Chapter Two

Black crepe on the windows. Black crepe on the mirrors. Black crepe on any surface that could possibly hold a reflection. Black fabric over every surface in the drawing room, where the caskets were to be laid out. Black aprons over dark grey uniforms and new caps with black bands for the maids. An entire new wardrobe of black mourning garb for Lucinda, bought earlier this week from Black Peter Robinson’s mourning warehouse. Black here. Black there. Black everywhere. A sea of black.

Since the carriage accident last week, Shirley and Nellie had put up the majority of the black to reflect the Avondale house’s state of mourning. It was important, especially in families of good reputation and standing such as the Avondales, to display their mourning in everything from their dress to the decoration of the household to even their conduct. By the unwritten rules of mourning, Lucinda had to cut off all socializing so she could mourn and focus on her loss in peace. This period of mourning was to last, according to the standards of English society, about six months. Afterwards, Lucinda could slowly allow color back into her wardrobe and maybe socialize a little. Maybe.

Shirley did not know who had set these standards for mourning or why. When her mother had died, she had been too busy learning to be a maid to mourn, and she had not been close enough to her mother by then to feel anything, anyway. But Lucinda had been very close to her parents, and they to her. Therefore, it was not just because of the custom that Lucinda was observing the mourning ritual. She needed to. Thus, Shirley and Nellie had hung up the black crepe and transformed the house into a dark and cheerless place. It was enough to make Shirley, who had not much cared for her employers, feel a pang of sadness at their passing.

Still, it was for the Avondale children, whom she had cared for even less, that Shirley felt most aggrieved. Lucinda, who had been a confident and snide young woman with a healthy appetite before the accident, had become quiet and withdrawn and only picked at her food during meals. The poor girl had even taken to asking Shirley or Nellie to sleep in her bed with her at night, something Shirley only did because she felt sorry for the girl and did not want to cause her more upset. Thankfully, Nellie was more often willing than she was to sleep in Lucinda’s room, so Shirley was spared having to do so most nights.

Griffin, however—

“Shirley, would you please come in here?”

Shirley, who had been dusting one of the vases on the second floor, jumped as she heard her name called. Did he know I was thinking about him? she wondered.

Steeling herself for what was to come, she strode over to the room that had formerly been Mr. Avondale’s office. Now his son Griffin occupied it, along with Mr. Leopold, the Avondale family’s solicitor, who had been visiting the home every day since Griffin had returned from Eton. What sort of legal matters the passing of one’s clients required so many daily visits, Shirley had no idea of, but from the way both men holed themselves up there every day, it must be quite serious.

Both gentlemen stopped talking as she entered the office. The younger, Griffin Avondale, was dressed in a black dress shirt, black vest, and had a black armband on his right sleeve. Mr. Leopold, on the other hand, wore a simple grey suit, the only evidence that he was mourning someone being the thin black armband on his coat sleeve.

“What may I do for you, Mister Griffin—I mean, Mr. Avondale?” Shirley corrected herself. Now that Griffin was the head of the household, she had to address him accordingly.

“Mr. Leopold is done for today,” Griffin replied. “Would you please see him out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And afterwards, would you please bring up a pot of tea?”

She stiffened. “Of course, sir.”

Griffin and Mr. Leopold shook hands before the latter picked up his briefcase and followed Shirley out the door. After the solicitor was gone, she went to the kitchen, where Nellie was preparing a soup for supper that evening. The younger maid glanced up from the soup pot as Shirley walked in. There were red circles under her eyes.

“Nellie, have you been crying again?” Shirley asked.

She nodded and turned back to the broth. “I always get teary when someone I know dies,” she explained. “My mum used to say it was one of God’s gifts, that I could mourn for everyone who passed, no matter who they were or what they’d done in life.”

Shirley had no idea how to respond to that, so instead, she informed Nellie that Griffin had asked for a pot of tea. Nellie nodded and gestured her head at a large metal kettle sitting on the stove. “Just boiled some water for Miss Lucinda. Should I bring it up—?”

“No!” Shirley said quickly and a little louder than necessary. She coughed. “I mean, I’ll take care of it. You handle the broth, alright?”

Nellie did not comment on Shirley’s odd demeanor but instead turned back to her soup. Taking a deep breath, Shirley gathered a teapot, cup, and saucer, threw some tea leaves into a strainer, and poured hot water through the strainer and into the pot. She then carried all three items on a sliver tray upstairs, steeling herself again for another meeting alone with Griffin Avondale.

As she entered the office, taking care to keep the door open, Griffin looked up from a letter he was writing. “Just set it on the desk, Shirley,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” She placed the tray down, turned to go, and felt a large hand engulf her tiny wrist, followed by a pair of lips on the back of her hand. Her head whipped round, and her eyes fell on Griffin, who was staring at her with a gaze she had never seen directed at her from anyone else.

“Mr. Avondale—!”

“Shirley, have you thought at all about my offer?” he asked.

She snatched her hand back. Griffin, in response, stood, shortened the gap between them, and grabbed her by the shoulders. His face was a portrait of earnestness.

“Mr. Avondale!” Shirley repeated.

“Please, Shirley,” he replied. “I love you. Marry me.”

She stared up at his face. He was handsome, with blonde hair that was long enough to be rebellious but not too long to be improper, an angular face, and expressive blue eyes. It was enough to make any girl swoon in his arms.

Which was why she hadn’t allowed Nellie to bring the tea up for him. Shirley hated to think what might happen if Griffin made advances on the younger maid like this.

She twisted free from his grip and glared at him furiously. “Mr. Avondale, you shouldn’t make jokes like that!”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“All the more reason not to say it,” she replied.

“When will you take me seriously?” he asked.

Shirley crossed her arms in front of her chest. She would not back down.

Perhaps in the world of novels, relationships between servants and their masters could occur. Perhaps in those worlds, or even in far off places like America, India, or the Australian continent, romantic love might actually exist. They may even, on occasion and despite all opposition, prosper.

But Shirley lived in the real world, in London, and she knew that romantic love was just a fairy tale for upper class women and girls to sigh over. The reality was every marriage was a match made by considerations other than love, and it was without love that she considered marriage, on the rare occasion when it came up, to anyone. It was with those other considerations she had considered Griffin Avondale’s proposal the first time he’d made it, after she’d begun working for his family and he’d been home from school for holiday.

Obviously, she had said no.

The first problem with Griffin’s suit was that Shirley was a maid and Griffin was the son of a drill manufacturer. Well, technically he was now the drill manufacturer, though he had no say in the running of his company yet. But that only widened the gap between them. Griffin would be expected to marry the daughter of another wealthy businessman, or perhaps one of the daughters of a nobleman, if the match was advantageous to the nobleman’s family as well.

What was Shirley compared to one of those glittering ladies? Just a maid, the daughter of a no-account unmarried drunk from the infamous Whitechapel neighborhood. She was much too far below his social station. Their union would ruin him socially, which would likely inhibit his business and financial prospects and send them into poverty.

And then, there was Griffin himself. She did not know him very well because he was usually at Eton College instead of at home with his family. But he was now her master as well as the son of her former master, and she knew the risks. Any maid who went to work in a house where a man lived had heard the stories. Men would seduce their maids, promising them everything they ever wanted, all to get them into their bedsheets. Sometimes, they did not even bother with the seducing. Sometimes they just took them to the bedsheets, whether the maid wanted them or not.

The result, inevitably, was the same. The maid would end up pregnant and forced out of her job. The man of the house would abandon her and go on about his merry life, perhaps only inconvenienced by his wife’s accusing eyes and cold silence. Meanwhile, the maid would be declared a fallen woman, which was only a thinly veiled accusation of being a prostitute. She would be shunned from any job as well as from respectable society and would have no means to care for herself or her baby once it was born. The story usually ended with a back-alley abortion, the baby being sold off to someone, alcoholism, the maid resorting to prostitution so she could earn money for food, the baby dying, the maid dying, or some combination of all the above.

In short, Griffin Avondale was a man whom Shirley could not afford to become entangled with. If he were serious with his feelings towards her, they would likely lose more than they gained by their union. And if he were not, she would be abandoned once his lust was sated and forced to fend for herself with his bastard while he courted ladies more in line with his status.

And if she had to guess, Griffin was not serious about his intentions. After all, a dark voice in the back of Shirley’s head reminded her, what would he want with a low-class girl with a funny eye?

Griffin was waiting for her answer. Shirley took another deep breath and calculated how best to phrase her rejection without losing her job. “Forgive me, Mr. Avondale, but I’m afraid you and I are ill-matched for one another. I suggest we both look for more appropriate prospects in other quarters.” And with that, she turned and walked as fast as she could out of the office.

“Wait, Shirley!” Griffin called. Footsteps clattered behind her, and she was sure he was going to grab her again and pull her back into the office. She turned around to fend him off—

From below, there were three sharp raps on the door. Shirley stopped mid-turn, and Griffin stopped mid-stride. She coughed. “Excuse me, Mr. Avondale.” She headed down the stairs and to the door. From her bedroom on the second floor, she heard Lucinda’s door open behind her.

“Who’s visiting now?” she called.

Shirley reached the door and opened it. “Avondale residence,” she recited, examining the new arrival.

On the stoop was a man she had never seen before. He was tall and thin with a sunken face and long, brown hair slicked back from his forehead with some sort of pomade. He wore a smart suit that, along with the carriage sitting on the street behind him and the way he held himself up, hinted that this man was of high class. Maybe even nobility.

And the grave expression on his face warned that he did not care for silliness or to be kept waiting.

“May I help you?” Shirley asked nervously.

“I’m here to see the Avondale children,” said the gentleman.

“I can take your card, sir—” Shirley began. Normally, instead of actually meeting with the mourners, well-wishers left cards to indicate that they had stopped by and were thinking of the family. It was a good way to show you cared without having to make yourself uncomfortable with the ever-present specter of death.

“I am not here to leave a card like the other well-wishers,” the man interrupted. “I am Sir Joseph Gregory Hunting, the third baronet of the House of Hunting, as well as family to the deceased. And I will see my great-nephew and niece.”

Shirley raised an eyebrow. Sir Joseph Gregory Hunting? Baronet of the House of Hunting? Great-nephew and niece? Lucinda had told her during one of the nights they had spent together that she and her brother had no other family. Also, were not baronets a type of nobility? Yes, she was sure of that. They were lower than barons, but they still had titles and land and all the other fancy things that came with being born noble. If that was the case, surely Mrs. Avondale, who was always seeking to move her family up higher in society, would have mentioned a connection to a noble house, let alone informed her daughter of that fact. Could this man be some sort of imposter? A confidence man who wanted to take advantage of two young and desperate mourners?

“Let him in, Shirley,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see Griffin and Lucinda descending the stairs. The older Avondale glared suspiciously at the new arrival while the younger, dressed entirely in black, kept glancing between her brother and this man claiming to be her relative with confusion.

Orders given, Shirley stepped aside. The man entered and appraised the siblings with his eyes.

“I do not believe we have been introduced,” said the man as Shirley shut the door behind him. “I am Sir Joseph Gregory Hunting—”

“I know who you are,” Griffin cut in.

“I do not know him,” Lucinda said in a small voice. “Who is he?”

“I am the Baronet of House Hunting,” Sir Joseph answered. “As well as your mother’s uncle.”

“Mother never said she had an uncle,” Lucinda murmured.

“She told me,” Griffin revealed. When Lucinda turned to him with eyes full of uncertainty and hurt, he explained, “Mother believed it was better for you not to know. Apparently, her uncle is something of a scoundrel who has driven off everyone close to him. Not to mention he spends all his time experimenting with odd sciences. Some of which could be deemed occult.”

He said all this with distrustful eyes pointed at Sir Joseph. For his part, Sir Joseph remained unperturbed by the accusations. “I do admit, people who concern themselves with gossip and superficial matters have reason to be concerned over me,” the baronet replied. “My wife died, as well as my son and daughter. All three died untimely deaths. And instead of trying to find a replacement for my wife to produce replacement heirs, as some of the other gentlemen of British society would have done, I decided to devote myself to more fruitful pursuits.” He made a face that left no question of how he felt regarding the route the other gentlemen of British society would have taken. “Misunderstandings regarding my decisions have, as you can see, led to obnoxious and baseless rumors about me and my activities. Not to mention, the slander to my reputation has led to my estrangement from my closest family members.”

“And you’re here to fix that estrangement?” Griffin asked, his suspicions clearly not assuaged.

“I am here because my niece and her husband died. Even if I was not welcome in their company during their lifetimes, I will at the very least pay my respects afterwards.” He fixed Griffin with a contemptuous glare. “Especially when one of my niece’s children is in need of care, and the other can’t provide that care.”

Griffin stared at Sir Joseph, aghast. “What do you mean by that?”

“Do not think I’m unaware, young man,” Sir Joseph replied. “Your father owned the company he helped to found, but you have no ownership over it, do you? If my sources are correct, the board of directors has elected to cut the Avondale family off entirely once they have finished handing over control of the company to its new president. Am I wrong?”

All eyes turned to Griffin, who had the face of a man recently shot in the chest. Lucinda’s eyes were welling with tears. “Griffin, is that true?”

“No, it’s not!” Griffin spat. “Mr. Leopold and I are working on regaining control of the company. And once we’re done—!”

“Once you are done, the company will still be in the hands of its current president, and both you and your sister will have lost everything paying fees for Mr. Leopold.” Sir Joseph’s face remained impassive while Griffin had that shot expression again. “And what if you are required by the courts to pay the company’s solicitor’s fees? Please, young man. I may be considered eccentric by the standards of our society, but I am not a fool. Even I realize this will be a difficult case at best. Mr. Leopold probably made you aware of all that, did he not?”

“He…well, he…I—”

Griffin appeared on the verge of joining his sister in weeping. Shirley could tell he was struggling to keep himself under control despite the roil of emotions he was feeling.

Sir Joseph nodded as if confirming something he’d always known. “Your father probably hoped that you would marry well enough to live a life of leisure. It is a familiar story. Many fathers in the upper strata of England work hard and build business empires with the hope that their sons will never have to work when they reach adulthood, let alone run those empires. They were doing that in my grandfather’s generation. It is only unfortunate that your father did not live long enough to see his plans grow to fruition.”

“You leave my father out of this!” Griffin almost roared.

“Does that mean we will have to sell our home?” Lucinda asked. “Everything we own?”

Shirley had been wondering the same thing as well. She was no expert, but she knew her numbers and had done her own finances for years. A house the size of the Avondale’s required at least two competent maids to keep clean. Then, there were any repairs that needed to be done to the home or anything inside. The gas company had to be paid once a month. And of course, there were necessities such as food and toiletries. All those costs could pile up after a while.

Which begged the question: how long could Griffin afford to keep her employed before she would have to find work elsewhere? Hopefully long enough for him to write a letter of recommendation. Without one of those from a previous employer, it was extremely difficult for maids to find new situations. Some even became destitute without steady means of work and had to look for other means to support themselves. Marriage, perhaps, or working in a pub or coffeehouse. Some turned to prostitution or begging.

And a few, those with no other choices and despairing of any hope, went to the workhouses.

Shirley thought she would kill herself before she turned to one of those places for help. On the surface, they were supposed to offer charity, warm beds and food, and training for jobs. But in the reality, they were often cold, underfunded, run by the cruelest of men and women, and left any who entered with a more damaging mark than the one God placed upon Cain. Indeed, some who entered workhouses to find work ended up never finding work, or their dignity, ever again.

But there was time enough to consider new positions and workhouses later. Shirley turned her attention back to Griffin, who was struggling with how to answer his sister’s tear-filled question. He was saved from this predicament by Sir Joseph clearing his throat. “Lucky for you, I may have a solution to your situation.”

“You do?” said Lucinda hopefully.

“What is it?” Griffin asked warily.

“Young Lucinda should be with family,” Sir Joseph explained. “I am family. She can come live with me at Hunting Lodge—that is the name of our family estate. My grandfather had a sense of humor, as you can imagine. Anyway, she can live with me, and you can use your remaining funds to go to Oxford or wherever it was you were accepted for university.”

“No,” said Griffin.

“But Griffin—!” Lucinda began.

“I said no!”

“Do you really have any other choice?” asked Sir Joseph, his voice indicating that there was no other choice, and they all knew it.

Griffin opened his mouth to say something, but Lucinda placed a hand on his arm and gave him a meaningful look. The young man closed his mouth, groaned, and finally murmured, “Give us time to discuss it.”

They disappeared up the stairs and into the office, leaving Shirley alone with Sir Joseph. Remembering that she was still the Avondales’ maid, she turned to the elderly baronet and said, “May I show you to the drawing room while you wait, sir?”

“Please,” Sir Joseph replied.

Shirley led Sir Joseph into the drawing room. The baronet glanced around at the black crepe and then sat down on the French couch. Whether or not he approved of how his late niece and her husband had decorated their home, Shirley could not say.

“Would you like a cup of tea, sir?” she asked.

He nodded, and she left for the kitchen. When she got there, she found Nellie waiting for her, eyes alight with excitement and consternation.

“What’s with all the shouting out there?” she asked. “Who’s the man in the fancy clothes you showed into the drawing room? I couldn’t hear anything from here!”

“But you were watching?” Shirley asked, eyebrow raised.

Nellie immediately realized her mistake and blushed. “Just a peek to see what all the fuss was about.”

Shirley sighed. “Put a kettle on, and I’ll tell you. Come on, quick-like!”

By the time the tea was ready, Nellie was caught up and gazing at Shirley with eyes full of concern. “So, what’s going to happen to us? I mean, if the Master can’t afford to pay us no more?”

Shirley didn’t answer. Instead, she took the tray with the teapot and cup on it and carried it out to the kitchen, leaving Nellie to stew in her own worry. Sir Joseph was in the same spot she had left him, looking horribly bored with his wait.

“Your tea, sir,” she announced, laying the tray down before him.

“Thank you, Shirley,” he replied. “It is Shirley, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes, sir. Shirley Dobbins, sir.” She straightened, not used to being addressed by guests in such a manner, let alone guests of such high station. Normally guests would let Mr. or Mrs. Avondale know what they needed, and they would tell Nellie to have Shirley prepare it in the kitchen, where her lazy eye was not a problem.

Speaking of which, was Sir Joseph staring at her eye? Was he upset by it?

“Your eye,” he said then. “Was it like that at birth?”

“I-I think so, sir,” she answered, inwardly flinching. She wished she could sink into the floor, as she had every day since childhood when other children would make fun of her eye.

“Does it cause issues in your work?”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” she replied. “I mean, no one has found any fault in my work before because of my eye.”

“Really?” he said, keen interest splayed across his face. She blushed, feeling like an exhibit in one of those traveling freak shows she had heard of. “How long have you been working as a maid?”

“Six years this November, sir.”

“Six years! So you were how old when you started?”

“Ten, sir.”

A sudden thought occurred to her: could Sir Joseph be interested in her in the same way Griffin was? Did he perhaps prefer girls around her age with deformities like hers? Maybe it was a familial trait passed along the males of Mrs. Avondale’s family. It would go a long way to explain some things.

Before she could reason it out any further, however, there was a clatter of feet on the stairs. Griffin and Lucinda reappeared. The former still looked ready for a confrontation while the latter seemed hopeful for the first time since her parents had died.

“Alright, Sir Joseph,” said Griffin. “We have decided to accept your proposal—on one condition.”

“Oh, don’t look so serious, boy. I’m not going to hurt your precious sister. What do you want?”

“First, I shall be living with you as well,” he replied. “Not always, just during the holidays. And as soon as I’m able to support my sister, you will allow her to leave and live with me if she so wishes.”

“Fine,” he said, speaking with the air of a man who had been expecting something like this. “I had planned to open my home to you in any case. Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Th-thank you, Uncle,” Lucinda uttered nervously. “We appreciate your generosity.”

Sir Joseph, however, acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He turned to Shirley. “How would you like to come work for me at Hunting Lodge?”

Shirley felt her eyes go as wide as dinner plates. Across the room, she noticed similar surprise on Griffin and Lucinda’s faces. “M-me, sir?”

“My staff tells me they need another maid if they are to keep Hunting Lodge livable,” he replied, speaking as if this were an annoying triviality he was only mentioning just to get it out of the way. “And from the appearance of this house, you seem to have all the skills my housekeeper could ask for, despite your condition. Or is this house’s upkeep due to another in the house?”

Shirley thought of Nellie and shook her head. “No sir. I lead the housekeeping in this house.”

“Shirley has been acting as our head housekeeper since Sarah Fagan retired some months ago,” Griffin explained.

“Excellent!” Sir Joseph clapped his hands together. “I can pay you seven pounds a year. How does that sound?”

Shirley felt her heart skip a beat. “Seven pounds?”

“Fine, eight. I will not go any higher, though.”

Eight pounds a year? Shirley had to put a hand on a table to keep herself from fainting. That was well above what Mrs. Avondale paid her as a maid-of-all-work. And on a baronet’s estate, no less! The upwards progression for her if she worked hard and was successful at a place such as Sir Joseph’s knew no limits!

But what about your new employer?

The voice in Shirley’s head raised a good point. He had seemed overly interested in her eye, and there was still the possibility that he held the same sort of fascination with her as Griffin did. If, once she was at his estate, his odd attentions continued, what would she do?

“Please say you will come, Shirley!” Lucinda threw herself at Shirley, eyes wide and pleading as she desperately grabbed at her sleeves. “I want you to come! Please say you will join us at Hunting Lodge!”

This time, Shirley had to grab both the table and the mantlepiece above the fireplace to stay steady. What is with this girl lately? she wondered.

Griffin said something as well about her working for his great-uncle, but she did not catch it. All she heard was the baronet’s words: “I will need a decision before I leave, please.”

And like that, she decided. To the baronet, she said, “Yes sir. I would be more than grateful to come work at your estate.”

Griffin smiled while Lucinda gave a very unladylike cheer and buried her face in Shirley’s bosom again. Sir Joseph’s mouth twitched upwards in a smile. “Excellent. Now Griffin, shall we sit down and discuss the details of you and your sister’s move to Hunting Lodge?”

The men sat down to discuss while Shirley led Lucinda out of the drawing room, the latter gabbing away at her about how excited she was for Shirley to join them. She paid no attention to the noise, however; she was too busy trying to figure out what to tell Nellie. From their conversation, she had a feeling Sir Joseph would not want to take on such an inexperienced maid to his estate. It would fall to Shirley to break the bad news to the younger girl, and she was not looking forward to it.