Chapter Three

The carriage rocked and rattled as it flew down the dirt road towards Sir Joseph Hunting’s estate. Staring out the window, Shirley could not have thought of a more dismal day for them to set out for the Hunting Lodge. The sky was overcast and threatening to drop a torrent of rain at any second. This was her first time leaving the confines of London, and she could not help but feel this was some sort of sign of things to come.

The question is, she thought, who is the omen for? For me, or for them?

She glanced at the two other occupants of the carriage, the Avondale siblings. Griffin was seated diagonally from her, gazing out the opposite window at nothing. Lucinda sat beside him and across from Shirley, still dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

Only a few hours before, she and Griffin had taken one last look at their home, the only home they had ever known and had said goodbye before leaving for the country with Shirley. Lucinda had cried plenty already after watching many of her family’s possessions, the ones that weren’t coming with them, sold or auctioned off these past several days. But the tears she had shed as the carriage had ridden away had been so passionate and unending, not to mention so loud, that Shirley had wondered where the water to make the tears were coming from! It certainly could not come from Lucinda alone.

Still, while she could only imagine what Lucinda and Griffin were going through, she could sympathize. Shirley had had to move several times by the time she started working as a maid, and all her worldly possessions fit into one battered yellow suitcase. For her, home was wherever she could lay her head down, and had nothing to do with happy memories or length of time spent there.

The death of her mother had only affected her slightly more than the multiple moves. Yes, Shirley had shed a couple of tears when Mary Dobbins had passed, but plenty of women died of drink and disease every day, and there had been work to do. Shirley had not the time nor energy to grieve for her mother, though she had felt sorry for her and other women who had lived and died that way.

Contrast that to Griffin and Lucinda Avondale, who had been close to their parents and had lost them in a tragic accident, followed by losing their precious home not long after. It must have felt like their worlds had fallen apart.

Well, at least they have family who is willing to take them in, Shirley thought. And this family member was willing to give her employment on top of that. And a baronet, no less! Already, she was imagining what new heights her career could lead to while working in the home of a baronet. If she did well there, she could ascend the ranks to head maid, and then to head housekeeper. Or she could achieve those positions in a new household, one higher in rank than the baronet’s. Maybe even an earl or a marquis’s home!

“What do you think our new home will be like?”

Shirley pulled herself out of her fantasies. She’d almost forgotten that she was in a carriage with a pair of mourners. How horrible would they think she was if they caught her daydreaming with a smile on her face while they sat in misery? For once, Shirley was grateful for Lucinda’s presence.

Griffin sighed and turned away from the window. “I understand it to be a fairly large manor, built in what people call the Georgian style, so there will likely be lots of symmetry and columns in the design of the house. As the style suggests, it was built in the era of King George—the Third, I think—and was designed by Edward Blore, who would later go on to design Buckingham Palace, among other famous landmarks.”

Lucinda laughed; it was the first Shirley had heard from her since her parents’ passing. “You sound like a tourist guide. Anything else you can tell us?”

“I believe Sir Joseph—I mean, I believe Uncle Joseph said the land around the Lodge comprises of several farms and a few small villages. They pay him rent and a portion of the harvest every year, which is where he gets most of his income. Other than that, I do not know much else. Except that that the border into his land is marked by two stone pillars. One of the pillars is headed by the statue of a hawk in flight, the other a hunting dog in mid-leap.”

“Hunting animals,” said Shirley, speaking for the first time.

Griffin nodded. “They mark the Hunting family crest as well. I think Mother said a relief of that crest is shown somewhere on the outside of the house. Over the door, most likely.”

The atmosphere in the carriage took on a morose aspect at Mrs. Avondale’s mention, and the siblings fell into silence. Shirley, not exactly sad for the silence, continued to gaze out the window. Neither she nor the siblings commented when the pillars, topped with a flying hawk and a leaping foxhound as Griffin had said, passed by.

Another quiet hour passed. When their destination came into view, however, Lucinda leaned against the window and nearly shouted, “There it is! There it is!”

Indeed, there it was, a red brick edifice with three floors in its box-like central wing and a pair of L-shaped wings with two floors each extending from its north and south sides. To Shirley, it looked like the central house had grown arms, especially with the shape of the wings and their sharply slanted roofs covered in coal-gray slate. Marble columns adorned the building where walls met, and a giant family crest, also made of marble, hung above an ornate stoop.

“It’s lovely,” Lucinda murmured.

“It will do,” Griffin commented dismissively.

It’s big, thought Shirley. Bigger than any house I’ve ever worked in. Still, the outside looks plenty clean, so it seems well cared for. No ivy, either. And—

While examining the house with her maid’s eye, she noticed something off about the place. Four chimneys popped out of each corner of the central building, while two more rose out of each wing. While the chimneys in the central building and on the south wing were sending smoke up to the heavens, only one chimney smack dab in the middle of the north wing appeared to be lit. She found that curious. Usually if one fireplace were lit, all of them would be, especially on a cold and dreary day like today. Was there a special reason the one at the end of the north wing had been left unlit?

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Lodge, where two figures, a man and a woman, stood on the stoop waiting for them. Shirley noted that Sir Joseph was not among them. This also struck her as odd, especially considering the baronet’s avowal of family duty. After all, if they could see the house from a distance, anyone in the house would have seen them and gone to notify their master. He had had ample time to make it to the front stoop.

So why had he not come?

The driver of the carriage came around and opened the door. Griffin stepped out first, then helped Lucinda and Shirley disembark. As they looked around, the man on the stoop approached and bowed low. From his age and his uniform, Shirley clocked him immediately as Sir Joseph’s butler.

“Welcome to the Hunting Lodge,” he said, his voice tinged with an accent that identified him as originally from Kent. “My name is James Milverton. I am the butler to Sir Joseph. This is Mrs. Angela Preston, our head housekeeper.”

“Welcome, Mr. Avondale,” she said in a perfect Queen’s English. She bowed to Griffin and then to Lucinda. “Miss Avondale.”

The siblings nodded at them. Mrs. Preston then turned to Shirley. “You must be Shirley Dobbins. You’ll be coming with me once we get inside.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shirley replied, appraising the woman. Immediately, she decided this was someone to look up to. Mrs. Preston had a quiet strength and dignity in her bearing, one that Shirley sensed came from having worked years in her profession and gotten good at it. Exactly the kind of person Shirley wanted to be in ten years, in the position she wanted to hold in fifteen or twenty. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Where’s Uncle Joseph?” asked Lucinda, her eyes wide and searching, like a timid rabbit on the lookout for danger.

Milverton and Mrs. Preston glanced at one another. Then the elderly butler coughed into his gloved fist. “Sir Joseph will be along shortly. He had some work to take care of in the laboratory.”

“The laboratory?” Griffin repeated, eyebrow raised.

“How about we get you and your things inside?” Milverton snapped his fingers, and three men in work clothes appeared from out of nowhere. They grabbed the luggage off the top of the carriage and carried it inside. One of the workmen noticed Shirley had her suitcase in her hands and offered to take it in. She politely declined, and the man shrugged before grabbing another suitcase from atop the carriage. When all the luggage had been brought in, Milverton and Mrs. Preston led Griffin, Lucinda and Shirley inside after the workmen.

“My Lord,” said Griffin.

“My Lord” was right: while the outside had been well-presented and clean, the inside was dark and dirty. The walls were covered in moldy wallpaper, strips of which had peeled away from the walls; the floorboards were scuffed and needed a new coat of lacquer; and in the back of the foyer, where two adjacent staircases led to the second floors of the north and south wings, several rails were missing. Those that were still there looked like they’d seen better days. Spiderwebs filled several dark and out-of-reach corners, and the mirror above a soot-stained fireplace was spotted and cracked so that you could not see your reflection at all.

From a professional standpoint, Shirley was appalled. One could hardly tell that a staff worked here, judging by the upkeep. The only things she could find that appeared to be well-taken care of were the electric lights, which were glowing brightly from several wall sconces and from the chandelier above their heads.

“Why is this place so…so…?” Lucinda was unable to finish the question.

Milverton cleared his throat again. “Come now, I shall show you to your rooms, and then we will give you the grand tour of the house.”

As the butler led Griffin and Lucinda towards one of the back stairways, Shirley followed Mrs. Preston down a hallway leading to the building’s south wing. When they were out of earshot, Mrs. Preston whispered, “I bet you’re wondering at the state of the manor.”

“Um…”

“Oh, no denying it, dear,” said Mrs. Preston, now speaking with a strong West Midlands accent. She gestured at the hallway they were walking through, which was in a similar state to that of the foyer. “I can see you looking about. Noticed the state of the house and everything?”

“Y-Yes ma’am,” she replied, taken aback by the change of accent. She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes ma’am, I noticed the state of the house.”

“Horrid state of things, isn’t it? Looks like a place that writer Poe might set a story, it does.” Mrs. Preston sighed. “But it didn’t always used to look like this, you know. I began working at the Lodge in Sir Joseph’s father’s day. When Sir Gregory was alive, we had about forty members of staff, twenty of them maids, whose duties were to keep this house in top condition. Now we only have ten folks on staff full-time, and four of them work in the grounds or stables.”

Shirley’s mouth dropped. “Only six people work in the house?” Her mind reeled at the prospect. A house of this size, with high ceilings and hard to reach corners no less, would be impossible for four maids and a butler to maintain on their own. At least not in a state suitable for a baronet’s home.

“Seven, now that you’re here,” said Mrs. Preston. “James and I head the staff. Hilly and Beth are the other two maids. And then there’s Garland the cook and Luke, his son. The men you saw today were brought up from the Closer Village to help bring in the luggage. We weren’t sure how much Mr. and Miss Avondale were bringing, so we thought a couple of extra hands would be good. But the three of you didn’t bring much, did you? Sorry to say, James wasted his own pocket money.”

“But in a house of this size…why doesn’t Sir Joseph hire more staff?”

“Oh, he doesn’t believe we need more staff,” Mrs. Preston replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Says as long as the house is standing and no one’s getting killed from falling ceiling beams, we don’t need to hire anyone. Or do any major repair work, for that matter. Which is why, as you can see, this house is in such a state. Mind you, Sir Gregory would never have stood for this. He loved this house and enjoyed showing it off to guests. But Sir Joseph…well, you’re here, my dear, and that’s all that matters. We would’ve preferred he’d brought more than just one maid on board, but I suppose we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Ah, here we are.”

They went down a staircase to a basement hallway. From the numerous doors on both sides of the hall, Shirley guessed this was the servants’ quarters. A moment later she was proven right as Mrs. Preston pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the second nearest door on the left, revealing a small bedroom with two thin, narrow beds, a washstand, and a small wardrobe.

“This shall be yours, dear,” she said. “Take whichever bed you like. Used to have to bunk two or three to a room in the old days. Sir Gregory was even talking about building a separate house for the servants, but…well, no sense on dwelling on the could-have-been's and maybe's, now is there? You remember your way back to the foyer? Good. Meet me there in ten minutes. I’ve put your new uniform in the bottom drawer there.”

As Mrs. Preston headed off, Shirley glanced around the room. It seemed in a better state than the rest of the house, with no cobwebs, grime or peeling wallpaper. It did have the air of a room that had not seen much use recently, but Shirley was fine with that. At least she could retreat here. Retreat here to her room after trying to make this place presentable—

Then she realized something: this was the first room Shirley had ever had that was all her own. No fellow maids or cockroaches. Just her. And with furnishings, to boot! A bed, a wardrobe and a washstand!

Shirley stood there, letting this new fact wash over her. My own room, she thought. Well, even if this job ends up being terrible, at least I’ll have a place of my own to sleep.

She let herself enjoy this unexpected gift for a minute before emptying her suitcase and placing her clothes and possessions in the wardrobe. The process took less than two minutes. With that done, she changed into her new uniform, a black dress with a white apron and frilly white cap and headed back to the foyer. As she arrived, she spotted Lucinda stomping out of the north wing, across the foyer, and up the stairs to the north wing’s second floor, her expression stormy. Griffin followed her a moment later, looking tired beyond all measure. He barely glanced at Shirley or Mrs. Preston, who was standing at the foot of the staircase, as he went after his sister.

“What do you suppose all that was about?” Mrs. Preston asked as soon as Griffin was out of earshot and Shirley had joined her by the stairs.

I have an idea, Shirley thought. Lucinda’s back to her old self again. And something didn’t go her way just now.

She had seen this scene play out before more than once at the Avondale residence in London: Lucinda would want something or want to go somewhere or see some friend or another. Usually, Mr. and Mrs. Avondale did not mind giving their daughter anything she wanted. In fact, they seemed to regard doing so as a sign that they were exemplary parents.

But on the rare occasion they did say “no,” the subsequent tantrum would be legendary. It did not matter the reason her parents said no, even if the reason was legitimate. Nor did it matter how trivial Lucinda’s request was. The moment she was denied, she would slam her feet, shout and cry, and when her parents held firm, as they always did when this happened, she would stomp off to her room and refuse to come out. It could be days until she reemerged, and even then, the silence she would gift her parents with could stretch out for weeks.

Shirley did not mind the tantrums—she was rarely around for them and enjoyed being left alone afterwards by the sullen Lucinda. But it obviously had bothered her parents. More than once, her employers had discussed sending Lucinda to a hospital for these tantrums. Mr. Avondale was of the opinion that this sort of behavior in a young woman, particularly for such trivial reasons and against all logical reasons provided to her, was not normal. He had even mentioned, in a voice barely above a whisper, that Lucinda’s tantrums “could potentially be a sign of some sort of mental hysteria.”

A sign of hysteria or not, Mrs. Avondale had always put her foot down and refused to send her daughter anywhere for any sort of treatment. In the end, her worry for her family’s social standing and Lucinda’s marriage prospects, should it be realized she’d been sent to a hospital, always outweighed her worry for her daughter’s health. Mrs. Avondale would then close the subject with the assurance that Lucinda would outgrow her wilder moods before any suitors came by, and the discussion would be tabled until the next tantrum occurred.

Shirley had been at more than one of these conversations, normally serving the Avondales tea or sherry while they talked. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Avondale had thought to send her away while they had these discussions. After all, good servants kept their masters’ secrets, no matter what. And both of them agreed, Shirley was a good servant.

Not that she was going to tell Mrs. Preston all this. Even though she was now working for Sir Joseph at the Hunting Lodge, gossiping about her previous masters was still taboo. Indeed, doing so would more than likely give Mrs. Preston a bad impression of her. Rather, she would keep quiet and wait for the housekeeper to figure out Lucinda’s quirks herself. If she was asked later and it was appropriate to do so, Shirley might explain Lucinda’s behavior to the head housekeeper. She would be careful to choose her words, of course. Blunt speaking rarely mixed well with a servants’ profession.

At that moment, Milverton appeared from the north wing, looking even more exhausted than Griffin had. “It would appear we have our work cut out for us,” he said as he spotted Shirley and Mrs. Preston and crossed the foyer.

“What happened?” asked the housekeeper.

“Sir Joseph and Miss Lucinda had something of a disagreement,” he replied. “And while I would never eavesdrop on matters between our master and his family, I was given to understand that the argument stemmed from the state of the house.”

In other words, he was there for the entire argument and is itching to tell someone about it, Shirley thought. Sure enough, after a bit of prompting from Mrs. Preston, Milverton coughed and related what he had overheard.

“Well, Sir Joseph saw the young master and mistress in the parlor, and after thanking him for taking them in, Lucinda asked why the Lodge is in its current state. The master then became angry and replied that he had more important matters requiring his attention than whether a crack in the ceiling had been filled in. His words, not mine.

“Miss Lucinda then asked how she was supposed to socialize or have guests at this manor when the building was in such a state, and Sir Joseph replied it was no matter of his and she was free to do whatever she wanted, but to leave him out of it. You know how he is, Mrs. Preston: he dislikes crowds and socializing. He also let her know that as long as he was master of the Hunting Lodge, there would be no balls in his house, and that the ballroom itself was off-limits to them both.”

“Why is the ballroom off-limits?” asked Shirley, unable to restrain herself. She knew for a fact that Lucinda dreamed of the day when she could enter a high society ball and dance with the eligible young bachelors there. To be denied the chance to have one of her own, particularly in a manor of this size and which would likely have a spacious ballroom, would no doubt have been a slap in the face to her.

“Because dear, that’s where Sir Joseph set up his laboratory,” Mrs. Preston answered, rolling her eyes. “He runs experiments with all sorts of strange chemicals and machines and reads the strangest books in that room. Which he always keeps dark with the curtains drawn, by the way. Fears prying eyes. We’re only allowed in there to drop off food, and even then, he wants us out as fast as possible. These days, he’s building some sort of giant machine in there, though God only knows what the blasted thing is supposed to do.”

“And when Miss Lucinda was told what he uses the ballroom for, she became quite upset,” Milverton added, which Shirley understood to mean she had one of her famous tantrums. “She demanded that Sir Joseph think about his family’s position in society and consider moving his scientific pursuits elsewhere. Of course, the master became quite heated and refused. He then warned his niece and nephew that while they may be his family, he only took them in for his own personal reasons, and he could kick them just as easily.”

“And Miss Lucinda ran off after that?” Shirley guessed.

Milverton nodded. “Master Griffin followed shortly thereafter. I believe he tried to defuse the situation between his sister and the master during their argument, but his attempts were unsuccessful. And once Sir Joseph threatened to expel them from the house…well, you understand the situation. Anyway, Sir Joseph is back in the laboratory now. I better go see him before speaking with Mr. Garland about supper tonight.”

Milverton turned and headed back the way he came. Mrs. Preston sighed and turned to Shirley. “Come along dear, we still have a tour of the house to give you.”

Shirley followed Mrs. Preston out of the foyer, a sinking feeling in her heart. Somehow, she did not think this would be as wondrous a job as she had hoped for.

***

That evening, after learning the layout of the house, meeting the other staff members, and learning about the villages on the property (which had the very unimaginative names of the Closer Village and the Farther Village, based on their proximity to the Lodge), Shirley had served at an extremely uncomfortable dinner for Sir Joseph and the Avondale siblings. It was the most awkward meal Shirley had ever had the pleasure of serving at. The diners spoke very little and looked at each other even less. And after clearing his plate, Sir Joseph left without a word, presumably to the ballroom and his experiments. Lucinda had left in a huff not too long afterwards, and then Griffin had apologized to Shirley and Mrs. Preston before leaving as well.

After the table had been cleared and the dishes cleaned, Shirley trudged her way to her room, somehow more exhausted than she had ever been at the Avondale household. And despite how the day had not gone at all as she had expected, that still made her smile. Her room. It was all hers. And she would enjoy it as much as possible while she was here at the Hunting Lodge.

She started down the stairs towards the servants’ quarters, illuminated by several glowing bulbs affixed to sconces in the wall. Despite his insistence that the manor required no major renovations, Sir Joseph seemed to make an exception when it came to the latest innovations in technology, especially technology for home use. The kitchens had the latest range stove and oven; closets on every floor of every wing had been converted to water closets with the new flushing toilet with the pull-chains and U-bends Mrs. Avondale had always wanted installed in her own home; the washrooms had copper bathtubs that pumped water from pipes below the house and heated onsite before flowing into the tub; and of course, electric lights were everywhere.

Despite the state of the Lodge, Shirley found these innovations made the manor something of a wonder. She had never been in a house with so many modern amenities before. And according to Mrs. Preston, she could use some of them.

“Sir Joseph doesn’t mind, dear,” she had explained while showing Shirley around the house. “He says all these newfangled inventions he installs should benefit everyone, including the servants. But if you think those electric lights are dangerous like people say, we have plenty of candles on hand—no gas lighting, I’m afraid. Not anymore. And if you’re like me and you find the idea of these modern toilets unsanitary, there are still a few outhouses behind the property, and every room has a chamber pot. Just make sure to clean the pots first thing in the morning before you start work, because no one else will.”

Shirley had been amazed, grateful, and reassured by this information. She did not believe that electric lights were unhealthy for people. If anything, gas lighting led to people suffocating sometimes and candles could fall over, and she had yet to hear of either occurring with electric lights. Plus, the light was so much nicer than gas or candles. She looked forward to using them during her free moments.

The toilets, however, did concern her. The ones in London were connected to underground pipes that ferried London’s waste to God knows where. These pipes were relatively new, only a few decades old, and kept the city from dumping its waste in the Thames, which had caused some bad miasmas and a few outbreaks of disease a little over forty years ago. Supposedly, the new system kept the miasmas from harming the citizens of London. However, some people claimed that those same miasmas kept from polluting the Thames were not only still present in the new systems but could fly up the pipes into the new toilets and make innocent users sick.

This far from London, Shirley did not think the pipes in this house were connected to a public sewer system, but then what were they connected to? And what could travel back up the pipes if given the chance? No, she would wait a little while before she tried any of the flushing toilets.

Shirley reached her room and opened the door. Someone was sitting on the bed opposite hers.

Shirley paused and switched on the electric light by turning a knob on a dial as Mrs. Preston had shown her how to do. The figure in the second bed squinted and held up a hand as the room brightened. It was Griffin Avondale.

Shirley frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “Mr. Avondale, what are you doing here? Must I remind you that it is considered improper for an unrelated gentleman, particularly one related to my employer, to wait for me in my private room! If this is another attempt to seduce me, then I must—!”

“I’m not here for that,” he interrupted. “And please don’t call my sincere feelings ‘seductions.’ It sounds so vulgar.”

“Then what are you here for?” she asked, glancing out the corner of her eye. As far as she could tell, all the other servants were in their rooms. If she needed to, she could scream and be assured of quick assistance.

“It’s about Lucinda,” Griffin explained. “I’m worried about her.”

“Worried about her?”

“Yes. I mean, you’ve seen how she’s been doing since…since our parents died. And I’m sure you’re aware that she had an argument with Uncle Joseph. And I fear—I’m worried that—”

“That the master may send her somewhere?” she finished, thinking of the numerous discussions between Mr. and Mrs. Avondale about Lucinda’s angry spells.

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m just worried for her. And that’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask if you could look out for her.”

Shirley raised an eyebrow. “Me? Why me?”

“Because she’s trying to convince me that all is well with her,” he replied. “And I think she might be more open with you. She enjoys your company, after all.”

Lucinda likes me? she thought, suppressing a snort. News to me. She’s spent quite a bit of time trying to make my life miserable. And of course she’d be more open to me. I’m a maid, after all. We’re good at keeping secrets.

Shirley considered telling Griffin “no.” After all, she was no longer his or Lucinda’s maid. She was Sir Joseph’s, and she would already have her hands full with learning everything required to take care of this house. Griffin would not be able to compensate her for her troubles, and Shirley did not even like Lucinda.

“Fine, I will try to be there for your sister.”

Griffin’s face broke into a wide smile. “Thank you, Shirley!” he said, nearly gushing.

She held up a finger. “But be warned!” she said. “I am not your maid anymore; I’m Sir Joseph’s. So, my duties to him go first. Understand, Mr. Avondale?”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly. “My apologies if I gave the impression that I didn’t care about your duties But thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Shirley only rubbed her brow, as if she were getting a headache. Sometimes I’m much too nice for my own good, she thought.

With an annoyed sigh, she held the door open and motioned for Griffin to leave. He pushed himself off the bed, walked past her, but paused before leaving the room. Turning to her, he said in a low voice, “Your new uniform looks lovely on you. I just wanted to let you know.” And then he turned and left.

Shirley closed the door and bolted it. What am I going to do about that man? she wondered. Well, he’ll be off to Oxbridge in a few months. Perhaps he’ll meet some lovely professor’s daughter at a social event or something and start pestering her.

Tired beyond belief, Shirley changed out of her uniform and into her nightdress. Then she switched off the light, slipped under the covers, and closed her eyes. And despite the wave of new noises that came from her new home settling down, within the space of a few minutes, Shirley was sound asleep.