar songs, they did.’
Amy lay back against the pillows and said in a flat, cold voice, ‘You are a strong woman, Baxter. Go to that butler, Harris, and drag him from his bed and bring him here.’
Baxter’s grim old face cracked into a smile. She rolled up her sleeves and made for the door. ‘Very good, mum.’
‘Wait a bit. Are all the servants involved in this rebellion?’
Baxter longed to lie and say yes, but a strict religious upbringing would not let her do so. ‘That Yvette just laughed at them and wouldn’t be no part of it,’ she said sulkily.
‘Very well. Go and fetch Harris.’
Amy climbed out of bed and wrapped her long flat figure in a man’s dressing gown and sat in a chair by the fire. She was annoyed but not very surprised. It was not unusual in a London household to find rebellion among the servants. Some servants terrified their masters and mistresses so much that a special agency for getting rid of unwanted servants had come into being. The only trouble with the agency was that they replaced the rebelling servants with their own creatures, who turned out to be even worse.
There came sounds of an altercation from the passage outside, then the door was pushed open and the butler, Harris, was thrust into the room. He was unshaven and half-dressed.
‘Well, Harris?’ demanded Amy, fixing the butler with a steely eye. ‘We have had the colonists’ revolution in America, then the bourgeois revolution in France, and now I suppose you hope that the great servants’ revolution of Holles Street will also figure in the history books.’
‘No, ma’am. It was just that Frank said as how Lord Peter Havard told him that we would not be getting any wages. I didn’t listen to his other rubbish, ma’am, but we were furious at the thought of not being paid.’
‘Frank is a second footman. Why did a butler so readily believe the lies of a second footman?’
Harris looked at her miserably. How could he explain that the ground was there, that he, Harris, was ready to be impressed by Frank’s tawdry finery and boasts of friendship with lords and talk of injustice? That most of the year he and other servants were grateful for their positions and served their masters well, but that there came the one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five when life seemed unnatural and unjust?
‘Often we hear tales of staff not being paid their wages, ma’am,’ said Harris. ‘Often and often. We had no reason to disbelieve Frank.’
‘And where is Frank supposed to have met Lord Peter?’
Harris twisted uncomfortably.
‘Come along, man. I assume he had leave to go out. Where did he say he was going?’
‘He said his mother was poorly.’
‘His mother died five years ago,’ said Amy, who made it her business to know the backgrounds of the servants before she employed them. ‘So where did he meet Lord Peter – Lord Peter, who,