Without A Heartbeat

As the week continued, Scarlett found that things at the manor were not nearly as awful as she had originally feared, as long as she kept busy and on the correct side of Housekeeper Ellison’s fiery temper. Still, the days were long and hard, and the girl had to practically drag herself to bed, falling asleep the moment her head touched her misshapen pillow. On nights when she had enough energy, she prayed – curling her hand around the silver cross her father had given her - and then hid herself away from the eyes of the others, reading The Monk by candlelight. The book transported her back to her tiny cottage, and it was in these moments she realised how much she already missed home. Turning the pages became a challenge due to the constant scrubbing that had left her fingers sore and nails brittle. However, she ate better than she had at home in a long time, and the attic was at least warm enough to be comfortable.

In addition – with the exception of the stern Mrs Ellison and her distinctly aloof air – there seemed to be an element of camaraderie among the fellow servants. The cook insisted that Scarlett call her Bridget when the housekeeper was out of earshot, and slipped her a few chunks of vegetables when they prepared evening meals. Other servants would give a nod or a smile when they passed Scarlett in the corridors. The stable boys winked as they bought horses around the side of the building to be fixed to carriages. The attention of males was something Scarlett was familiar with – the farmer boys had never made secret that she was the object of their affections. Regardless, she was still young enough to feel insecure in her own body, and her cheeks would flare the same colour as her hair.

Scarlett learned that there were around thirty servants working in Oakley Manor on a day-to-day basis. Some lived in the various servant quarters of the vast house, others - like the cook and gardeners - travelled from their own homes in the village each morning. Two other maids worked in the kitchen alongside Scarlett, assisting Bridget with food preparation and the day-to-day operations. Claudia was tall and awkward, as if she didn’t fit properly in her own skin, and Lucy was a rotund girl who suffered so badly with skin irritation, it left her arms red raw. They were friendly enough, although Scarlett would often find Lucy staring at her with an odd expression that seemed to border on pity.

Beyond Lucy and Claudia, three other girls shared the attic room with Scarlett. Willow and Sarah were sullen looking twin sisters employed as housemaids. Grete was an older woman from Germany, nanny to the Clarke’s two children - Rupert and Isabel - who as yet Scarlett had not seen. Indeed, the only member of the Clarke family that she had met was Mrs Clarke, and it had been a confusing and unnerving experience.

Three days after Scarlett’s arrival, a new delivery boy from the village grocer had accidently left an extra bag of potatoes inside the front entrance, instead of bringing them to the rear as expected. Scarlett had been sent to fetch them and rather than navigating the entire perimeter of the huge house, she had decided to risk walking through the main hallway. Whilst staggering back to the kitchen, struggling under the weight of the laden sack, Mrs Clarke had appeared at the top of the stairs like a ghost.

Scarlett had stood rooted to the spot as the woman descended the staircase. Mrs Clarke was a woman who would have once been considered beautiful, but now clung onto the fading whispers of her former glory. Her blonde hair was streaked with grey, and not even her high cheekbones could do much to stretch out the emerging wrinkles. Her cobalt blue eyes shimmered with intelligence, but were outlined with crow’s feet and dark patches. She had been wearing an elegant blue dress, undermined by a tatty looking shawl that she hugged around her narrow shoulders.

Mrs Clarke had stared directly at Scarlett, and she had trembled like a deer – her errant heart skipping beats as it hammered in her chest. Unsure of what to do, she had kept watching as the lady of the house descended the last few steps and walked directly over to her. Mrs Clarke had placed a gloved hand to Scarlet’s cheek, never once letting her intense gaze drift.

“You are so very pretty,” she had said with a sigh. “What a shame.”

Then without another word, she had disappeared into the drawing room.

The first Sunday after Scarlett’s arrival was busier than usual, as the Clarke’s were preparing for an important social gathering at the manor. The help seemed to be everywhere, as if they had scurried out from underneath the floorboards and behind walls. Everything was polished to an unnecessary level. More of the peculiar statues were unwrapped from boxes and placed in prominent positions. Scarlett noticed one that resembled a wolf-man with wings, holding a sword in one hand and an orb in the other. Something was written on the base in a language she recognised as Latin, although she couldn’t understand the words. As she had stared at the statue, she’d felt a rush of excitement. It looked like something that belonged in one of the horror books she read. As she stared at it, someone had opened a nearby door and she had rushed away without looking back.

At midday, instead of the usual produce deliveries from the village, a black carriage led by powerful horses with shining coats settled near the back door. Scarlett looked up from the pot she was scrubbing and glanced around the kitchen. Bridget was focused on filleting a fish, a look of devoted concentration on her face. Claudia was busy peeling vegetables and hadn’t noticed the arrival, and Lucy was nowhere to be seen. Scarlett hesitated for a second and then wiped her hands on her apron and unbolted the door.

The driver was wearing a hooded cloak and shin-high boots polished to a brilliant shine. He pushed back the cowl, exposing silver hair that hung in a parting over one side of his youthful face. Scarlett’s heart stalled in her chest as she took in his appearance. His eyes were almost the same colour as his hair and his face was a mix of strong lines and prominent features.

He was utterly beautiful.

Scarlett was unable to take her eyes from the driver, as if he had cast some kind of spell on her. He caught sight of her and paused for a moment, his eyes widening as if he had seen a ghost. Then his lips parted into a warm smile and he gave a nod.

“Good afternoon, Miss.”

Scarlett opened her mouth to respond but nothing more than a whisper came out.

“Scarlett!”

The sound was so shrill it almost made the girl jump from her skin. Mrs Ellison’s clawed hand gripped her arm above the elbow and sharp nails dug into her flesh. She was spun around and came face fro face with the grimacing housekeeper.

“What in God’s name do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

“I…I was just…” stammered Scarlett.

“You were just nothing! You are a scullery maid. You do not address visitors!”

“But he came around the back Mrs, I thought that-”

“Silence! You do not interact with anyone unless specifically instructed to do so first. Is that clear?” Before Scarlett could answer, Mrs Ellison shook her firmly. “Is that clear?” she repeated.

“Y-yes, Mrs.”

“Good. Now get back to what you should be doing!” Mrs Ellison released her grip and Scarlett skulked away, rubbing the spot where nails had breached skin.

“I apologise for the girl. The stupid whelp doesn’t know any better,” Scarlett heard the housekeeper say as she walked back into he kitchen. The girl resumed scrubbing the pot with trembling hands, sneaking the occasional glance outside, and cursing the hag for making her look so foolish in front of the handsome driver. Bridget joined Mrs Elision outside and together they made frequent trips to and from the carriage, removing baskets and sacks from inside the carriage. The driver made no offer to help. Instead he prepared some tobacco and sat motionless but for the mechanical movement of pipe to lips.

Beyond acute embarrassment, Scarlett could not help but feel suspicious. Housekeeper Ellision had acted as though she had attempted to engage one of the Clarke seniors in idle conversation, but as far as she could tell the man was simply a delivery driver – albeit a very regal looking one. Why would she overreact so much? Scarlett wondered.

Once the delivery had been unloaded into the kitchen, Bridget bolted the door and Mrs Ellison disappeared back into the depths of the house. Scarlett heard the sound of reins being cracked and looked out of the open window a final time. The carriage was pulling away, but the driver had turned in his seat and was staring right at her. Scarlett felt her stomach knot in a mixture of alarm and exhilaration. The man gave a wink and then turned back as the carriage disappeared from view. Something about him – they way he looked and how he had made Scarlett feel – lingered in her mind for a long time afterwards.

Bridget rested her arms on the table and let out a long sigh, as if preparing herself for a battle. “Girls, I need ya to unpack these sacks n’ baskets fir preparation.” Her smile faded and her expression became serious. “For the benefit of Scarlett here, I’ll say the same thing I always do. These is rare n’ expensive foods fir important guests. They’re not for the likes of us, so you’re not ta eat a single bite okay?” The command seemed to be directly aimed at Scarlett’s stomach, which growled in response. But she, along with Lucy and Claudia nodded in agreement.

As the day progressed, the atmosphere became tense and for the first time Bridget lost her jovial disposition, barking orders as the girls prepared truly odd food. One leather bag contained what Scarlett guessed were vegetables. Their round skins were a dark shade of blue and covered in nobbles, like a painted conker case. Scarlett had never seen anything quite so bizarre, but didn’t bother to ask about them. Everyone else was working with the speed and dexterity of the practiced, and she was falling well behind. So she kept her head down, scrubbing, rinsing and peeling her way through the afternoon.

As the event drew closer, the pressure became tangible, like a physical force pressing down from a great height. It seemed no matter how hard everyone worked, nothing was being done fast enough. There were mounds of peculiar food on every surface – some prepared, but more still needing attention. Every pot in the kitchen was in use, filled with all sorts of broths and stews – some bubbling away on the stove - others waiting to be rotated in. Hulking slabs of meat were sitting on the table, spices and herbs clinging to the tops and sides. There was enough of the weird food to feed a small army. Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder just how many people were coming to the gathering. The most excruciating part was being surrounded by piles of exotic food and not being allowed to taste any. Scarlett did her best to ignore the throb of hunger that pulsed in her stomach.

Then something disturbing happened.

While Bridget had her back turned, trying to carve fat from a piece of meat the size of a serving plate, Lucy leaned towards Claudia, and Scarlett overheard their hushed conversation.

“I’m fed up of always bein’ told not to taste this stuff when they av’ one of these gatherin’s, like it’s too good fir’ me.”

“Who cares? It looks like somethin’ that my ma would feed to her dog anyhow.”

A mischievous grin appeared on Lucy’s face and she pressed a finger to her lips.

“What are ya’ doing?” whispered a wide-eyed Claudia.

Lucy was sneaking away from the table. She pointed at a broth bubbling on the stove, releasing an aroma so intoxicating it was almost dizzying. Scarlett gave a small shake of her head and Claudia tried to reach for her friend’s arm, but was shrugged off. Creeping over to the stove, Lucy carefully removed a fresh ladle from a hook on the wall and dipped it into the mixture. Lifting it out, she bought the full contents towards her face and inhaled. Her eyelids fluttered and she let out a sigh. After blowing on it for a few seconds, she turned to Scarlett and Claudia, and gave a smile.

Then she ate it.

Lucy pulled a face and wrinkled her nose. Then she shrugged and scooped out another ladleful. After she was done, she put the utensil in the sink and returned to the vegetables she was slicing. With a satisfied smirk she picked up the knife and resumed her work. Scarlett’s stomach growled in jealousy. I wish I’d had the guts to do that. She could see a similar thought working on Claudia’s face.

There was a sharp clatter as a knife hit the floor. Scarlett glanced up. Lucy was doubled over, clutching her stomach with one hand and sucking in mouthfuls of air through pursed lips. The other hand gripped the edge of the table - knuckles as white as flour.

“Lucy, what’s wrong?”

Bridget and Claudia glanced over as Lucy sank to her knees, making noises that were a mixture of sobs and groans. Her mouth fell open and she began to retch. What on earth?

Everyone ran over to the girl. Scarlett reached her first and placed a hand on her back. She recoiled in horror. The skin underneath her uniform felt like soft wax. Scarlett bought her fingers away and noticed a shimmering sheen of odd smelling liquid on the tips.

“Lucy, tell us what’s wrong,” asked Claudia.

“I-it’s m’ stomach. It…feels like it’s on fire,’ she groaned. Her words were hoarse and her breath carried an acrid stench. Scarlett had to turn her face away as her stomach heaved with nausea.

“Dear God, she’s eaten something,’” Bridget said.

Lucy tried to answer but instead began to vomit. It came out as a brown rush of liquid, which hit the floor hard, spraying up onto the undersides of the table, and seeping into the cracks between the tiles. The unholy reek hit Scarlett’s nose like a fist. She rushed through the rear door and threw up on the grass.

Wiping her mouth with her apron, Scarlett staggered back into the kitchen. Lucy was curled up on the floor. Her eyes had rolled up into her head and she seemed to have no comprehension of where she was. The smell in the kitchen was unbearable. To Scarlett it smelled like animal excrement mixed with burned fat.

At that moment, Housekeeper Ellison appeared in the doorway. “What on earth is that unholy smell…” she cut off when she saw the sick girl. Like Bridget, she seemed to draw the same odd conclusion. “What did she eat?”

Scarlett pointed to the pot on the stove.

The housekeeper turned her attention to Bridget. “What was in there?”

Bridget listed a number of foods that not only had Scarlett never heard of, but would struggle to pronounce. Mrs Ellison nodded slowly to each one, her head like the ticking arm of a metronome.

“We ’ave to get the village doctor!” gagged Claudia, her voice muffled by the apron she was using to cover her mouth and nose.

Housekeeper Ellison wagged a skinny finger. “The girl will be fine in a few days. She is just experiencing severe food poisoning. Many of the ingredients in that stew are rare and somewhat toxic. The dish has to be cooked properly before it is eaten, or it can cause intense reactions.”

Scarlett could feel her suspicion growing. She had done much of the cooking in her own home. If a pot has been boiling as long as that one, then anything inside would be well cooked, toxic or not. Plus food poisoning never comes on that fast. Once again, Scarlett kept her thoughts to herself.

“I shall get a few of the groundsmen to help Lucy to my bedchamber where she can rest comfortably,” continued the housekeeper. “She will be better in the morning, I am certain. In the meantime, Bridget, keep preparing the meal. Claudia, fetch two buckets and line one with sawdust in case Lucy is ill again. Fill the other with cold water and add a dishcloth so we can keep her temperature down.” She looked down at the mess on the floor and then up at Scarlett. The girl felt her heart sink.

“I need you to get a third bucket and clean up this mess.”

“Yes Mrs,” she replied glumly.

The housekeeper made a tutting noise as she stared down at the semi-conscious Lucy. “I shall come back shortly to assist, as this stupid girl’s actions will no doubt put us well behind schedule.” Mrs Ellison motioned to leave and then paused, addressing Scarlett. “Once you are finished here, you are to make yourself presentable. You will be serving the guests in Lucy’s stead.”

Scarlett tried not to let her panic show. She had never served in her life and didn’t have the first inkling of how to do it. But she nodded regardless and then set about trying to find a mop and bucket.

After the kitchen was cleaned - which took over twenty nauseating minutes - Scarlett cleaned herself in the scullery, using a bar of soap to try and scrub the stench from her skin. When she returned, she saw that Mrs Ellison had assumed Lucy’s role. As much as Scarlett hated to admit it, the housekeeper was very efficient and organised. With her help, the kitchen was soon back on schedule. Not long afterwards, the unmistakable sound of horse hooves signaled the arrival of the guests. Mrs Ellison rinsed her hands under the sink faucet and smoothed down her apron.

“Claudia, Scarlett, go and get ready. We will be serving shortly.”

Upstairs, Scarlett changed into a fresh uniform, which helped remove the stink that seemed to be lingering on her. With the aid of Claudia, she re-fixed her hair, which had pulled loose from the pins under her bonnet. When she returned to the kitchen, Mrs Ellison was nowhere to be seen. Bridget looked up when Scarlett entered.

“Have you ever served before, sweetheart?” she asked.

Scarlett shook her head.

“Just follow Claudia’s lead. Always serve the men first, startin’ with Master Clarke at the head of the table and workin’ down the right side of the table, finishing at the other end. You must serve the plates in the order they are laid out on the table ’ere as each guest has their own particular meal. Also, don’t speak to any of the guests unless they speak to you first, okay?”

Scarlett nodded nervously and waited.

When it was time to serve, Bridget checked a list of names she had in her apron and then handed Scarlett two bowls, one that looked like potato and leek soup and the other which had a greenish tinge and some of the strange vegetables inside.

“Serve with the bowl in your right hand to Master Clarke.”

Scarlett made her way out of the kitchen and through a set of ornate doors that led to the dining room. She had only been in once before to scrub the floors. The vast room had made her feel small and insignificant among the grand design of wood and gold. The dining table had been empty when she’d cleaned, with enough space to fit six candelabras at quite a distance from one another. Now it was filled with dozens of impossibly beautiful men and women, dressed in expensive suits and stunning dresses. Her hands were trembling as she entered the room and she silently prayed she wouldn’t drop the bowls.

That was the moment Scarlett first saw Master Clarke.

His hair was jet black and greased backwards over his head. When she saw his face, she noticed the thin moustache waxed at the tips and his eyes, which were narrow and wolf like. Scarlett could feel his gaze pouring over every inch of her as she shakily set the bowl of soup down in front of him. Master Clarke had been talking to a beautiful with hair the colour of spun gold, tied up into a complicated style and fixed with a number of glittering, jeweled pins. He stopped and smiled at Scarlett, his moustache lifting and thin lips curling upwards. The way he stared made her feel uncomfortable, as if he were peering right through her clothes.

“And who are you?” he asked in a deep voice.

Scarlett was barely able to speak. “I-I’m Scarlett sir,” she said, using her broad accent.

“You work for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” He gave a smile and then gestured at the woman seated next to him. “Continue serving.”

Scarlett set down the bowl in front of the woman and then scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse. As the door swung shut behind her, she let out a sharp breath. The beautiful men and women around the table carried an air of importance that was far beyond mere wealth and status - it was almost as if they shone with power and grace, making the master and his wife appear as a lowly creatures in comparison. However, it was Master Clarke alone who made her feel uncomfortable. The way he had stared at her made her skin crawl, and she didn’t want to return to the dining room.

“Take these next,” said Bridget, placing two more bowls in her hand. I don’t have much of a choice.

Scarlett and Claudia continued to serve the soups; Scarlett doing her best to ignore the lingering stares that Master Clarke subjected her to. She stole a quick glance at Mrs Clarke, who was speaking to a man with bright green eyes and angled features. The lady of the house looked tired and disinterested in his conversation, her own eyes blank, as if she were somewhere far away.

The rest of dinner service was a struggle, but Scarlett found that by avoiding eye contact and doing her job quickly, she was able to get through it with no serious mishaps. That was until she accidently knocked Mister Clarke’s desert spoon onto the floor when he brushed his hand against hers.

“You clumsy idiot!” he shouted. The room fell silent and all eyes stared down the table. Scarlett froze, unsure of what to do or say. Master Clarke broke into a laugh. “Don’t look so frightened girl, it was a joke.” A light patter of laughter came from the other guests.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

Scarlett bent down to pick up the stray cutlery. As she did, Master Clarke jabbed a sly foot into her side, making her wince. Her face burning with embarrassment and pain, she stole back into the kitchen, barely able to hold back tears.

He is not a good man.

Later on, most of the guests retired to the music room with Mrs Clarke, where a troupe of hired musicians had begun to play a complicated Bach piece. Master Clarke stayed behind, talking and smoking rich scented cigars with a dark skinned man. Scarlett and Claudia cleared away the plates and then served whisky to the men in crystal tumblers. As Master Clarke grew more intoxicated, his already poor attitude declined. His comments became more lewd, and frequently he grabbed out at Scarlett as she walked past him. He laughed, as if it excused his behaviour, but his guest did not laugh with him. In fact the other man looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else other than in the room.

Inside the kitchen, Scarlett expected someone to comment on Master Clarke’s behaviour, to assure her that it was normal horseplay by the owner of the household and there was nothing to worry about. But no one said a word about it. In fact, the constant small talk made it evident they were avoiding the subject.

Mercifully, the guests left shortly afterwards and Master Clarke had to see them out. Scarlett and the others finished tidying up in preparation for the next morning. The last task Bridget gave Scarlett was to carry the food waste out to the compost heap. She walked out into the grounds, carrying a metal pot full of the remains, shivering against the bitter cold. As she passed the stables, she noticed Master Clarke standing by the fence, smoking a cigar. A wave of panic spilled over Scarlett as he caught sight of her.

“Come here, girl.”

“It’s cold out sir. If it’s okay, I’d like ta’ get this on th’ compost heap and-”

“I said come here.”

Reluctantly Scarlett walked over and stood in front of him, the pot of food waste clutched in her trembling hands.

“Do you like working here?” he asked. His words were slurred and it was obvious he was very drunk.

“It’s good, sir,” she lied.

“Master Clarke is my title,” he corrected. “Sir could be anyone of higher status than you, and that is most people.” He gave a condescending smile and at that moment Scarlett knew she hated him.

“Yes, Master Clarke.”

“Put that down and come stand next to me a moment,” he said.

Scarlett felt the creeping fingers of unease sweep across her skin. She looked around her for others, but it was late and quiet, and the door to the kitchen hidden behind a line of conifer trees. Without a choice, she set the pot down on the damp grass and took small steps forward until she was at Master Clarke’s side. As soon as she reached him, he draped an arm around her shoulders. It was heavy from his drunkenness and she strained against the weight.

“Look how beautiful the stars are out here,” he said pointing upwards. His breath stunk of whisky and cigar smoke. Scarlett tilted her head back and was met with the sight of a million twinkling orbs. It was beautiful, but at that moment all she wanted to do was get away from this horrible man who was too close and too drunk.

Master Clarke started to lower his arm.

He slid his hand down Scarlett’s back, slowly. The girl tensed as he slipped it closer and closer to her backside. Her stomach knotted as his hand passed the small of her back. She could feel a lump forming in her throat and tears brimming at the corners of her eyes as he gave her a hard squeeze.

“Richard, what are you doing?” came a female voice. Mrs Clarke appeared around the side of the trees, strands of her hair, blowing free from her bonnet in the heavy breeze.

Master Clarke’s hand dropped away in an instant. “Nothing my dear, just getting to know the new help.”

“It’s late. Let the girl finish up and go to bed.”

Master Clarke gave Scarlett a lingering smile as he broke away and walked towards his wife, who waited for him in the shadows cast by the imposing manor, her tatty shawl drawn around her bony shoulders. When they had gone Scarlett gripped the fence, struggling for breath and heart thumping so hard it made her arm hurt. She was young, but even she knew what that smile had meant.

We will finish this another time.