There was no registry, they soon discovered. Most positions for servants were filled by word of mouth, or on market days there was a room at the inn where they might wait and those wanting servants would come and look them over.
“That is no good,” Tess said, as she and Betty readied themselves for bed in their tiny room. “We are not looking for just any position. We want to work in that particular house. We are just going to have to take a risk and go to the door.”
“I don’t know anyone who’d take on servants who just came and asked like that,” Betty said dubiously.
“We can only try,” Tess said. “If the widow is desperate enough, she might do it. If not, I shall have to think of something else.”
The following morning saw the two of them outside Apstead House at an early hour. This time it was Harold who lurked out of sight behind the neighbour’s hedge, as Tess and Betty walked boldly up to the front door.
“You know what to say?” Tess hissed. Betty, being older, had been given the task of talking to the housekeeper.
“Aye. Sisters. Just arrived from Thirsk. Had to leave the last place because the son was a pest.”
“Our undimmed virtue should ensure the widow’s sympathy, at least.”
Tess knocked briskly at the door. After several minutes, the starchy housekeeper appeared, a large bunch of keys dangling from the waistband of her gown.
“Yes?”
“Good day, mum,” Betty said. “We heard you might be in need of two honest, hard workin’ maids. Just arrived from Thirsk.”
“References?”
Betty handed over the glowing letters of recommendation that Tess had written that morning.
“Hmm. There is nothing here within the last three years.”
“We had to leave the last place in a hurry,” Betty said. “The son of the house had wanderin’ hands, and when we objected, the mistress turned us off. We’re looking for a place with no young men.”
The housekeeper laughed suddenly. “Oh, there are no young men living here, or old men, either. Only me and my nieces. I can certainly use you, if you truly are honest and hard-working. For some reason, I have had trouble getting maids locally, and I cannot tell why, for we are a quiet household, and the work is not arduous. Twenty pounds a year for the two of you, since you come as a pair. Come in. I’m Mrs Mayberry, by the way.”
Nieces? That was a surprise. And this was no starchy housekeeper, but the widow herself. They followed her meekly into the house.
“You will rise at five,” she said, to a squeak of alarm from Tess, “and clean these four rooms around the hall, and the hall itself. Then upstairs, to my dressing room and the young ladies’ dressing rooms. Ah, here is Margaret. She is head housemaid here. She will supervise you just at first. New under housemaids, Margaret, starting today. I have told them the first duties. What comes after the dressing rooms?”
“Staircase and then servants’ breakfast, madam. Then the bedrooms, corridors and passages, and whatever special tasks there are — rugs to be beaten, or curtains shaken out, windows cleaned and so on. Dinner at one, then the linen to be repaired. During dinner, you help the kitchen maid with the dishes and see that everything’s put away properly. You’ll get into the way of it soon enough.”
“Show them their room, Margaret.”
“Can we go to the inn to collect our things, ma’am?” Betty said.
“If you’re quick about it. Back here and at work within half an hour.”
So began Tess’s career as an under housemaid. For several days, she hardly knew where she was or what she was about. Betty hauled her from her bed at five o’clock every morning — five o’clock! An hour Tess had scarcely known existed except as a time to fall into bed exhausted at the end of a ball. From then on, there was nothing but scrubbing, or so it seemed. No wonder Betty had laughed when Tess had talked about flicking a duster here and there! Margaret wielded the duster, Betty had a jar of furniture polish while Tess, the most junior of them, was delegated to clean the fireplaces.
She had never guessed there was so much work involved. Even though there were no ashes to empty at this time of year, she had to rub the bars and fire irons with oil, then with emery paper and finally with scouring paper. Then the backs of the fireplaces had to be black-leaded twice weekly. And finally, the marble surrounds were washed in soapy water, dried and rubbed over with a linen cloth. And that was just the fireplaces. In addition, the rugs were to be lifted, the floors dusted, or mopped on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and mirrors and windows cleaned. All this for five downstairs rooms and the stairs before breakfast.
And so the day went on relentlessly, until Tess fell exhausted into her bed at close to midnight, only to be shaken awake immediately, or so it seemed. She counted the minutes until the next meal, for at least the food was good and there was plenty of it. The ladies upstairs did even better, for Tess saw every dish of expensive delicacies that went up to the dining room. It seemed this was a recent innovation, for the cook sighed often as she worked and remarked on how pleasant it was to have the best cuts of meat for a change.
“It’s almost like it was in Miss Carlisle’s day,” she said with a beatific smile, but when pressed about Miss Carlisle, her face closed up and she said primly, “My lips are sealed.”
Gradually Tess learned to get through the work speedily, so that there were moments of respite, when she could gaze out of the window at the neat gardens at the back of the house, or the road at the front. Never for long, for Margaret was always around, watching her with what Tess was sure were suspicious eyes. Did she suspect? She must be aware that Tess had never been in service before, her white, unblemished hands giving her away more surely even than her obvious lack of expertise. Still, she could not possibly know who Tess was or what her true purpose was.
Tess had earned some respect from Margaret early in her employment, by voluntarily taking down mirrors and paintings, and opening cupboard doors. “I like to dust the backs properly,” she had said blandly. Margaret had nodded approvingly, but the effort only proved that there was no safe tucked away anywhere in the main rooms. Nor could she see any loose floorboards when she moved rugs here and there. When she occasionally helped Betty with the furniture, she could detect no sign of secret drawers. It was all very dispiriting.
Ten days passed without any discoveries at all. At church, they managed a few words with Harold, who was conducting his own enquiries about the town. By telling people he had worked at Corland Castle, he had found the subject of Mr Nicholson, the murdered chaplain, aroused great curiosity, but he could not find anyone who knew him, or remembered him being in Pickering.
Shortly after this, a curious incident occurred. Tess and Betty had seen nothing of Mrs Mayberry’s nieces, for the junior servants were kept out of sight when the young ladies were about. One afternoon, however, as Betty was pressing undergarments, and Tess was diligently mending sheets, Margaret came through and whispered, “Come to the scullery window.”
