Blindingham Hall September 27 1863

Villiers has spent the afternoon understairs at the Cornbenches and returned with flour, sugar and gossip in equal quantities. I had sent him over to them after a disastrous market trip during which his purse was lost, forcing him to come home empty handed. Apparently there are some folk who have arrived in the village bent on trickery – one distracts a poor innocent about to purchase goods whilst another silently reaches into a bag or pocket to steal the contents and pass them to yet another, at some distance. Villiers told me that a man had engaged him in conversation of such fascination that he had no notion that another man was reaching behind him. ‘Please look upon my mortification, Ma’am, and know that I shall repay every penny that was taken, if it takes me the rest of my days.’

I decided that making him spend time with the Cornbench household staff would be a greater punishment, and anyway we needed the goods that he had been so cruelly prevented from buying himself. His return showed no sign of remorse or punishment – quite the opposite. He danced up to my desk with a soft cloth, pretended to polish the hinges and shine the inkwell, and ventured comments in the hope I would ask him what had happened there.

‘Ma’am – I have news.’

‘So does the newspaper, Villiers, I prefer to gather my information from that source, since those who fill its pages are likely to give a truthful and balanced account of events’

‘Ma’am – the newspaper knows nothing of the neighbouring households and what goes on in them’

‘Is that because household management is not typically regarded as news?’

‘If it isn’t, Ma’am, it should be’

He started to pay faux attention to the mantelpiece, moving a candlestick and staring at the side of the mirror looking for dust. I capitulated and asked what news he felt should be broadcast.

‘Well – Mrs Cornbench has engaged a new Estate Manager, after what happened with the last one. We shan’t know the outcome of that until the Weddlebridge Assizes have sat. The new one told his mistress that he would only take the position if he could bring with him some staff from his previous job.’

‘Villiers, I know all this. I was apprised of it a few evenings ago when that horrible new Housekeeper set their dog on me.’

‘Pardon, Ma’am – but you only know what she chose to tell you. The truth is that Mrs Cornbench has allowed the new Estate Manager free licence to employ whomever he chooses. So after only two months, the whole of the Upstairs staff from Lady Temple’s estate have taken up new roles. Most of the former servants have been sent packing! It’s an outrage!’

‘Lady Temple? The widow who lives in Temple Meadow Hall?’

‘The very same, Ma’am. It seems that the poor woman is now wandering around empty rooms with only the older servants left. The Estate Manager, the House-Keeper, the parlour-maid and the Butler are all now working in Cornbench House!’

‘And how do the Cornbench faithful servants feel now that their upstairs staff have been usurped?’

‘Unhappy to say the least, Ma’am. Cook blames a new strain of onion for her constant tears, and Barker has taken to drink – he says he is just waiting to be dismissed, he plans to live with his daughter, if he is given a suitable amount to live on. The Boy is going to ask around in the village for other openings – he is a good worker and would be snapped up by another family before you can say footstool. It is an outrage. Experienced servants are being cast aside to allow upstarts to walk the floors. It shouldn’t be allowed!’

I had to admit that his anger was a boon to the woodwork, his pretence of dusting had turned to vigorous activity, my mantel was a glory to behold. But I could not let his words go unchallenged, he was in danger of over-reaching his position.

‘Villiers, I am concerned that you and the Cornbench understaff may be speaking out of turn – you do not have the pleasure and burden of owning and managing an estate, you do not know what such a responsibility entails.’

Villiers gave a small laugh, and a loud smack of the cloth as he applied it to the window frame.

‘I am quite serious. You do not have the full picture of what needs to be done to keep the household and land running safely and profitably. It is the sort of pressure that can keep one from sleep.’

‘Perhaps not, Ma’am. Indeed we may not know what should be done. But we do see what actually happens.’

Blindingham Hall September 1863

I have met a monster. A small, young, pretty thing in truth, but a monster nonetheless.

I had received an invitation to dine with the Cornbenches. This is a disturbingly regular act of neighbourly disposition on their part, and one which I choose never to reciprocate. Villiers knows better than to suggest I might sit at my own table with them – Lord forbid. I asked Villiers which reason I had given for declining the invitation the last time, and the time before. Alas, I had to conclude that illness and family bereavement was not a suitable excuse again so soon. The Cornbenches would be sending doctors to my door, and those of my non-existent distant relatives, fearing some terrible hereditary disease for them to wring their thin hands over.

So, at 7pm yesterday evening, I presented myself at their door. Waiting for me was their rib-shivering dog, Romulus, and a shiny new house-keeper. I had expected the former, but the latter was the most unpleasant shock, I can not lie. The dog whined and wagged its tail as I entered the atrium, causing me to take a step back. It moved towards me, I dropped my gloves before I could place them on the salver and I uttered a plea for it to approach no further.

The House-keeper smiled – not in welcome I swear, but to see my distress. And then she spoke to me in the most condescending of tones.

‘Oh, has the dog upset you? I was not told that Romulus was unacceptable to you. He is the mildest of creatures but I see that My Lady is fearful of him. Had I known that, I would have made sure he was kept in the kitchen’ she said. ‘I am new in this posting and Mrs Cornbench thinks highly of me, I know. But if those who have worked here for some time do not do their jobs properly, how am I supposed to do mine?’

She pulled the hall bell rope as if she was sending a gallowed man to his death, then shouted ‘Cora! Cora – come here immediately and take the dog downstairs! You should have told me Lady Hatherwick is one of those people who dislikes dogs!’ Poor Cora shot out from the understairs door and swept the dog away, whispering her apology and berating it for breathing.

‘I don’t think I have met you before, you say you are new?’ I asked ‘I am indeed’ she said, ‘ I was brought into Mrs Cornbench’s employ but three weeks ago. My name is Judith. I was recommended for this position by a previous employer, one who I understand is also about to take up a post here, as estate manager. Would My Lady like to wait in the Library? Madam will be down forthwith.’ She motioned towards a chair by the window and whisked herself out of the room.

As I waited – surrounded by unread books behind unopened glass doors – I considered my first impression of Judith. She had shiny brown hair and smooth skin, with a small waist and a soft voice. To write her characteristics down one would be forgiven for thinking I was embarking on a romantic novel with a sweet heroine. Not so. This Judith had steely eyes, hard fingers and lips which could never curl upwards. Within seconds of meeting her I knew I had seen the worst of us.

If I could have seen Judith’s heart I am sure it would be small, dessicated and as cold as the consomme she served me at dinner.

I feared for Mrs Cornbench’s judgement, and even more for her welfare. I will wish illness and death on myself and everyone I know, if it spares me from another evening under Judith’s gaze.