I went to the market in Wick with my Da this morning, so he could take me for an employment interview. Ma had washed my hair and helped me scrub myself clean, right down to my fingernails. “The Madam will want to see you’re diligent and hard-working, with no bad habits. Keep your eyes down and your replies brief. Don’t deny we’re Catholics if she asks – but then she’ll know that about our branch of the Sinclairs.”
There aren’t many Catholics around Wick. My father says his great-grandfather was one of the last of our faith to worship at the Rosslyn Chapel, when our branch of the clan lived near Roslin. Most of the other Sinclair families had already converted to the protestant faith years and years ago. Now the Chapel belongs to the Scottish Episcopal Church. Don’t get my Da started about that – sometimes I think he’s silly in the head about Scotland’s Catholic past, and how Queen Mary was betrayed to the ‘evil English’, and how she would spin in her grave if she had known her son took our country into permanent Protestantism.
Once Da had sold some chickens and bought oats and hay he took me across town to a grand-ish house. He walked just ahead of me, when we got down from the donkey cart, and I noticed his limp was worse than usual. (My Da often talks about the accident that crushed his leg when he was an apprentice to a mason, and how his dream of helping someday to rebuild the Sinclair castle was crushed as well. Now he is intent on my brother becoming one, with the help of what he called “The Brotherhood”).
While we were waiting at the service entrance for the bell to be answered I noticed him looking very carefully at the stonework around the door. We heard a man’s voice coming through the garden. “Ah, Sinclair, there you are!” I was amazed to see how quickly Da whipped off his cap and bowed his head, just like a servant. “So this is your wee maid, is it?” My Da muttered to me to curtsey. I did, not daring to look up. The man wandered off again, smoking a pipe. He must be the master of the house. At that minute the housekeeper opened the door, and showed us into the grandest kitchen I have ever been in. Her name is Mrs. Andrews, and she is tall and thin, and seemed very stern. She peppered my Da with a lot of questions about my character and habits, examined my fingernails and then poured my Da a cup of tea and gave him a scone, while she took me through to another grand room. A stout lady and a younger one were seated there, doing fancy needlework.
“She’ll do, Madam”, giving me a nudge in the ribs to drop another curtsey. Madam barely gave me a glance. “She’ll start Monday, and I will order her uniforms today.” I followed her out of the room. She took me on a tour of the house, telling me my chores along the way.
I remember that the kitchen, pantry, scullery, dining room and parlour are on the main floor. The front door opens onto a grand lobby. Upstairs there are three bedrooms, a water closet, and a large linen closet. Outside is a carriage house with a flat over it, for the live in cook. A gardener comes in twice a week to keep the grounds tidy.
“You will arrive at 7 every morning, and work until about 7 each evening, except Sunday, when you may leave when you have cleaned up after the noon dinner. You will help the cook with the meals, and deliver them to the dining room. You will clear the table and wash the dishes. You will make up all the beds and empty and clean the chamber pots and washbasins. You will deliver tea to madam whenever she requests it. You will make sure the kettles are filled from the outdoor pump at all times. On Mondays you will see to the washing and drying the clothes. On Tuesdays you will iron and fold the linen and place it in the linen closet. On Fridays you will make the beds with fresh linen and stack the used in the scullery, ready for washing. Before you leave each day you will cook oatcakes on the griddle and prepare the tray for the family’s supper. After washing up the tea things you will be free to leave.”
I did not dare ask the salary, just hoped my Da had settled that for me. Nor did I dare ask how I was to be fed. When she dismissed me I scuttled back to the kitchen where my Da was waiting to walk me home.
Very nice Mary! You must have done extensive research to write this!
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