A Farmer's Daughter from Argyll

by RHRam

The story of Elsie Hughes' life. It begins in the spring of 1867 on a farm in the Argyll region of Scotland, and concludes in a small town in North Yorkshire, England shortly after the end of the Second World War. I'm going to give this story a T rating for now, but the rating will likely change to M in later chapters. Please R&R

7. A Pile of Brocade

The clock on the mantelshelf struck twelve as I felt in the envelope for another photograph to show Sybille. The few remaining were of my sister's dear children, whom I only ever saw twice in person. I did not know if Sybille would care to see photographs of children with large, hungry eyes dating from around 1904; and in truth, I can hardly bear to set eyes on the grim countenances of my two nieces and nephew...

All these years, I've told myself that there was nothing I could have done to save the girls from their fate. I don't worry about the boy, for he died before he could walk, and was spared the hardship his sisters endured for all of their short lives.

Nevertheless, I shook the remaining photographs from the envelope, drawn by what haunts me.

Sybille rose before the clock ceased to chime. ''I'm ever so sorry, Elsie, but I must go. It's later than I thought; Mother will expect me home for lunch.'' The girl gathered the pictures on her lap and made a neat stack of them for me to slide back into the envelope. But I held onto them.

''That's alright, dear. I'll walk with you to the gate. Oh, wait a minute – '' I thought of something I wanted to give Sybille as a birthday present. It was in an old silk purse in a drawer of the dressing-table in my bedroom.

Chapter Seven: A Pile of Brocade

Despite her trouble with the other maid, which only worsened as time went on, it didn't take long for Elsie to find her niche in the strict hierarchy of the servants in the brick town house, which was less strict than the hierarchies of servants in many households, due in part to the small number of staff the butler and housekeeper employed.

But Elsie knew nothing of how larger households were run, and wouldn't know for years to come. She understood that Mr Oliver and Mrs Wallace were there to keep the house in order, and did not dirty their hands with the sort of work she and Carrie had been hired to do. The butler doubled as a valet for Mr MacGregor, served the tailor and his wife their meals, announced visitors, and kept track of the bottles of wine in the pantry. The housekeeper performed the duties of a lady's maid, kept an account of all the current expenses of the house, took care of the linen and china, planned meals with the cook, and solemnly doled out the wages of the inferior servants at the end of each month.

Elsie received no payment for her work in September, as she had been hired as an untrained maid in the second week of that month, and had to spend the next two weeks in training. Elsie was displeased when she learned of this arrangement, but there was nothing she could do about it. She patiently carried out every task required of her, and looked forward to the next month when she would assuredly be paid.

And indeed, by the time All Hallows' Eve came around, Elsie was handed all of two pounds, an amount which pleasantly surprised her. Mrs Wallace had hired Elsie intending to pay her no more than one pound a month for her lack of experience; but the new maid proved to be well-mannered, dependable and hard-working. It was easy to see that she meant to keep her place. Mrs Wallace asked her mistress if Elsie's pay might be increased by an additional pound a month, which would still have her earning less than any of the other staff, with the exception of the hallboy. Thirty-odd years in service had led the housekeeper to believe that higher pay galvanised servants to be ever thorough in their work, if they were suited for servitude; those who were not suited weren't likely to be so thorough no matter what they were paid, and could be dismissed before collecting good wages they had done little to deserve.

The first thing Elsie did the evening she had her first wages was to scurry up to the garret and pen a long letter home using stationery she had brought from the farm.

Although Elsie had been away from home for several weeks now, this was the first time she had written her family. It cost a penny to post a letter, and Elsie had only five pennies knotted in a handkerchief in the chest that held her belongings. She had to make them last, so letters home would be few and far between. Elsie neatly folded the letter, along with the two pounds, into a square brown envelope and hoped that someone on the farm would find the time to write back admist their busy preparations for winter. There was always a great deal to do on the farm this time of year; pickles and cheeses must be made, mutton salted and the stomachs of the sheep stuffed with offal and spices and steamed, bread and cakes baked, outbuildings and fences repaired, and countless other things besides...For the first time in her life, Elsie would not be with her family to help them with these tasks, which amounted to a lot of hard work that had to be completed before the snow flew; but her family found ways to make even the hardest jobs enjoyable. Elisabeth liked to lead her sister and nieces in song as they scrubbed floors, beat rugs, washed fleeces, and raked leaves and twigs in the yard into a pile to burn. They sang children's songs, Christmas carols, and ballads old as the hills.

A tear escaped Elsie's eye as a wave of loneliness washed over her. It was the first time she had felt lonely since arriving at the town house, where loneliness was synonymous with idleness; if you kept busy as you were supposed to do, you wouldn't have time to feel lonely.

Elsie got to her feet and slid the letter into a drawer in the washstand for safekeeping until she could give it to Mr Oliver to seal and post for her next time he was in town. She was glad that she needn't wait until she had a day off to post it herself. Now that Elsie was a trained maid, she would be allowed the first Wednesday of every third month to do with as she pleased. How her heart leapt at the prospect! In exactly three months' time, she could visit home.

Now, however, she was exhausted from seventeen hours of work and would likely fall asleep the moment her head hit her pillow. She removed the muslin apron and cap she'd been issued, hung them on a hook on her door, then peeled off her grey-striped work dress, which had a spot of ink on the cuff of one sleeve. Elsie would have to give it to the laundress when she came on the morrow and make do with her less becoming dress of checked shoddy until the stain was removed.

Elsie was in her long nightdress, unpinning her hair, when her ears pricked at the sound of floorboards creaking ever so softly outside her door. She spun around, puzzled. Who could be up and about in the garret this late at night? She and Carrie had been relieved of their duties for the day an hour ago, and Carrie had withdrawn to her room without a word. Elsie had thought she heard the older woman snoring after that. She might have woken up later, but the maids weren't supposed to leave their rooms after a certain time at night. Was it Mrs Wallace, then, coming to check on something?

Elsie's heart went cold as she thought of another person it could be, though God help her if it was. Mr MacGregor. How many nights had her sleep been interrupted by sounds such as these, which never failed to send her fumbling for a match to light her candle with, lest the old man enter her room in the dark? But the floorboards had always ceased to creak within seconds as whomever it was moved over them with an intent that had nothing to do with her.

The creaking nearly always startled Elsie closer to dawn, and she had never gone to investigate its source. Now, the candle beside her bed was already lit, and while her curiosity seemed greater than her fear, Elsie threw a shawl on over her nightdress and stepped lightly towards the door before the floorboards stopped creaking, wanting open the door only a crack so she could finally see who was in the corridor.

It was Carrie. For a moment, Elsie wondered if she might be walking in her sleep. But her eyes were wide open and alert as she stood adjusting her wrapper at the end of the corridor. She held a candle that flickered in the draft. Her feet were bare. Elsie opened the door a fraction wider, without meaning to, causing a thin beam of candlelight to fall diagonally across the corridor. She tried to close the door, but it was too late; Carrie turned around, took one look at Elsie, and began to advance menacingly towards her.

''What do you think you're doing, spying on me?'' Carrie demanded.

''I wasn't spying on you,'' Elsie explained quickly. ''I heard someone outside, and I was afraid – ''

''Afraid of what?''

''You tell me,'' Elsie countered, using one of the other maid's favourite phrases.

Carrie glanced around them, and forcefully pushed Elsie inside her room. Elsie opened her mouth to speak, but Carrie struck her across the face, not quite hard enough to leave a mark; but tears of pain sprang immediately to Elsie's eyes.

''Carrie, what is the matter with you?''

Carrie was breathing hard. ''If you tell a soul that you saw me up tonight, I'll make sure you're sacked. Better believe it.''

''But why?''

''Mind your own business, you horse-faced tramp.''

Elsie pressed her hand to her face. ''Carrie, why would you speak that way to me? Why hit me? I'm not going to tell on you.''

Carrie looked at the floor; a corner of her mouth twitched, and a strand of sand-coloured hair brushed her wide forehead. ''Go to sleep now,'' she said at last. ''And remember what I said.''

Elsie watched her leave. Deeply upset, she sank down onto the edge of her bed. Her cheek stung. After several moments, she lay down and thought long and hard about telling Mrs Wallace of what Carrie had done to her. Mrs Wallace seemed kind; perhaps she would believe Elsie's story. But then what? And what if she didn't believe her?

Elsie slept, and her dreams were full of Carrie's face, distorted with ill-controlled fury. She felt little rested in the morning, but heard no more footsteps outside her door at night for quite some time.

Elsie was awakened by a series of brusque knocks on her door and a voice on the other side that called, ''Six o' clock, rise and shine!''

''Thank you, Carrie,'' she replied, sitting up and throwing off the woolen blankets that had kept her warm throughout the night. Uncovered, Elsie became aware of how terribly cold the room was; she could actually see her breath in the air. Shivering in her sleeveless linen camisole and drawers, Elsie drug a horn comb through her long hair and twisted it into a large chignon, arranging her fringe so that it framed her face attractively. She splashed her face with icy water from the basin on the washstand and, finding no towel, dried off on a petticoat from the wooden chest at the foot of her bed. She pulled a fresh shift over her head and then put on her corset, tightening the laces until her waist measured a scant twenty-two inches. She slipped on a corset cover and stepped into the first of five petticoats made of heavy flannel for the winter. She donned a dress of navy wool, put on stockings and shoes, and at last her cap and apron.

When she had made her bed, Elsie was ready to go downstairs. It was a week before Yule. Boughs of holly and yew had been brought in to brighten the mantels, windows, and doorways of the house, candelabras and lamps polished, floors waxed, and a large spruce tree erected in the drawing room and decorated with all manner of clever glass, paper and tin trinkets. The servants' hall was fragrant with the smell of baking, and Elsie heard the butler remark that Madame Morel had outdone herself this year. Elsie had seen the table in the kitchen piled high with black buns, mince pies, plates of candied fruit, and puddings. Mr Oliver and Mrs Wallace seemed to be in good spirits; they had as much work to do as the rest of the staff between the days of Yuletide and Hogmanay, but they often lingered in the kitchen, sipping at steaming cups of wassail and reminiscing of Yules past.

Elsie knelt to clean the fireplace in her mistress's bedchamber, and thought of holidays on the Burns farm. None of the rooms in the farmhouse were quite large enough for a tree, even a small one, but Elsie, Charlotte and Lyddie made wreaths and garlands to decorate the doors, and sent Joe into the old oak groves to look for a great tangle of mistletoe to shoot down. He managed to get some most years, and Elsie's mother suspended it from a rafter above the table where the family enjoyed a feast of cock-a-leekie, haggis and sausages with turnips and potatoes, black buns and trifle. After everyone had eaten their fill, they exchanged small presents which were usually handmade and useful.

As Elsie stood with her sheet, brush, pan, and pail of cold ashes, with a new fire crackling behind the grating, her eyes settled on Mrs MacGregor's sleeping form. Wisps of dark hair peeked from beneath the silk and velvet quilt. Elsie seldom saw the MacGregors, and realised that she hardly knew anything about them. The tailor spent his days in his workroom, while his wife kept to her bed. She was often ill. Elsie could see an array of glass bottles on her bedside table. The nearest had a lable which read ''Tincture of Opium''. Elsie had heard of opium, but she wasn't sure what it was.

Mrs MacGregor stirred ever so slightly, and Elsie ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Carrie, who had just finished with the fireplace in Mr MacGregor's chamber.

''Don't run into me,'' Carrie snarled. ''It looks like we're going to have help cleaning the other rooms today.''

''What do you mean?''

''Didn't Mrs Wallace tell you that she's hired a new maid?''

''No. Do you know anything about her?''

Carrie hefted her cleaning equipment and started towards the drawing room. ''I heard Mrs Wallace tell Mr Oliver that she's a farm girl, like you. Perhaps she'll be your replacement.''

Elsie followed her. ''Perhaps she'll be yours.''

''Not very likely. I've worked in this house for years, they won't replace me until I hand in my notice.''

Elsie narrowed her eyes. She and Carrie undertook their first chores of the day, and then it was time for breakfast. They encountered Mrs Wallace in the servants' hall. She was absentmindedly fiddling with the set of keys at her waist. ''Carrie, Elsie,'' she said. ''Come with me, there's someone you must meet. I've hired her for the holidays, but she will stay with us afterwards if her work proves satisfactory.''

Elsie felt hope blossom in her breast and tried to suppress it so she would not be downcast if her hopes turned out to be vain. She followed Mrs Wallace into her chamber, where a tall young woman stood, still wrapped in a cloak against the bitter cold outdoors. Elsie's heart began to beat wildly. Snowflakes had melted on the woman's tawny hair and sparkled like diamonds. She met Elsie's eyes, and coloured, but did not give herself away.

''This is Lyddie Burns,'' the housekeeper said.

''How do you do,'' Carrie said, sounding as friendly as she had when Elsie first became acquainted with her. Elsie resolved to warn her sister of Carrie's true nature the moment they could speak in private – whenever that might be.

Elsie expected to spend the day teaching Lyddie new ways to do her chores, as Carrie had done with her when she was new in the house; but after breakfast, Madame Morel appeared and whisked Lyddie away into the kitchen where she was made to clean the range that wasn't being used, wash two heaping sinkfuls of pots and pans, polish innumerable pieces of cutlery, peel turnips, dump ashes and slops, scrub the steps outside the kitchen, and then scrub the kitchen floor stone by stone with the Frenchwoman shouting at the hallboy over her head, all before lunch, which was the next time the sisters saw one another.

Lunch passed too quickly, and as always, in silence requested by the butler. Elsie sat beside Lyddie, glancing at her every now and again, and discreetly pushed her bread roll towards the younger woman when she had finished her own. Lydia pushed the roll back, but gave Elsie a weak smile. Elsie felt for Lyddie's hand underneath the table and squeezed it reassuringly.

Throughout the rest of the day, Elsie was unable to concentrate fully on her tasks. She burned to speak with her sister. There was so much she wanted to ask her. Elsie's mind raced with fragments of imagined conversations and news of their family. She wondered how Lyddie was getting on in the kitchen with Euan and Madame Morel.

When the servants assembled downstairs for dinner, Elsie waited for Lyddie to take her place at the table. But she never came.

''Elsie,'' Mrs Wallace said suddenly, causing Elsie to jump. ''Whatever is the matter? Have you forgotten to do something?''

''No, Mrs Wallace.''

''Then why do you keep looking around so nervously?''

''What do you mean, Mrs Wallace?''

Mrs Wallaced frowned. Elsie felt her face go red when Mr Oliver regarded her with as much displeasure.

''You look a little peaky this evening,'' Mrs Wallace said. ''Eat your dinner and have an early night. After you and Carrie have gone over the servants' hall, that is.''

''Perhaps we'd all better have an early night,'' Mr Oliver advocated. ''For tomorrow the master's family will arrive from Inveraray with one or two of their staff, and we must make the house ready for them.''

''They're coming tomorrow?'' Carrie croaked.

''That's right, Carrie.'' Mrs Wallace helped herself to mutton boiled with turnips and greens from a tureen proffered by Euan. ''Have you got a problem?''

''No, Mrs Wallace. Only every other year, the master's family arrives on Yule Eve, and not days before. How will we have time to make the house ready for as many as it can hold?''

''We will simply have to do it, Carrie. That's all I can say. Mr Oliver and I weren't notified of the family's imminent arrival until little more than an hour ago. Though the master might have known for days – oh!'' Mrs Wallace touched her right temple. ''Euan, could you make me a cup of willow tea? That's a good lad.'' She turned to the butler. ''I'm beginning to suffer from headaches just like Mrs MacGregor.''

''You do too much,'' Mr Oliver said seriously.

Elsie felt sorry for the housekeeper. ''We'll make the master's family very comfortable here.'' She dared to speak only because Carrie had spoken out of turn and no one had berated her for it. ''It's quite short notice, but many hands make light work. If we all pull our weight, the house will sparkle for the holidays.''

Mr Oliver nodded. ''Thank you, Elsie. See, Carrie, how Elsie tries to make the best of things. She doesn't moan when the going gets tough as you do. That is the mark of a good servant.''

Elsie bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling under the butler's praise. Then she noticed that Carrie was scowling formidably at her. Elsie sobered and turned her attention to her dinner.

Later, Elsie plied the corners of the ceiling of the servants' hall with the cloth-covered end of a broomstick to clear them of dust. She was alone in the hall; Carrie had headed to the lavatory, and the butler and housekeeper were conferring with the cook in the pantry. Elsie moved as close to the kitchen as she dared, hoping to glimpse her sister.

There was Lyddie, clad in a canvas apron and sleeve protectors, scrubbing the table. A cup of tea was beside her; she stopped scrubbing to take a sip and saw Elsie. She set down her tea and stepped into the doorway that separated the kitchen from the hall.

''Why weren't you at dinner?'' Elsie whispered.

''They've decided that I'm to help in the kitchen. So, I'll only be allowed to eat there from now on. Why did they choose you to be a house maid and not me?''

''I don't know. If you don't like it, you can quit.''

''You know I won't do that. How have you been? We've missed you terribly at home. Charlotte cried after you left, can you imagine?''

''I bet she cried harder after you left.''

Lyddie shrugged. ''I couldn't have stayed at home forever.''

''Did you get my letter?'' Elsie asked, then drew back swiftly. Carrie had come back into the hall.

''Have you finished in here?'' the other maid demanded.

''I have.''

''Good. Then we can go to bed.'' Carrie took the broomstick out of Elsie's hand and put it in a nearby cabinet. Then she started up the staircase to the garret.

''Don't go up there yet. We have to wait for Mrs Wallace to say we can go to bed,'' Elsie said.

''Were you talking to that new girl?''

''She only asked me if I'd like a cup of tea.''

''She shouldn't be speaking to you at all; you're a house maid.''

''Oh, Carrie, does being a house maid make me so much grander than she? At the end of the day, we're both just farm girls trying to make our way in the world. And so are you; just a farm girl.''

Carrie straightened. ''I'll have to teach you.''

''Teach her what?'' Mrs Wallace had been in the kitchen and overheard their entire conversation.

Carrie and Elsie curtsied to the housekeeper.

''You two have done a good job in here. I can't make out a speck of dust. But Elsie is right, Carrie. You must wait for me to say you can go to bed. Lyddie, come here.''

Lyddie had taken off her apron and sleeve protectors and stood submissively at the housekeeper's side. Her hands and face were begrimed with soot, and her hair was coming out of its bun.

''Elsie, show Lyddie the garret. Her room is the one after Carrie's. You both may go to bed. Carrie, you will stay downstairs with me for a moment, I must have a talk with you.''

Elsie and Lyddie curtsied and began to climb the narrow staircase. Lyddie grabbed hold of Elsie's hand, and they both began to smile.

''We did get your letter,'' Lyddie said when they reached her room. The roll of things she had brought with her lay on her bed. Lyddie set to unwrapping it. ''I've got one in here for you. We've been so busy at home that no one got the chance to send it.'' She thrust a thick envelope into Elsie's hands.

''Oh, thank you,'' Elsie breathed, holding the letter to her breast.

''Open it! I've got something else for you, too.''

Elsie carefully broke the seal on the envelope and withdrew several sheets of paper covered in her mother's unpracticed scrawl. She began reading and did not see the coat Lyddie held.

''Elisabeth said that it belonged to our father.''

That caught Elsie's attention; she looked up from the letter and beheld a long coat of dark green wool with a burgundy broadcloth lining. Elsie touched the fine material. ''I've never seen this before. Did it really belong to our father? But it looks as though it's never been worn. And it's not cut like a man's coat...''

''Elisabeth told me that he only wore it once, on the night he died. Someone brought it to her from the kilns. Mam had kept it in a chest all these years, but she brought it out a few weeks ago to show us. We decided to take the coat apart and alter it to fit you. Or rather, we altered it to fit me, since you and I are about the same size, and you needed something better to wear this winter than your old cloak.''

Elsie gently took the coat. She would have liked to put it on, but her dress was soiled from a day's work. ''Thank you so much, Lyddie. It's beautiful. I'll have to write Mam to thank her.''

Lyddie dug in her belongings again and brought forth the two pounds Elsie had included in her letter months ago. ''Mam says that these belong to you. She says they're well off enough on the farm without our wages. We're to keep what we earn.'' She put the coins into Elsie's palm.

''But I'm proud to send my wages home,'' she said feebly.

''And Mam is proud to let you keep them. Just keep them! Think, if you keep getting paid like that, you'll have twelve pounds in one year!''

''Mrs Wallace doesn't pay until you're trained for what you've been hired for. I got nothing for September.''

''Well,'' Lyddie sighed.

The door suddenly opened, and Carrie entered with a pail of warm water for Lyddie to wash with. She set it on the floor, causing a little water to slosh out. ''You two have got a lot to talk about, don't you? What are those things you've got?''

Elsie gathered the pages of the letter, draped the new coat over her arm, and went straight to her room. She closed the door behind her, fuming. How she despired Carrie. She hadn't brought a candle with her, and the room was very dark. Dark and cold. Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and she undressed and lay down to sleep.

An hour past midnight, Elsie woke to find Lyddie by her bed. She thought she was dreaming. But Lyddie touched her arm and put a finger to her lips. Elsie moved over to make room for her sister on the narrow bed, and they lay together, dozing, for a long while, until they were wakened by the sound of floorboards creaking.

''What is that?'' Lyddie mouthed.

''It's Carrie,'' Elsie whispered into her ear when the creaking stopped. ''She leaves the garret some nights. I don't know why.''

''Could she be going to see someone?''

''Who?''

''I don't know.''

Lyddie slipped back into her own room before morning. Elsie woke to a room filled with a soft, pale light, like moonlight but more substantial. Peering out the window, she saw that it had snowed more than two hands' breadths during the night. Icicles hung from the roof, and a fierce wind was blowing, causing the skeletal trees across the street to bend and sway. The sun was coming up, tinting the clouds at the horizon pink.

''Elsie?'' a voice called impatiently. It was Mrs Wallace. Elsie just had time to throw on her wrapper before the housekeeper opened the door. ''Aren't ready to go downstairs, girl? Get a move on, for heaven's sake! The master's family will be here today.''

''Yes, Mrs Wallace! Right away!''

The housekeeper slammed the door, leaving Elsie to get washed and dressed. Elsie put on her grey-striped frock and cleaned her teeth with salt. In the servants' hall, Carrie was preening, decked out in her modest best, for as head house maid, she would be expected to accompany the butler and housekeeper in front of the house to receive the guests when their rented carriage was sighted.

Elsie remembered that the guests would be bringing some of their staff to wait on them during the holidays. She wondered what servants from a household in Inveraray might be like. She found out just after lunch was served; Mr MacGregor rang for the butler, who went to the drawing room to see what he wanted, and then rushed back into the servants' hall declaring that the guests were here. Mrs Wallace and Carrie immediately put down their spoons and followed Mr Oliver out the servants' door, leaving Elsie standing at the table admist untouched plates of broth.

Euan came with a tray to collect the plates. ''Is the new kitchen maid your sister?'' he asked Elsie, peering up at her with large, dark eyes.

''Why do you ask?''

''She reminds me of you. Aren't you going out to meet those people?''

''I can't; I'm not a senior servant.'' Elsie helped Euan transport the plates into the kitchen, as she had nothing else to do while the guests were taken into the house. Lyddie was bent over the sink, scouring a copper cauldron. The sister exchanged nods.

''Did you know that Mrs Wallace is my aunt?''

Elsie smiled at the little boy. ''I didn't know.''

''She was my mother's twin sister. They looked just alike. Mother died last year, and now Auntie – I mean Mrs Wallace – looks after me. She got me this job. She says that if I work hard, I might become a footman one day. Or even a butler. I think I would like to become a butler.''

''That's a fine ambition, Euan,'' Elsie said, ruffling the boy's hair. ''I wish you the best of luck.''

Euan laughed. ''My mother used to do that.''

Madame Morel bustled in from the pantry with a basket piled with wheels and wedges of cheese, followed by the fat brindled cat. ''Elsie, whatever are you doing in here? Back into the hall with you!''

Elsie did as she was told. Presently, Mr Oliver, Mrs Wallace, and Carrie came through the servants' door, shivering and shaking snow from their clothes. They were trailed by a man and woman Elsie took to be the servants from Inveraray.

''There's so much snow out there, it's a wonder they didn't have to rent a sledge rather than a carriage to get here from the train station!'' Mrs Wallace exclaimed, dabbing underneath her nose with a hankie.

''Shall I ask the cook to make you all some tea?''

''Yes, Elsie, we would be grateful,'' Mr Oliver said.

Both tea and coffee had to be served to the family upstairs first, one right after the other; but Madame Morel made a large pot of strong tea for the servants to drink while she re-heated the broth they hadn't had time to eat before the guests drove up. As the servants sat down at the table for a belated lunch, Elsie found herself drawn to the pair who had been introduced as Brian Moireach and Doirin GhillAndrais, a valet and waiting woman who often travelled with the family they served. They had been acquainted with Mr Oliver and Mrs Wallace for well over a decade, and were greeted with handshakes and warm smiles. The senior servants began a lively conversation over their meals which quickly lapsed into Gaelic, a tongue spoken mainly in the islands that Elsie understood little of. At length, Lyddie and Euan came into the hall bearing trays laden with mugs of fragrant apple wassail.

The tailor's family stayed until after Hogmanay. With the holidays over, the house returned to normal. Torrents of rain caused the snow to melt, leaving the town house sitting in a slick of mud under a sky the colour of milk. Elsie's days passed in monotony, and she looked forward to the 31st of January, when she had a day off and could visit home. She had already written her mother to ask if Joe might meet her in town with the cart that day so she wouldn't have to be driven to the farm in a cab. Unfortunately, Lyddie would not be allowed to visit home with her; it would be ages before she had a day off of her own. This brought Elsie low. She wondered if all of her family would ever be under the same roof again, with she and Lyddie in service and Charlotte about to be married to a young man from a neighbouring farm who had begun to court her the previous autumn, as she had learned from her mother's last letter.

But that was life.

One afternoon when the sun shone weakly through the clouds, Elsie had to clean all the rooms on the top floor of the house on her own, as Carrie had been sent to bed with a toothache. Elsie had just finished the last of the guest rooms when she heard a soft cry from a room at the end of the corridor. She put her cleaning implements down and listened hard, wondering if she had imagined the cry. It had sounded like a cry of pain. Elsie thought Mrs MacGregor might be suffering from one of her headaches; but then she remembered that Mrs MacGregor was entertaining in the drawing room. The cry came a second time, and then a third; Elsie found herself inching towards the end of the corridor, though she had a bad feeling about this, and knew she should leave.

The cries came from the tailor's workroom, the door of which stood ajar. Putting a hand on the wall to steady herself, Elsie looked into the room, then drew away in shock. Her mouth went dry. She collected her broom and dustpan and made her way to the servants' hall through the narrow hidden corridor which servants used to get around the house.

The hall seemed deserted. Elsie wanted Mrs Wallace, but the door of her chamber was closed, and she didn't dare knock. As a rule, inferior servants were not supposed to speak to the housekeeper or butler unless they were spoken to first. She found Lyddie in the kitchen, plucking a goose. Lyddie looked up from her work in alarm.

''What's the matter, Elsie?''

''Where is Madame Morel?''

''In the pantry. I'll get her for you.''

''Madame Morel,'' Elsie said when the cook appeared, ''I need to speak to Mrs Wallace. Right away.''

''Whatever for? She's sorting the linen in her chamber.''

''Please, it's important.''

Elsie followed Madame Morel to the housekeeper's chamber, twisting her hands together in nervousness.

''Mrs Wallace, Elsie would like a word with you.''

The housekeeper was surrounded by stacks of newly washed linen. ''What is it, Elsie? I'm busy.''

Elsie waited until Madame Morel had left before she said, hesitantly, ''Mrs Wallace, Carrie is in the master's workroom. With the master.''

''What?'' Mrs Wallace didn't seem to understand. Then her mouth fell open. She sidled past her desk, knocking a folded sheet to the floor. ''You say she's there now? Come with me.''

Elsie didn't want to come, but the housekeeper took hold of her hand and pulled her along up the servants' stairs and onto the second floor. She marched towards the workroom, the keys at her waist clinking. Elsie wrenched her hand free and cowered behind Mrs Wallace, wondering why she was being forced to witness Carrie's disgrace again.

Mrs Wallace opened the door of the workroom with a jerk to expose the lovers, who were lying on a pile of brocade. Mr MacGregor was naked to the waist, having just drawn his trousers up; he spun around to face his wife's oldest friend with a penetrating glare Elsie would never forget. Carrie writhed on the brocade, screaming, and tried to cover herself.

''Be quiet!'' the housekeeper said through clenched teeth, unable to look at Carrie. ''Mr MacGregor, how could you?''

Elsie backed away.

''What are you going to do about it?'' Mr MacGregor said casually. ''You'll sack the maid, of course – ''

''That goes without saying.''

'' – but if you tell Mrs MacGregor, she'll have a fit.''

''I know,'' Mrs Wallace said helplessly. ''But I will tell her, sooner or later. I've served your wife since we were girls. My loyalty is to her, not you. She gave up everything to be with you. But you seem to have forgotten that.''

Inside the room, Carrie was sobbing pitifully. Mrs Wallace didn't say a word to her. She shut the door softly and turned to Elsie, who felt sick.

''Speak of this to no one,'' the housekeeper implored as they moved through the shadowy corridor.

''Why did you make me go up there again?''

''I don't know, Elsie. I honestly don't know. I wasn't thinking. I suppose I didn't believe you – or didn't want to believe you – '' Mrs Wallace drew a shaky breath, and Elsie was afraid she would weep. ''Forgive me.''

''Will you be alright, Mrs Wallace?''

''I will be once Carrie has been replaced,'' Mrs Wallace said as they emerged in the servants' hall. ''Will you be alright? You'll have to do all the work in this house until I've hired a new maid. My goodness, with Carrie gone, I suppose you're head maid, unless someone comes along who is better suited for the position.''

''What if I trained Lyddie to help me?'' Elsie asked.

But Mrs Wallace was accosted by Mr Oliver, who was holding his wine ledger open for her to see, and didn't hear her to answer.

If there was anything Elsie hated, it was an atmosphere.

Carrie was gone before nightfall. No one saw her leave. At dinner, Mr Oliver picked at his food for a time, glowering, then rose from his seat, throwing his napkin over his half-eaten food as if in disgust. Mrs Wallace and Elsie rose with him, as they had to do. Paying them no attention, the butler stalked off, his mouth set in a hard line.

''Mr Oliver,'' the housekeeper began mollifyingly, and flinched when the old man ordered her to sit and eat her dinner. Her disappeared into his chamber, fairly slamming the door behind him.

Mrs Wallace gave Elsie an apologetic look. ''Well, I had to tell him about Carrie,'' she explained weakly, taking a tiny bite of oatcake. ''Debacles of this nature always upset him. As they should. Elsie – '' she kept her voice low so that neither the butler nor anyone in the kitchen would hear her – ''do you know how their affair might have began?''

''What do you mean, Mrs Wallace?''

''Oh, never mind. You shouldn't be involved you in this any more than you already are.''

Elsie swallowed hard. ''Mrs Wallace, may I ask a question?''

The housekeeper raised her dark brows sharply.

''The day you hired me, you mentioned two maids who died from fevers in this house. Is it true that they never died – what I mean to say is, did the two of them run away because the master had come into their rooms at night?''

Mrs Wallace looked astonished. ''No, Elsie! Those maids did die. That's a fact. I never heard anything about the master coming into their rooms at night, though now, it wouldn't surprise me. Where did you get such an idea?''

''From Carrie. She told stories about the master which frightened me.'' Elsie met Mrs Wallace's eyes, which were full of questions, but left it at that. The women finished their dinners in silence.

''It seems to me,'' Lyddie said later that night as she poured water over her sister's hair to wash out the last of the sharp-smelling soap, ''that Carrie only told you those stories to make you stay away from the master's workroom. She probably left the garret at night to meet him there.''

''I don't know,'' Elsie replied, shifting uncomfortably in the small zinc tub. ''It might not have been as simple as that. But I don't want to think about it any more. I shouldn't have told you anything about it; Mrs Wallace begged me not to tell anyone.''

Lyddie squeezed the water from Elsie's hair and handed her a flannel to dry off with as she stepped out of the tub. Elsie scrubbed her face and limbs with the sheet until her skin was bright red; it was very cold in the garret, and a vigorous scrub was said to improve blood circulation and warm the body. When she had put on her nightdress, bed socks and wrapper, the sisters lifted the tub and poured the water into pails to dispose of in the morning.

''Do you think Carrie will be replaced soon?'' Lyddie asked, smoothing her hair. She'd had a bath earlier, and her hair was still damp.

''I should think so. Do you like working in the kitchen?'' Elsie accepted a wrinkled winter apple that Lyddie had smuggled upstairs.

''It's alright,'' Lyddie said, biting into an apple of her own.

''Do you often feel homesick?''

''Of course. I cried myself to sleep nearly every night over Yule.''

''I might have shed a few tears myself,'' Elsie said stiffly.

''But you'll get to visit home soon.''

''True. If Mrs Wallace will still let me have a day off with no one else to see to the house. She can't see to it herself, she has so much to do, and housekeepers don't dust and sweep, anyway.'' Suddenly, she was gripped by a terrible thought. ''My God, what if Mrs Wallace doesn't let me have the 31st off? I've already written Mam to ask if Joe can meet me from town. What if Joe comes, and I'm nowhere to be found? He'll think something has happened to me!''

''You'll just have to write Mam again and tell her you probably won't be visiting after all. Write it tonight, and give it to Mr Oliver tomorrow; then, if you can have the day off after all, take a cab home and give them a big surprise.''

''I'll talk to Mrs Wallace about it,'' Elsie sighed. ''And if I'm lucky, she'll have Mr Oliver post the letter for me immediately. Unless he can't get away from the house for some reason. How I hate having to rely on other people for everything!''

Lyddie yawned. ''Well, perhaps you'll find yourself in a position some day where everyone relies on you.'' She dropped her apple core into her chamber pot and turned down the covers of her bed. ''Good night, Elsie. I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Good night, my dear.'' Elsie planted a kiss on her little sister's cheek and left the room.

The day after, Elsie was in the drawing room, arranging red and white glasshouse grown roses in an Indian vase when she heard the beginnings of a fearsome row upstairs. There was a loud thump, the muffled tinkle of glass breaking, and then Mrs MacGregor was screaming at her husband. Elsie had served in the town house for months, but had never heard her mistress's voice, and was taken aback by its shrillness. How could a woman rumoured to be so ill make such a commotion?

Elsie decided to leave the roses as they were. The drawing room was immaculate, and she had to get back to the servants' hall before her master and mistress came down for afternoon tea. But her flight to the hall was ill-timed, for as she crossed in front of the main staircase, Mr MacGregor came onto the landing. His greying hair stuck out wildly, and there was a smear of blood on his cheek where his wife had dug her nails into him in a fit of rage. Frightened, Elsie stopped in her tracks and stared at him for a heartbeat before remembering herself. She turned to the nearest wall to stand at attention until her master went away. But he didn't go, and Elsie was unable to escape to the safety and quiet of the servants' hall.

Upstairs, Mrs MacGregor continued to scream in fury and hurl objects around her chamber. Elsie was horrified, having never witnessed such a scene. Was her mistress insane? The woman screamed until she was hoarse, then let out a shaking moan which tore at Elsie's nerves. How she yearned to dash downstairs and alert Mrs Wallace to her mistress's unimaginable predicament. If they were friends, perhaps Mrs Wallace could calm her.

Elsie looked to the staircase to see if the tailor was still there, and to her utter dismay, he was. His mouth was set in a grimace, but he seemed to be little bothered by his wife's cries. His hand rested on the carven banister a yard or so above Elsie's head. He didn't look back at Elsie. It was as though he had forgotten she was there. Did she dare leave?

At the unmistakable sound of a window breaking, Elsie bolted. She passed Mr Oliver and Mrs Wallace on her way to the servants' hall. Their faces were very white as they rushed towards the staircase. A surge of nausea made Elsie stop just inside the corridor leading to the servants' hall; as she fought to keep her lunch down, she saw Mrs MacGregor join her husband on the landing, wearing nothing but a shift and wrapper, and claw at his face and clothing.

''You bastard!'' she moaned. ''You bastard!''

Mr MacGregor grabbed hold of her wrists and forced her to the ground. He would have struck her, had the butler and housekeeper not moved in to stop him.

Elsie found Lyddie in the servants' hall. She was waiting for the cook to return from the butcher's shop.

''What's going on up there?'' Lyddie asked alarmedly.

''Mrs MacGregor found out about the master and Carrie.''

''Are you sure that's it? How could she have found out?''

''Mrs Wallace must have told her. They're fighting terribly. You have no idea. I can't possibly remain in this house after what I've just seen; I'll put in my notice today.''

''Elsie, don't do that. I can see you're a bit shaken up, but – ''

''No, I won't serve a philanderer and a madwoman. Aye, her heart must be broken, but must she make such a scene?'' Elsie slumped into a chair. Her head was spinning. Lyddie brought her a cup of cider.

''You're being unkind, Elsie. Think of the pain that woman must be in. It's her you should feel sorry for, not yourself!''

Elsie stared at the floor, ashamed. ''I'll still put my notice in.''

Lyddie untied her apron and tossed it into the kitchen. ''I suppose I'll put mine in as well. We can look for another house to work in as soon as we've spent a little time with our family. So cheer up. Won't it be wonderful to see Joe again?''

''Must you go?'' Mrs Wallace asked as she handed Elsie an envelope containing her last wages and a reference letter for employment.

Elsie nodded, clutching her bundle of belongings. She couldn't bear to meet the housekeeper's eyes.

''I see. Well, what can I say? It hasn't been easy for you here, and though a servant's first place is never easy, few are wrought with as much dilemma as you've unfortunately been subject to. I'm sorry you're going. You were a good worker.'' She rose from her desk and followed Elsie from her chamber into the servants' hall, where Lyddie lingered, having just bid farewell to Madame Morel.

The sisters went out through the servants' door and were flagged by the fat brindled cat Elsie had seen the day she arrived, who yowled and rubbed himself against their skirts. They stooped for a moment to scratch him between the ears, then made their way into Lochgilphead, where they found a cab to take them home.

''Did you read your reference?'' Elsie asked her sister as the cab jolted over a stretch of brown winter moorland. The Burns farm was just visible at the horizon.

''Aye. Mrs Wallace described me as diligent and eager to please.''

''That was kind of her.''

''What did she write about you?''

Elsie giggled. ''Apparently, I am neat, considerate, trustworthy, quick-witted and competent.''

''My goodness. Did she really write all that?''

''See for yourself.''

''Mrs Wallace must want you to go far.''

Elsie leaned back into her seat with a content smile. ''Perhaps I will go far.''