The Young Mistress

My father was hosting another gathering at the manor today. Lady Charlotte was there, Earl Brandston, Mrs Figg who ran the sewing circle for the ladies, and Grandfather Cornelious, who wasn’t really anyone’s grandfather – just old and wise enough to be so.

A lot of children were there, but none unfortunately as young as me. Why was that so unfortunate, you ask? The bigger you were, the taller, the brawnier your stature, the better you could reach the dining table, and the better treats you got. I watched as Philip and Finnian towered their plates with buttery mash and roast vegetables, fishing out the best cuts of beef and stuffing iced tarts with cherries on top into their coat pockets - all while the grown-ups weren’t looking, of course – they were much too busy dancing and drinking strange bubbly juice out of long crystal glasses that I weren’t to breathe near.

Finally, after Gloria and Dorthy had packed their plates with crispy pork and roasted apples, I pulled myself up onto a chair and found… nothing! Apart from the off-cuts of meat, floppy vegetables, and crumbs of poundcake, there was nothing else for the taking! It would be another hour before the second course would be served and judging with the way my tummy was rumbling, I wouldn’t last without fainting. I could have asked my mother, but she was playing piano in the parlour. I doubt my father would have been much help either, since he was playing pool with the other gentleman downstairs. There was only one option; to go hunting for food myself.

I had heard from my parents that that’s what the working folk did, ‘hunted’ for their food – I imagined it like in my storybooks, where men in great long coats clutching shiny firing sticks, found fluffy rabbits and deer with big wispy horns. But I’d never eat a rabbit or a deer. I really wanted to eat something like-

Porridge! As I wandered into the manor’s kitchen, I found servants running in and out, not even noticing as little old me made my way to the table. There it was, a great hearty bowl of porridge, slathered in cream, with a big jar of strawberry jam open next to it. I whipped my head around and the chef and maids had gone to pick up all the dirty crockery. This bowl of porridge couldn’t be that important if it were left here alone… I thought to myself as I push a stool closer to the table.

The kitchen glowed with the faint evening light, the particles of flour and cinnamon flying past my little nose – the smell making me even hungrier. I took a nearby wooden spoon, grasping it in my palm and shovelling a great big heap of jam onto it. I swirled it into the porridge until it looked like a whirlpool. The first bite made my eyes light up – it was warm and creamy, sweet and tart. I couldn’t imagine why someone would leave perfectly good food lying around.

Suddenly the turnspit hounds, Whisky and Albert, ran past me and ducked under the table, whimpering softly. Before I could react, I felt a tight hand on my wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing!”

I turned to see Lily-May, my mother’s scullery maid, standing with a red face behind me.

“What a little brat you are! That was my supper!”

I swallowed quickly, the spoon still in my hand.

“I’m very sorry, I only took one bite out of it.”

“One bite? You expect me to eat this contaminated rubbish? It’s already been in your grubby, childish hands.”

Outside the door, the butler stood silent- listening to the maid scolding his young mistress.

“I despise brats like you! Do you think servants can simply fetch another!”

Lily-May came forward and struck me across the face, making me drop the spoon on the floor. Porridge and jam splattered across the tiles and it was almost as if I heard a gasp from beyond the kitchen door.

Lily scoffed, “Now look what you’ve done! I’ll have to clean this awful mess you’ve made.”

The maid grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me off the stool. I couldn’t control my tears or my trembling lip.

“Don’t you even think about going to your daddy with those bluffing tears, or I’ll tell him how naughty you’ve been.”

The maid left out the backdoor, storming off toward the orchard.

I finally let myself cry and sniffled out of the kitchen. I ended up bumping straight into my butler, Lucious. He looked at me with sorrowful eyes.

“Oh, my young lady,” he put his arms around me, hugging me gently. My face burned from the slap and I rested my cheek against his tailcoat.

“Lucious, my cheek hurts- Miss May struck me too hard- I didn’t know it was her supper, honest.”

“It’s alright, my dear girl. Everything will be alright,” he said, patting my head.

I didn’t know if everything was going to be alright, just that I was starving and now shaking with upset...

*

Over the next few days I saw less and less of Lucious, he didn’t have time to stop to play chess, or to help me with my reading. It all seemed so strange to me... I saw him writing notes in the library, practicing the type of writing that felt slightly dainty compared with what I was used to reading. Then he went out to the pharmacist. I asked if he had Father's cough, but he smiled and tucked a little brown bottle deep into his coat before telling me not to worry. I saw him digging holes for new apple saplings, though he didn’t let me help – said evenings were for little ladies to rest and butlers to toil.

Then strangest of all, I overheard my parents talking about how Lily-May ran away with a secret admirer. There was a note left in her room telling them she had had enough of being a servant and was happy now. My parents were furious, but with no sign of her return, they put Lucious in charge of all her old duties, including running the kitchen.

*

My father hosted a garden party today. As usual Lady Charlotte and Earl Brandston drank cider. Mrs Fig showed off her new embroidered shawls, and Grandfather Cornelious played Croquet with the gentleman.

Philip and Finnian piled their plates with cucumber and cheese sandwiches, and stuffed their pockets with butter biscuits. Gloria and Dorthy took the last pork pies and poppy-seed muffins, leaving me again, hungry. Only this time my face prickled, remembering the sensation of getting slapped for taking food. I suppose my ‘hunting’ days were over and I’d simply have to wait for the next course to be served.

Suddenly, Lucious called my name and bowed, “Pardon me, young mistress, but I have prepared something for you.”

I was unsure of what to say until Lucious stepped aside to reveal a table under the apple trees. Sat on a cloth of ruby silk, was a plate of apple pie, dusted with crumble and a dollop of ice-cream.

“It won’t do for the young mistress to go hungry in her own home, now would it?” he smiled this time, the sort of smile that is shared between people who have endured pain.

I finally smiled and sat on the chair. I swirled my spoon in the ice cream and chunks of apple. The first bite; it tasted so raw, so sweet and fresh. Me and Lucious look up to the treetops swaying lax in the breeze.

That year, the apples grew bigger and juicier than ever before…