"Mr. Pilkington, he's here," whispered the curt maid as she knocked on the study door.
"Come in," replied a voice inside.
I hesitated. What if the rumours about Mr. Pilkington were true? What if he was disgusting in every aspect? I had heard that he had bulging torso and eyes.
The maid opened the door and showed me in. It may have been my imagination, but the maid flashed me a look of irritation. As she went out to scuttle off to help in the kitchen, I turned to face Mr. Pilkington. He must have registered the surprise on my face, but kept his reaction calm.
"You've heard about my appearance, have you not lad?"
I shook my head, yes.
"My name is William Wilsonby, sir."
"What family are you from?" he asked.
"I'm descended from the second cousin, once removed, brother's wife of Edward III, sir."
That seemed to confuse him. I knew it had to be that I should have been working in university instead of becoming a stable boy, but my parents had wanted me to get first-hand experience.
As he got over the shock, Mr. Pilkington started talking again. All I could do was try unsuccessfully to listen.
The descriptions about him were true. He was—in other word, large beyond belief. Suddenly it struck me. He looked like a carbon copy of Henry VII. I'd read somewhere that the former monarch had trouble riding.
"As you are going to be a stable boy, I would suggest that you keep my horses in shape. I go hunting often. According to season obviously," Mr. Pilkington droned on.
Again, all I could do was nod my head and seem as if I were listening to his every word. I was only here to take the job of stable boy and they had good pay, so what could I say?
When Mr. Pilkington ended his instruction on a regular day that I would have, he rang for the maid. Again, there was irritation flashing in her eyes. She then showed me the servant quarters and to my delight, all my bags had been settled on my bed carefully. They had been sent ahead so I wouldn't have to lug them up the hill leading to Foxwood Farm.
I could see that this was a farm fit for the rich. It had no drafts coming through and was constructed of strong wood with a metal foundation. It would have been better if it had been well kept, but the surrounding are was in shambles. Dead leaves and branches littered the ground. There was hardly any movement.
As I headed towards the farm stables, I tripped over a knoll in the ground and went sprawling. The wet grass stained my white shirt green and my cheeks blushed cherry red. I stared at my feet in disgust. They were liable to trip over anything. Even worse, this was my only good, white shirt. I followed my usual tradition of examining the object I tripped over. I saw that it was actually a knob. Lifting it up carefully revealed a portion of hollowed out ground concealing a large metal box. Leaning of the hole, I bent down to open it and found meat in it. Stunned, I closed everything and sprinted off to the barn.
Animals had always been a comfort to me. There were two horses and sheep, six pigs, one donkey, and countless chickens. It mirrored its neighbouring farm the way its owner was identical to Henry VII. Suddenly I heard footsteps coming. Seconds later the maid appeared to my surprise. She took no notice of me and started making mental calculations.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She glanced at me. "I'm counting the number of chickens that the butcher can turn into mince-meat."
I was confused. During the tour of the farm, I had seen the kitchen and there had been no storerooms for keeping meat cold. At the maid's lifted eyebrow, it suddenly hit me. The metal box I had come across contained meat to keep cold. I thought I had seen a shadow near the farm which explained the maid's knowledge.
Next day I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder.
"It's too early…" I mumbled.
"The master wants to see you, boy."
I sat up quickly, nearly knocking into the head of my awakener. Seeing that it was the maid again with another irritation look on her face, I waved cheerfully as I skipped out to Mr. Pilkington's study. It didn't seem to help her mood.
Again the same thing happened when I knocked on the study door. I showed myself in and Mr. Pilkington started talking. The animals over at Manor Farm, our neighbour, had overthrown their farmer. In a direct attack, our master had decided to lend his forces. As I excused myself, a wave of nausea overtook me. I sat down on the damp grass and breathed quietly. I had never liked violence. Yet this rebellion had to be done. I sighed, lying down on the grass. There were shapes of pitchforks and haystacks in the sky today. It would be much easier to just go to university.