Chapter 4

Four

“ B ut what do you mean it’s all gone?” Miriam exclaimed, staring at her mother in disbelief.

“I mean what I said, Miriam. Your father’s wealth…it’s gone. We’ve known for some time, but your father promised it would be all right. It seems now, it won’t be,” the baroness said, promptly bursting into tears.

Miriam and her sister were sitting opposite her in the morning room, having been summoned there after breakfast. Their father had gone out – a desperate last attempt at raising funds. He had business interests on the continent, but recent conflicts with the French had brought them to an end, and his fortune had been swallowed up in failed trades and futile ventures. The money was gone, and Podmore Grange, its contents, and all the family owned would be sold. They were poor – as poor as the servants who had, that very morning, been dismissed.

“But it can’t all be gone. Didn’t he keep reserves? Didn’t he have something to fall back on?” Clare asked, but their mother shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Clare. We should’ve told you all this much earlier. But I didn’t want to upset you,” the baroness replied.

She was a handsome woman, tall and elegant, with long, auburn hair like that of her daughters. But her face was sad and weary, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was no longer the mother they had once known, but serious and anxious.

“I knew something was wrong. Before Grace’s wedding, I knew. You were different, both of you,” Miriam said.

She loved her parents dearly, and Podmore Grange had always been the happiest of homes. But lately, her parents had seemed distant, wrapped up in their own affairs. They had been arguing, and Miriam had heard her mother crying in the morning room, and in the evenings in her bedchamber.

“That’s the reason why, Miriam. We’ve been trying desperately to make things better, but to no avail. Things are going to be very different from now on,” her mother said, looking forlornly at her.

Miriam glanced at her sister. Clare was crying, and Miriam put her arm around her, trying to comfort her.

“It’s all right, Clare. We’ll manage. We’ll get through this, and I’m sure father has a plan,” she said, wanting to sound optimistic, even as she felt far from so.

All familiarity was slipping away. Podmore Grange, and the happy life she had enjoyed there, was all Miriam had ever known. She had expected it to continue, and now it was being snatched cruelly away. Her mother was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, and now she rose to her feet with a sigh.

“We need to begin making preparations. We’ll live in rooms at the top of the house for now, and once we’ve sold, we’ll find somewhere smaller to live,” she said.

Miriam looked up at her in desperation. Was there nothing they could do?

“But what then? How will we live?” Miriam asked.

Her mother looked at her fearfully.

“We must hope your father manages some means of investment. In the meantime, we must do what we can. We could take in mending, or…something like that,” she said, her voice vague and uncertain.

It was terrifying. Everything familiar was gone, and now another terrible thought crossed Miriam’s mind.

“What about the horses, Mother? What about Scarlet and Flash?” she asked, glancing at Clare, whose eyes grew wide and fearful.

Their mother shook her head sadly.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to go. We can’t keep horses when there isn’t enough money to put food on the table. Tears welled up in Miriam’s eyes. She had raised Scarlet from a foal, she was like a sister to her, as Flash was like a brother to Clare. She shook her head, determined to find a way to keep the horses, even as she knew the futility of her intention.

“I can’t let her go, Mother. I can’t,” she exclaimed, but her mother shook her head and sighed.

“We’ve all got to make sacrifices, Miriam. I’m sorry,” she said, and now she left the morning room, as Miriam and Clare put their arms around one another.

“Oh, it’s too awful. Why didn’t Father tell us anything before?” Clare asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose he didn’t want to worry us. I’ll ring for some tea. One needs tea at a time like this,” Miriam said, rising to her feet and pulling the bell chord by the fireplace.

But as she did so, she realized the summons would bring no one running. The servants were gone. There was no money to pay them, and Miriam would no longer have a maid to bring her tea, or a butler to pour her wine at dinner. There would be no more parties, no more soirees, no more balls, or picnics on the lawn. From now on, they would fend for themselves, and no one would be there to help them.

“Perhaps we should make our own tea,” Clare said, as the realization seemed to occur to her, too.

Miriam nodded.

“It’s all going to be very different from now,” she replied.

“There now, boiled eggs, buttered bread, and a pot of jam, with tea,” Miriam said, setting down the evening meal on the small table in the upstairs room of Podmore Grange, now serving as a dining room and drawing room combined.

Miriam had boiled the eggs in a pan on the grate, and she had found the jam in the pantry downstairs. The bread had come from the bakery, to which she and Clare had walked earlier in the day, and she felt proud at having provided a meal for the family, albeit in their now vastly reduced circumstances.

“Thank you, Miriam,” her father said, helping himself to a boiled egg and a slice of bread.

The baron had aged considerably in the past few months. His hair had gone gray, and his brow furrowed. He had always been such a cheerful character, doting on his daughters, and Miriam in particular. But that cheer was gone, replaced by the look of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You’ve done very well, Miriam. You’ve learned a great deal in these past few weeks – how to cook, to clean, to make the beds. Everything necessary, in fact,” her mother said, giving a weak smile.

“It’s not that difficult, really, it isn’t,” Miriam said, helping herself to a slice of bread and butter.

Had it been a game, she would rather have enjoyed her attempts at cookery, and keeping the rooms they now occupied neat and tidy. But it was not a game, rather, it was a practical necessity, one Miriam had been forced to undertake in their newly reduced circumstances. She did not enjoy it, even as she knew it was necessary.

“But we can’t live like this forever, can we?” Clare said, glancing around her at the shabby room, they now called home.

Selling Podmore Grange was proving difficult, and without servants, the house was falling into disrepair. The rooms they inhabited – what had once been the housekeeper’s bedroom and sitting room, were barely adequate for their needs. The shabby furniture, small heart, and narrow windows were a far cry from the lower rooms, with their opulent furnishings, and large windows looking out over the gardens. To be reduced to such circumstances was a humiliation, and they had already endured the “sympathies” of several well-meaning women who had called on them to offer their condolences. It was as though a close relative had died, and whilst tea and sympathy was welcome, little by way of practical help was forthcoming.

“I’ve heard of women taking jobs,” one of the well-meaning visitors had said, and Miriam had watched as her mother’s face had turned ashen.

But the thought of taking employment was not as far-fetched as it might have seemed. Indeed, it would soon become a necessity. Despite her father’s title, and the trappings of their class, the family were poor. They were poorer than any of their neighbors, and even the farmers roundabouts, and the tradesmen in the village, now had more wealth than they.

“We’ll manage,” their mother said, peeling the shell from a hardboiled egg.

“We met one of the maids in the bakery today,” Miriam said, knowing she was about to cause her mother an upset.

“Oh, yes, has she found a new position without too much trouble? I told them I’d give good references to them all,” the baroness replied.

“She’s still looking, but she said she’d heard tell of a position at Briar Heights. The house on the moorland. Someone’s taken it, and they need servants – a maid and a cook. She said she wouldn’t dream of going there. It’s far too remote, but I…” Miriam began, her mother interrupting her before she could finish speaking.

“That’s quite right. It’s far too remote for anyone. I wonder who could possibly have taken it. No sensible person, that’s for certain,” her mother said, tutting and shaking her head.

Miriam had never been to Briar Heights, but she had heard of it – a remote hunting lodge lying far out on the moorland in a narrow valley, surrounded by woodland. It was approached by a bridleway, treacherous in winter, and a long, hot walk in the summer. It had laid empty for years, and Miriam, too, had been surprised by their former maid’s news of it having been let.

“You wouldn’t catch me going there to work, not for anything. I’d be scared in such a place. They could pay me double the wages, and it still wouldn’t be enough,” she had said, when Miriam and Clare had met her in the bakery.

But the remoteness of Briar Heights had not perturbed Miriam from showing an interest, and as it turned out, the rate of pay was double that of any other jobs nearby. Miriam was a quick learner, and she was already doing the job of a maid at Podmore Grange. There was no reason for her not to do it at Briar Heights, for she knew she had to do something to support her family in this time of trouble.

“I’m going to walk out there tomorrow and offer my services,” Miriam said.

Her mother stared at her in astonishment, and her father spluttered into his tea.

“Miriam…you can’t, what nonsense. No, I won’t hear of it,” her mother replied, shaking her head.

“Miriam, times aren’t so desperate as to necessitate such a thing,” the baron said, but Miriam was adamant.

They had been reduced to living in two rooms of their former home. The money was gone. There was no fortune, and no prospect of its return. They were destitute, and if Miriam did not get a job – however lowly – their circumstances would only be further reduced.

“But we are desperate, Father. They’re going to pay twice the rate for a maid. I can send home all my wages to you and Mother. Why won’t you let me? Clare can manage here, and I’ll come back when I can. I’m not afraid of hard work,” she said, feeling determined to have her way.

Her parents glanced at one another, shaking their heads as though in despair.

“Oh, what are we reduced to? Our own daughter taking the job of a maid. It’s too dreadful,” the baroness exclaimed.

“But I want to, Mother. I want to help. I can’t sit here idly and watch you and father suffer,” Miriam said.

Her mind was made up, and it would not be changed. Reluctantly – and knowing they had no choice in the matter – her parents agreed, and the next day, Miriam found herself on the way to Briar Heights, riding Scarlet, whose fate still hung in the balance.

“What a lonely place this is,” Miriam thought to herself, as she rode along the bridleway towards Briar Heights.

It was the height of summer, and yet the moor possessed a lonely foreboding, and Miriam could only imagine it bleakness in the depths of winter. Briar Heights lay in a valley, its rooftops barely visible above the trees, and was approached by a rocky path, which crossed a gushing stream at a ford, before winding its way to a courtyard at the front of the house. The house itself was small, made up of only two wings, no larger than a farmhouse, with narrow windows, and a partially thatched roof. Smoke was coming from the chimneys, and as Miriam clambered down from Scarlet’s back the front door opened, and a woman in a white pinafore and black dress appeared, her hair tied into a bob.

“Can I help you, miss?” she asked.

“I’ve come about the position of maid,” Miriam replied.

The woman looked surprised, though Miriam was uncertain whether her surprise lay in the fact of Miriam herself or her enquiry. The matter was soon settled.

“We’ve had no response. Few women are prepared to work in such a lonely place. Can you cook, too? We’ve no cook, either,” she said.

Miriam was not averse to exaggerating her abilities, and she nodded, believing she could soon learn to make whatever dishes were required.

“I can, yes,” Miriam replied, tethering Scarlet to a hitching post, before making her way up the steps to the door.

The woman – whom Miriam assumed was the housekeeper – looked her up and down.

“You’re rather smartly dressed for a maid,” she said, and Miriam blushed.

“I… I need a job, Mrs…?” she said, and the woman nodded.

“Mrs. Hill. I’m the housekeeper here. And since we’ve had few other responses to our search for a maid or a cook, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve ridden all this way, after all. Come in. You can have something to eat, then get started,” she said, ushering Miriam inside.

“I was surprised when I heard the house was let,” Miriam said, taking off her bonnet, and looking around the hallway with interest.

It was a dark, wood paneled room, the ancient furniture – a dresser, table, chairs, and a snug by the fire – all made of seasoned oak. Stairs led up to a narrow landing above, and the pokey windows let in only a tiny amount of light through the thick walls.

“No more surprised than I was when His Grace arrived,” Mrs. Hill replied.

“His Grace?” Miriam said, looking at the housekeeper in surprise.

She had expected the house to be let to an eccentric gentleman – the sort of man who wrote books on obscure topics and wanted a place of peace and quiet in which to work.

“The Duke of Lancaster. But it’s a secret, mind you. You’re not to tell anyone the name of your employer. Do you understand?” The housekeeper replied, raising her eyebrows and fixing Miriam with a look of warning.

Miriam knew of the Duke of Lancaster – of course, she did. He was one of the largest landowners in the county, and the news of the former duke’s death had been in every periodical, and the talk of every drawing room between Lancaster and York. But she was surprised to hear the new duke had taken Briar Heights, a house so remote, he could not expect to conduct the business of a dukedom from its confines.

“Why is it a secret? Hasn’t he the right to go where he pleases?” Miriam replied.

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes.

“Maids don’t answer back. If you want this job, so be it. We’ve had precious few other enquiries. Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies,” Mrs. Hill said, and it seemed the matter was closed.

Miriam was not used to being spoken to like this, but she knew her circumstances had changed dramatically, and she could not be choosy as to where she worked and what she did. She was willing to put up with the strange arrangements, and keep the duke’s secret, knowing she would be helping her parents in sending home her wages.

“I’m…sorry, I was just curious, that’s all. And is anyone else here?” Miriam asked.

“Old Jackson works in the garden – what little there is, and there’s another maid, Teresa. You’ll…well, you’ll see. Now come down to the kitchen, you can have some soup, and then get started. A maid’s work is never done, rather like a housekeeper’s,” Mrs. Hill said, and she led Miriam down a narrow flight of stairs to a kitchen, where a fire burned in the range, and a well-scrubbed table was laden with vegetables from the garden.

“What a different life this is going to be,” Miriam thought to herself, as she sat down at the table.

But she was determined to do her best, and despite the strangeness of her new circumstances, Miriam was glad to be doing something to help her family.

“You can start with the brass,” Mrs. Hill said, when Miriam had finished eating her soup, and having never polished anything in her life, Miriam knew she had a great deal to learn…