‘If you think you can turn me off with nothing but a few pennies and no reference, Master Denshaw, then you’ll have to think again—that you will. An honest woman, I am, and I’m not having no one say no different…’
‘An honest woman? So tell me then, Mrs Micklehead, how does such an honest woman, paid no more than ten guineas a year, manage to afford to clothe herself in a bonnet and a cloak that even to my untrained male eye would have cost in the region of ten times that amount?’
The woman’s face took on an even more crimson hue.
‘Given to me, they was, by Mr Awkwright what I worked for before I come here. Said how I could have them, he did, after poor Mrs Awkwright passed away on account of how well I looked after her.’
‘So well, in fact, that she died of starvation and neglect, you mean? Well, you might have hoped to starve me into submission—or worse—Mrs Micklehead, with your inability to perform any of the tasks for which you were employed—’
‘An’ ousekeeper were what I were taken on as—not a skivvy nor a cook. I come here out of the goodness of me heart.’
‘You came here, Mrs Micklehead, for one reason and one reason only, and that was so that you could line your own pockets at my expense.’
‘If you was real quality, and not just some poor brat what managed to marry up into a class what was too good for him, you’d know how the real quality and them that works for them goes about things. Call yourself the Master of Bellfield? The whole town knows there was another what should have had that right, even if they’re too feared of you to say so.’
‘Hold your tongue, woman.’
The order thundered round the chaotic room.
‘You’re no housekeeper,’ he continued grimly into the silence he had commanded. ‘You’re a lazy good-for-nothing, a thief and a liar, and I’m well rid of you.’
‘You may well be, but I’ll tell you this—you won’t find no one daft enough to come looking to take me place, that you won’t,’ she told him vigorously. ‘Not when I’ve had me say—’
‘Excuse me…’
At the sound of her faltering interruption they both turned to look at Marianne.
‘Oh, I see—got someone to take me place already, have you?’ The housekeeper gave Marianne an angrily contemptuous look, and then, without giving either Marianne or her late master time to correct her, she continued challengingly, ‘So where’s he had you from, then? One of them fancy domestic agencies down in Manchester, I’ll be bound, with that posh way you talk. Well, you won’t last a full day here, you won’t. You’ll have come here expecting to be in charge of a proper gentleman’s household, with a cook and parlour maids, and even one of them butlers. There ain’t nowt like that here. Take my advice, love, and get yourself back where you’ve come from whilst you still can. This ain’t no place for the likes of you, this ain’t.’
Turning away from Marianne, she addressed the man watching them both. ‘She won’t last five minutes, by the looks of her. She don’t look like no housekeeper I’ve ever seen.’
‘I know enough to recognise a house with a kitchen that isn’t being run properly,’ Marianne told her pointedly. On any other occasion it might almost have made her smile to see the look on the other woman’s face as she realised that Marianne wasn’t going to be manipulated, as she’d hoped, or used as a bullet she could fire at her employer.
‘Well, some folks don’t know when they’re being done a favour, and that’s plain to see,’ she told Marianne, bridling angrily. ‘But don’t expect no sympathy when you find out what’s what.’ With a final angry glower she stormed past Marianne and out into the darkness.
‘I don’t know what brings you here,’ the Master of Bellfield said to Marianne coldly once the housekeeper had gone, ‘But we both know that it wasn’t an interview for the post of housekeeper via an employment agency in Manchester.’
‘I am looking for work,’ Marianne informed him swiftly.
‘Oh, you are, are you? And you thought to find some here? Well, you must be desperate, then. Didn’t you hear what Mrs Micklehead had to say about me?’
‘She is entitled to her opinion, but I prefer to form my own.’
Marianne could see from the look of astonishment on his face that he hadn’t expected her to speak up in such a way.
‘Is that wise in a servant?’
‘There is nothing, so far as I know, that says a servant cannot have a mind of her own.’
‘If you really think that you are a fool. There’s no work for you here.’
Marianne stood her ground.
‘Forgive me, sir, but it looks to me as though there is a great deal of work to be done.’
There was a small silence whilst they both contemplated the grim state of the kitchen, and then he demanded, ‘And you reckon you can do it, do you? Well, you’ve got more faith in yourself than I have. Because I don’t. Not from the looks of you.’
‘A fair man would give me the chance to prove myself and not dismiss me out of hand,’ Marianne told him bravely.
‘A fair man?’ He gave a harsh shout of laughter. ‘Didn’t you hear what Mrs Micklehead had to say? I am not a fair man. I never have been and I never will be. No. I am a monster—a cruel tyrant who is loathed and hated by those who are forced to work for me.’
‘As I’ve said, I prefer to make my own judgements, sir.’
‘Well, I must say you have a great deal to say for yourself for a person who arrives at my door looking like a half-starved cat. You are not from ’round here.’
‘No, sir.’
‘So what brings you here, then?’
‘I need work. I saw that this is a big house, and I thought that maybe…’
‘I’d be mad to take on another housekeeper to pick my pockets and attempt to either starve or poison me. And why should I when I can rack up at a hotel and oversee my mills from there?’
‘A man needs his own roof over his head,’ Marianne told him daringly, drawing courage from the fact that he had not thrown her out immediately. She was pretty certain that this man would want to stay in his own house, and would not easily tolerate living under the rule of anyone else.
‘And a woman needs a clever silken tongue if she is to persuade a man to provide a roof over hers, eh, little cat?’
Marianne looked down at the floor, sensing that his mood had changed and that he was turning against her.
‘It is work I am looking for, sir—honest, decent work. That is all,’ she told him quietly. She could feel him weighing her up and judging her, and then putting that judgement into the scales to be weighed against his past experience and his cynicism.
‘And you reckon you can set this place to order, do you, with this honest, decent work of yours?’
Why was she hesitating? she thought. Wasn’t this what she wanted—why she had come here? The kitchen might be untidy and chaotic, but at least it was warm and dry. Where was she to go if she was turned away now? Back to where she had come from? Hardly. Yet still she hesitated, warned by something she could see in the arrogant male face with its winter-sky-grey eyes. His gaze held a hint of latent cruelty, making her feel that if she stepped over the threshold of this house and into his domain she would be stepping into danger. She could turn back. She could walk on into the town and find work there. She could…
A