Coram Boy. Jamila Gavin

       Chapter Five Dawdley Dan

      The first day was an ordeal for Thomas. The meeting on the steps of Ashbrook was just the start of it. How he wished he had never come; how he wished that the ground could have opened and swallowed him up. Why, even the servants were better dressed than he, even when he wore his uncle’s clothes. Never was he more ashamed than when he saw their eyes scan his heavy jacket and breeches, his hob-nailed boots and cotton shirt – and these were his best clothes. How would he get through four weeks? He was spared meeting Sir William Ashbrook, who had had to go to Bristol to see one of his ships, late in from Barbados.

      Lady Ashbrook had been solemnly kind and enquiring and tried to put him at his ease, but it was the bowing and bobbing and intricate details of the pecking order that existed in the household which left him clumsily bewildered. The arrogance of the butler, the superciliousness of the footmen and the whispered jibes of the servants, scullery maids and housemaids made him feel like a piece of clod from the farmyard which should be swept out of this elegant house.

      At that first dinner, he could almost sense the sneering laughter at his elbow as he tried to serve himself from the platters, and he was sure that the way he was always a little after everyone else in picking up a piece of cutlery, glancing round first just to ensure that he lifted the correct knife, fork or spoon, did not go unnoticed. But this time, unlike when he first arrived at the cathedral school, he was comforted by the reassuring kick he got from Alexander sitting next to him and Isobel’s sympathetic glances.

      The food was borne in on silver platters by white-gloved manservants; food he had never even seen before: venison pie, partridge breasts, grilled trout, slivers of ham, trifle with cream and jam, cheese and little biscuits. Too nervous to eat, he had taken tiny portions. But Lady Ashbrook had noticed and said in a kindly way, ‘Ah, Thomas dear, don’t hold back. You’re a thin sort of youth and need building up. Take more, take more.’ So he did and, tentatively, began to enjoy it.

      That night would be the first of his life that Thomas had ever slept on his own, and in a proper bed rather than a mattress on the floor which had to be cleared away by day. Mrs Morris, the assistant housekeeper, showed him up to his bedroom, leading the way with a candlestick which held three blazing candles. Huge shadows swung round the well of the broad winding staircase as they climbed, and he was aware of being under the gaze of all the family ancestors, whose portraits stared down at him from the walls. They went up and along a broad corridor and then turned right into another, all flickering with candles. He couldn’t believe such extravagance. Oh, Mam, he thought to himself, if you could but see the number of candles they use. Why, just a quarter of them would last us a lifetime!

      They reached an elegant door with a brass lock. She opened it with one of the keys which hung in a huge bunch dangling from her waist. He entered a room so big he was sure it could have contained him and his mother and father and all of his thirteen brothers and sisters with ease. A log fire was burning in the grate, throwing a warm pink glow round the high walls. A four-poster bed was partly hidden behind thick velvet curtains and made up with pillows and cushions and blankets. There were two oak cabinets and between them was his small cloth bag of clothes.

      ‘Lady Ashbrook said I was to tell you that everything in the cabinets is for your use,’ said Mrs Morris. Suddenly, she turned and looked at him in a motherly sort of way. ‘They do go in for a number of changes in this household, depending on the time of day, who they have to a meal, what the weather is like, what they intend to do and who they intend to visit. It could be confusing. Hmm?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Thomas miserably.

      ‘You not being a gentleman and all that – if you don’t mind me saying, young man – allow me to be of help in advising you what to wear. Hmm?’ She tipped her head to one side.

      ‘Yes, ma’am! Indeed. I would be most grateful,’ cried Thomas.

      She opened the cabinet in which were hung a number of jackets and cloaks; folded neatly on shelves were woollen undershirts, pure white cotton shirts, velvet and brocade waistcoats and broadcloth breeches. She took out a complete day outfit and laid it on the couch. ‘I suggest you wear these for breakfast. You can try them on in the morning. If it’s to your liking, of course.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,’ murmured Thomas, awe-struck as he gazed at the gentleman’s clothes.

      Before she left him, Mrs Morris toured the room, checking to see that everything was in order. ‘Here is a nightshirt for your use.’ She shook it out and draped it on a chair where the heat of the fire could reach it. She put her hand into the bed. ‘Yes, you’ll be cosy and dry. Becky has used the warming pan on your sheets.’ She peeped under the bed and pulled out the chamber pot to make sure he saw it, then pushed it back again. She went over to a side table on which stood a large china jug and bowl. She noted that the towel was clean, then dipped her fingers into the jug and commented, ‘You have warm water. You’ll be able to wash.’ She poked the fire and threw on an extra log. ‘Becky will be here in the morning to build up the fire again, but this will last well into the night, I’ve no doubt. There’s a bell pull there if you need assistance, and one of the servants will attend you. Sleep well, lad.’

      ‘Goodnight, ma’am, and thank you kindly,’ replied Thomas gratefully as she closed the door behind her.

      Thomas stood for a long time in the middle of the room, just where Mrs Morris had left him, pondering his situation. Then he undressed and put on the nightshirt. ‘What would me mam say if she could see me now?’ he murmured.

      He heard a light but insistent tapping on his door. ‘Who is it?’ he whispered, pressing his mouth to the wood.

      ‘Me. Alexander. Open up!’

      Thomas opened it with a big grin.

      There stood Alexander also in his nightshirt. ‘Come, come, come. No one will go to sleep until you’ve done some of your funny imitations and sung us some songs.’ He grabbed Thomas’s arm and raced him along the corridor. They stopped before a small door which looked like a cupboard, but when he opened it they stared into the pitch darkness of a narrow stairwell. It was the servants’ stairway which took them up through the stomach of the house. Alexander didn’t hesitate; he dragged Thomas in. Then he opened another door and, suddenly, they were in a fully candlelit corridor, just like the one lower down.

      ‘Here he is!’ announced Alexander, throwing open a double door at the end of the corridor. Thomas stood, blinking, on the threshold of a large nursery. There were puzzles and toys and a wooden doll’s house, small chairs and tables and a sofa. Before a blazing fire knelt Isobel and Melissa and Edward and Alice all in their night robes, their hair brushed out and gleaming in the firelight. Their eyes shone merrily at the