Another surprise. “With pleasure.” Curiosity nipped at Margaret. “May I ask... is today some special occasion?”
Helen colored. “Not at all. Why would you ask that? I have nothing scheduled today beyond a meeting with the steward and chef. Nothing special at all.”
Margaret and Betty sat companionably together in the servants’ hall, polishing silver. The others had long since departed to their own afternoon duties.
Betty glanced over and said, “In my last place, the butler polished the silver.”
“Really? I cannot fancy Mr. Arnold mucking his hands with polish and the like.”
Betty snorted. “Nor I, and him only an under butler.”
As they worked, Margaret noticed Betty’s freckled hands and how heavily veined and work-worn they were, more aged than the rest of her. Margaret hoped three months of labor wouldn’t do the same to her hands.
Betty was probably almost old enough to be her mother, yet they held nearly the same position. She wondered if Betty minded.
“How long have you been a housemaid, Betty?” she asked.
Betty set down a silver fork and picked up another. “Oh, fifteen years here, give or take. And eleven at the Langleys’ before that. Started as a scullery maid when I was just a girl, then moved up to kitchen maid, then housemaid. Never had to work the laundry, thank the Lord.”
“Was this your dream, then?”
“Dream?”
“What you wanted out of life.”
“Pfff.”Betty’s hand was in constant motion as she spoke. “Few indeed get what they want in life, and that’s a fact. Look at Fiona.”
Margaret glanced up quickly. “Fiona? What about Fiona?”
“Never you mind. The point is, I don’t think any little girldreams, as you call it, of working as a scullion all her days, does she?”
“But what would you do if you could do anything?”
Betty pursed her lips. “Nora. I don’t mind chattin’ to pass the time, but it’s foolish to hanker after the past or the impossible. I am content enough. I have been in service since I were fourteen. It’s all I know and ever will, and that’s all right by me.”
Even though the words were spoken kindly, Margaret felt chastised. “I am glad to hear it,” she murmured, fastening her attention on yet another butter knife.
Betty applied silver polish to several serving spoons with vigor and skill, the topic evidently forgotten.
A few moments later, Betty said abruptly, “There is one thing.”
Margaret looked up, not sure what she was referring to.
“One thing I would like.” Betty’s focus remained on the spoons.
“What’s that?”
“I would like to be housekeeper one day. It’s the top rung, you know. And, well, if I reach that, I’ll know I’ve done my best and all I could. I would be proud to wear my mum’s chatelaine heavy with keys, commanding respect from servant and master alike.”
Margaret grinned. “Sending fear into the hearts of all the maids, you mean, when they hear the jingle of your keys.”
A small grin dimpled Betty’s cheeks. “That too.”
“I’m going to tell Mrs. Budgeon to watch her back,” Margaret teased.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Don’t worry, Betty. I won’t say a word about you hankering after her job.”
