dressing table, her long auburn hair cascading down her back in a wild tangle of curls.
‘And about time. I want you to brush my hair and put it up. I suppose you do know how to put hair up, don’t you?’ The girl eyed Kitty sceptically through the mirror.
Silently thanking Mrs Franklin for the hour’s instruction, Kitty said, ‘I’ll do my best, miss.’
‘Get on with it then,’ Miriam said, tossing the hairbrush towards her.
As Kitty stood behind her young mistress and brushed the long shining hair with easy, rhythmic strokes of the hairbrush, Miriam said softly, ‘So, neither of us went telling tales,
then?’
‘Evidently not, miss.’
Miriam’s eyebrows rose fractionally and she pulled her mouth down at the corners and repeated mockingly, ‘ “Evidently not.” Such big words for a kitchen maid.’
Kitty, without pausing in her task, took a deep breath. It was time to take a firm stand. ‘Am I? Is that what I am, then, Miss Miriam? Just a kitchen maid?’
She could see the girl struggling with an inner conflict, could see Miriam debating with herself, realizing that, despite the disadvantages, it was better to have Kitty Clegg as her maid then no
maid at all.
In the girl’s green eyes there was a sudden glint of mischief, which Kitty saw at once and understood.
‘Well,’ Miriam drawled, ‘if you are so determined to be my maid, then you’d better learn to speak properly. No more “I aren’t” or “ya
mam”.’
Kitty bridled. ‘I aren’t ashamed of the way I talk,’ she began, but then, with the same spark of devilment, she mimicked the speech and mannerisms of her betters. ‘But I
can, if I so wish, talk like the gentry, m’lady.’ She waved her hand in the air in an affected gesture.
Miriam’s eyes widened as she stared at Kitty in the mirror. Then suddenly she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Do you know, Kitty Clegg, I think, after all, that we might do very
well together.’
There was no fear that Kitty could not have time off to be Jack’s Harvest Nell, for it was the custom at the Manor Farm that when nearly all the corn had been cut, a
small circle of uncut wheat was always left in the centre of the last field. On the Saturday of Harvest Festival weekend, this would be cut and the thresherman would fashion a sheaf-high corn
maiden from it. In triumph the last load would be carried to the farm’s stackyard amid much shouting and laughter and merrymaking, with the Harvest Queen sitting on top. On the Sunday, the
Franklin family and all their servants, including the threshermen, would attend the Harvest Festival service in the church in the centre of town.
‘I’d like you to come to the church with me today, Kitty,’ Mrs Franklin told her on the Thursday morning before the weekend of the festivities. ‘Bemmy will drive us and
carry everything in for us.’
‘You mean I’m to help you decorate the church, madam, for Sunday?’
When Mrs Franklin nodded, Kitty bit her lip. ‘What about Miss Miriam? She wants me to cut her hair this morning and . . .’
Mrs Franklin waved her hand. ‘That will have to wait, Kitty. We must decorate the church. All the ladies will be there this morning. We must not be late.’
‘Yes, madam – I mean, no, madam.’
‘Run along and get ready then, Kitty. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’
Kitty ran lightly up the back stairs to her bedroom to fetch the short cape she wore over her maid’s uniform when walking into the town.
‘Clegg, where the hell are you?’ She heard Miriam’s angry shriek as she came down the stairs from her bedroom under the sloping thatch to the floor where the family’s
bedrooms were.
Pushing open the door to Miriam’s room she began, ‘I’m sorry, miss, but—’
‘Oh there you are. Come along, I want you to wash my hair for me and then trim the ends with these scissors.’ She turned on the stool to face Kitty. ‘Well, what are you
standing there for, dithering in the doorway?
‘And about time. I want you to brush my hair and put it up. I suppose you do know how to put hair up, don’t you?’ The girl eyed Kitty sceptically through the mirror.
Silently thanking Mrs Franklin for the hour’s instruction, Kitty said, ‘I’ll do my best, miss.’
‘Get on with it then,’ Miriam said, tossing the hairbrush towards her.
As Kitty stood behind her young mistress and brushed the long shining hair with easy, rhythmic strokes of the hairbrush, Miriam said softly, ‘So, neither of us went telling tales,
then?’
‘Evidently not, miss.’
Miriam’s eyebrows rose fractionally and she pulled her mouth down at the corners and repeated mockingly, ‘ “Evidently not.” Such big words for a kitchen maid.’
Kitty, without pausing in her task, took a deep breath. It was time to take a firm stand. ‘Am I? Is that what I am, then, Miss Miriam? Just a kitchen maid?’
She could see the girl struggling with an inner conflict, could see Miriam debating with herself, realizing that, despite the disadvantages, it was better to have Kitty Clegg as her maid then no
maid at all.
In the girl’s green eyes there was a sudden glint of mischief, which Kitty saw at once and understood.
‘Well,’ Miriam drawled, ‘if you are so determined to be my maid, then you’d better learn to speak properly. No more “I aren’t” or “ya
mam”.’
Kitty bridled. ‘I aren’t ashamed of the way I talk,’ she began, but then, with the same spark of devilment, she mimicked the speech and mannerisms of her betters. ‘But I
can, if I so wish, talk like the gentry, m’lady.’ She waved her hand in the air in an affected gesture.
Miriam’s eyes widened as she stared at Kitty in the mirror. Then suddenly she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Do you know, Kitty Clegg, I think, after all, that we might do very
well together.’
There was no fear that Kitty could not have time off to be Jack’s Harvest Nell, for it was the custom at the Manor Farm that when nearly all the corn had been cut, a
small circle of uncut wheat was always left in the centre of the last field. On the Saturday of Harvest Festival weekend, this would be cut and the thresherman would fashion a sheaf-high corn
maiden from it. In triumph the last load would be carried to the farm’s stackyard amid much shouting and laughter and merrymaking, with the Harvest Queen sitting on top. On the Sunday, the
Franklin family and all their servants, including the threshermen, would attend the Harvest Festival service in the church in the centre of town.
‘I’d like you to come to the church with me today, Kitty,’ Mrs Franklin told her on the Thursday morning before the weekend of the festivities. ‘Bemmy will drive us and
carry everything in for us.’
‘You mean I’m to help you decorate the church, madam, for Sunday?’
When Mrs Franklin nodded, Kitty bit her lip. ‘What about Miss Miriam? She wants me to cut her hair this morning and . . .’
Mrs Franklin waved her hand. ‘That will have to wait, Kitty. We must decorate the church. All the ladies will be there this morning. We must not be late.’
‘Yes, madam – I mean, no, madam.’
‘Run along and get ready then, Kitty. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’
Kitty ran lightly up the back stairs to her bedroom to fetch the short cape she wore over her maid’s uniform when walking into the town.
‘Clegg, where the hell are you?’ She heard Miriam’s angry shriek as she came down the stairs from her bedroom under the sloping thatch to the floor where the family’s
bedrooms were.
Pushing open the door to Miriam’s room she began, ‘I’m sorry, miss, but—’
‘Oh there you are. Come along, I want you to wash my hair for me and then trim the ends with these scissors.’ She turned on the stool to face Kitty. ‘Well, what are you
standing there for, dithering in the doorway?
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