Chapter Fourteen
Oakwoods, November 1815
On Thursday, therewas a rather timid knock at the kitchen door of the cottage. Lewis—who was once again trying to explain to Jillian that she shouldnothave been helping Cook, and that any questions she had should be directed to the housekeeper—looked up briefly to see Mrs. Johnson ushering in one of his mother’s housemaids.
The poor girl looked absolutely terrified to see him, but Jillian rushed toward her with a broad smile as if she were expected.
“Janet! You have come! Excellent!”
Little Janet bobbed a curtsey, but her frightened eyes remained on Lewis.
“Is it all right that I have come now, ma’am? I did not want to disturb you, so I waited until after Lady Bradford usually has her breakfast, hoping that would be when you had yours too.”
“Well, it’s a little early for tea, but we shall make do.”
By now, the curious kitchen staff had slowed in their tasks to take in the spectacle of a servant come to call on their mistress. Lewis could feel the curiosity prickle throughout the room, including in his own mind.
Janet, whose cheeks burned with embarrassment, answered, “I don’t need tea. Honest, Mrs. Bradford, I don’t. I could justas easily tell you what you want to know in the master’s study, if he will allow it.” Her eyes circled back to Lewis, filled with a pleading that she not be punished for his wife’s schemes.
His own gaze pivoted to Jillian. “What is this all about?” he asked, barely restraining his irritation. Jillian’s enthusiasm for spending time with the servants had already crossed the line multiple times in his opinion. He was all for her being her usual friendly, delightful self, but she also had to learn the extent to which she could do so. So far, his tutelage had fallen on very stubborn ears.
“Oh,” Jilly replied, “Janet and I are going to have a little chat about how I can best make use of my time here at Oakwoods.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Lewis could have sworn his wife had just made a housemaid her advisor. “Why would you…” He felt the stares of the staff and reined in his chastisement of his wife, storing it up for a later, more private moment. “If you had wanted advice, all you had to do…” No, no, still too abrasive. He pushed his churning frustration down and out of the way, seeking a more civilized starting point for the interrogation. “When, exactly, was this arrangement made?”
“On Sunday, during dinner. You remember when I wasn’t feeling well and Janet watched over me? Well, we had a wonderful conversation”—Lewis could just imagine—“and I realized that it’s people like Janet who will give me the insight I really want. Everyone else is either too formal with me or tells me what they think Ishouldhear instead of what Ineedto hear. So, I invited her to tea on her day off so we could chat.”
Jillian had uttered every single word as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Janet, meanwhile, was trying very hard, it seemed, to sink into her shoes, and the kitchen staff had now frozen in place, only their eyes moving, reaching for each other as if to say,“Are you hearing what I’m hearing?”
“I see.” Lewis saw all too clearly. He had known that life at Oakwoods would be an adjustment for Jilly, but he had trusted that she would at least make an attempt toward achieving said adjustment. Was it too much to ask that she not turn everything on its head? He had pictured her the charming mistress, beloved by all staff for her warm-hearted character. Never in a month of Sundays had he imagined her seeking them out as if she were one of them.
“I think,” he said slowly, weighing every thought that shot toward his mouth before carefully putting it aside, “we should make our way to the garden.”
“But it’s freezing, Lewis! And Janet does not have a good coat.”
The redness in Janet’s face deepened a shade at the mention of her inadequate attire. Lewis pitied her, but there was no helping it.
“We shan’t be long.Now, if you please.” And he marched out the back door toward the kitchen garden, which still boasted a multitude of vegetables in the rich, moist soil, despite it being November.
Janet had followed all too willingly, probably very happy to escape the discomfort of the scene in the house. Jillian joined them, but her folded arms, hunched shoulders, and obvious scowl suggested she was both cold and displeased.
“Janet,” said Lewis, “Do you have a good coat you could borrow?”
“No, Mr. Bradford,” she said, hanging her head. “Those as has one will be using it on a day like this.”
“Then may I suggest you postpone your meeting to a sunnier day, when you can walk and talk. Perhaps in May?”
“But that’s in six months!” cried Jillian.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Bradford,” Janet answered, perking up. “I don’t mind waiting.” She settled into a more familiar servilestance and asked Lewis, “May I be excused now, sir?” When he nodded, she bobbed a quick curtsey and all but ran back to the main house, where the maids’ rooms were.
Jillian stared at the departing figure, then whipped around to Lewis. “Why did you do that? Why did you send her away? She was my guest!”
“She is a servant, Jillian. She can never be your guest.”
“Says who? Your parents? Society?”
“Yes, and yes. But common sense says so also. Have you considered her feelings in the matter?”
