The Observations (11 page)

Nora has now been with us for five days and has proved to be most efficient and pleasant in carrying out her duties. She is Irish by origin and has been in this country for six years. Her mother having been a milkmaid, Nora knows her way around a dairy and has therefore thankfully been able—in addition to her other duties—to help with the cows in the absence of one of our girls who has gone to tend a sick mother. Nora’s father was a ploughman and as a result she is thoroughly versed in the ways of the countryside. One could not ask for a better parentage in a country maid! She is also terribly pretty, and there is a definite match between her engaging looks and her demeanour, which is always amiable. True, I no longer adopt the position that a direct correspondence between looks and temperament is always inherent. Nonetheless the evidence in this case is convincing.

I am delighted to say that, in addition to her other talents, Nora is also a good cook. Best of all, she responds to my every request with consummate obedience. Some girls balk at having their dimensions recorded or at least put up a fuss if one should try to measure their face, but Nora uttered not a murmur. Indeed, although she looked slightly puzzled as I pressed the tape measure to her nose, she did not afterwards even question that I had done so! The nose in question is quite short and a little upturned (with, I venture to add, a charming dusting of light freckles!). I had thought a short upturned nose to be the sign of a liar, but now wonder whether this characteristic could be a key indicator of high obedience levels?…

At this point, I began flicking through the book, impatient to see if there was any mention of my own name and (hopefully!) similar praise of me, when something else caught my eye and I turned back a few pages. Here is what I read.

Morag

Aged about 15 (but doesn’t know exact birth date). No measurements as she refused the tape measure point blank. By observation: teeth yellow and ridged but strong. Hair red (indicative of temper?). Skin very rough and ruddy (indicative of drink?).

This subject has been with us for two days, it having been necessary to acquire her with short notice at the hiring fair, since the girl who was supposed to replace Nora never arrived. (I believe on Mrs. Lauder’s authority that she has eloped with a footman!)

Morag does not seem afraid of hard work but on first impression she does perhaps have a capacity for stubbornness (see above remarks re: tape measure). She also has a startling way of cackling with laughter directly in one’s face, which I fear may drive me to distraction ere long…

“When I read this it occurred to me that Morag could only be the redhead lass that had cackled at me in the lane as I made my way towards Castle Haivers for the first time. The description sounded just like her. And surely then, it was her book that I’d found burnt in the fire? I remembered the night I’d asked about her, when missus misheard me and thought I wanted to know about that other girl, Nora.

I read on eagerly to find out about Morag.

I began with this girl by asking for the whole story of her life but she is taciturn and it was difficult even to persuade her to provide the simplest details. However despite her apparent lack of spark, I find that she can read and write, having received a few years of basic education from some enlightened soul in her home village. Her hand is childish but legible so that happily I can get her to keep a journal in the hope that it will reveal something of the inner workings of her mind. I am sensible that she may not write anything illuminating and it is even possible that she may use the book as a tool for deception—but that in itself will be interesting to observe.

I flicked forward a few pages and read several sections at random.

Morag has now been here a fortnight. She carries out “normal‘ duties quite well (if rather sullenly) but refuses to take part in anything that does not pertain to what she regards as her proper area of work—in other words, any of my research! I have more or less given up the notion of carrying out any kind of experiments with her as she has proved to be uncooperative in the extreme…

… I have complained about Morag’s sullen demeanour in a letter to my husband but his reply states that I was foolish to take her in the first place. It is his theory that the only purpose of hiring fairs is to give bad masters a better chance of getting servants and bad servants a better chance of getting masters. In my defence may I say that the only alternative girl on the day was so ragged and filthy and stank so badly, that in comparison this Morag seemed almost presentable…

… Relations with Morag have almost come to breaking point. We barely speak to each other. Yesterday she leaned forwards and regurgitated a mouthful of half-chewed sausage onto the table, claiming the meat to be rank. I have now decided to take all my meals separately, as this grisly sight almost forced a reappearance of my own food…

… The very sight of Morag now turns my stomach. I am sure the poor girl cannot help being so ugly but I do wish that she would disappear so that my gaze would never have to alight upon her again. She is truly a wretch. I will be glad to see the back of her.

Here, I put down the book and went and looked out the window. There was nothing to be seen out there but the night sky, a few bluish clouds scudding across the face of the moon.

Such terrible things missus had said about that girl. I was having a premonition. And my premonition was this. That I should read no more of this book,
The Observations,
because I might find out some things that would upset me. I think I may even have spoke out loud to myself, “Do not read on, my dear, do not read on.” At one point I even went over and closed the book and made to put it back in the drawer.

But then I thought away to Hell out of this, you may not get another chance to see what she has wrote about you.

And so once again I opened
The Observations
and with trembling fingers turned the pages until I came across this title,
Bessy.

And then I saw that it was worse than I feared for underneath—in different ink that had been added later—were these words,
The Most Particular Case of a Low Prostitute.

But there I must stop for I have been writing for hours today, the hand is near enough dropping off me and they will be ringing the bell soon for supper.

PART TWO

7

A Most Particular Case

Introductory note. I beg it to be understood that what I transcribe here from Arabella’s
“Observations‘
is intended only for the eyes of those gentlemen that have asked me to give my account and that these extracts should
not
be reproduced by
anybody
in
any way shape or form whatsoever
without prior application to me.

I will transcribe only what I think relevant and leave out parts that have less bearing on this history for instance sections which itemise my measurements what have you, and the many detailed accounts of experiments where she notes how many stand/sits I performed or how I responded to her moods and strange requests &c. I ask the reader only this, to imagine the cold feeling of anguish that crept into my bones as I stood there in the missus bedroom and read what she did write about me.

Extracted from
The Observations,
by Arabella R
.

Bessy

(The Most Particular Case of a Low Prostitute)

This subject came to us by chance, after the sudden departure of her predecessor. I employed Bessy in awareness that she had not much experience of domestic work, intending to “train her. Little did I know what dark secrets she had left behind her in Glasgow.

PREFATORY REMARKS

Age between 14 and 16 years (though claims to be 18!) Smaller than average height. The subject’s hair is brown, a little wild and lacking in arrangement. She is rather broad in the face, with a short nose, startling blue eyes and an expression that occasionally has a shifty cast. From time to time, she becomes blank-eyed, as though stunned—although perhaps she is only daydreaming. The most pleasant feature is the mouth, which one might almost say was pretty, although she is much given to pouting and sucking on her fingers, which lends her an unfortunate sultry appearance. She sings little songs as she goes about the place, songs of her own devising it seems, but I suspect that a bad temper may lurk beneath her superficially “sunny‘ nature. There is something about her—I cannot quite put my finger on it—but she seems rather ”deadened’ and lacking in some element—perhaps emotion?

She claims to have most recently been employed as a housekeeper but I find this assertion, given her appearance and youth, unlikely. Initially, I presumed that she had wandered adrift from some kind of pageant or circus, because when she arrived here (en passant to Edinburgh) she was dressed in a brightly coloured satinet costume which was heavily adorned with bows and lace. However, I have since decided that she is not an acrobat or performer: she simply lacks discernment in attire. I have observed her over the past week and am now convinced that she is just a simple factory girl and her gaudy garments are what pass as “Sunday best‘ clothes.

I doubt that she has ever worked in service because she appears to have little grasp of how to go about the most basic domestic task. For instance, yesterday I found her scrubbing at the pale yellow rug in the parlour with a crumpled up piece of newspaper—effectively rubbing newsprint into the fibres and staining them a dirty grey! When asked to explain her actions she told me that she had dropped a few shards of coal onto the floor while sweeping the hearth and she was just “makin‘ it tidy”. In other words, not only was she rubbing newsprint into the rug, she was grinding pieces of coal into it in addition!

Such is the unpromising raw material with which I am presented: a coarse girl, with no domestic experience and very little common sense. Even Morag, despite her flaws, was familiar with housework. Surely (I can hear the reader exclaim), this new subject is beyond even my powers to bring under control? Is it not the case that, faced with such a challenge, I must finally come to my senses and admit defeat? I am willing to give some thought to these objections and, having done so, find myself bound to reply forthwith and as follows: that, on the contrary, it is my intention to domesticate the girl, within a period of no longer than three months, to a standard that would be acceptable in any household!

I have written a letter to the address where she claims she used to work, explaining the situation and requesting of whoever receives it a character and any other information that they may have about her. Of course, she may just have invented the address, in which case there will be no reply.

INITIAL DISORIENTATION

With this subject, I began the process of experimentation on the very night she arrived by going to her as she slept. The air inside her room was unexpectedly warm and laced with an earthy, drowsy scent. I have smelt something like it before in the rooms of other maids. It is their personal aroma, issued forth in sleep, and very different it is from the scent emitted by those of more distinguished birth. I noted that this particular subject’s odour is also tinged with a pleasant sweetness, as of Parma violets (am not sure what can be deduced from this, if anything. Does it indicate a sweetness of nature? Or is this too obvious an interpretation?)

By the light of my candle, I could see that she was sound asleep, breathing deeply, her dark hair spread across the pillow. I crept forwards for a better look. She looked so peaceful that I almost had a change of heart about waking her. But, coming to my senses, I decided to go ahead with my experiment as planned. I wanted to see how she would respond, after the disorientation of being awoken, to a range of different humours and I had settled for this occasion on “anger‘ (the ”harsh’ mistress); “impartial remoteness’ (the ‘fair but distant” mistress) and then ’indulgence“ (the ‘kindly” mistress). In this way, as I believe I shall prove, the subject is made open to new influence and instruction.

Shamming annoyance, I woke her abruptly and ordered her to follow me downstairs. The girl was most apologetic when she finally appeared in the kitchen. From the anxious glances she kept directing towards the loaf on the table, I deduced that she thought I was angry with her for taking more than one slice earlier in the day, something that I had noticed but not commented upon. Keen to get on with testing the humours, I reassured her quickly and gave her a command in deliberately neutral tones.

It was at this juncture that something remarkable happened. Since she had arrived, the subject had shown no inclination to exhibit the due deference of a maid to a mistress. Indeed, something in the way she pronounces the word “missis’ (her favoured nomenclature for myself) makes it almost more of an insult than a courtesy and she has to be gently and often reminded to employ the term ‘ma’am”. Of curtsies and other tokens of respect, there had been no sign. Perhaps this is only to be expected. In a factory, I doubt that one rarely, if ever, encounters a person of any breeding. However—she now proceeded to make me a curtsey! So very happy was I with this turn of events that it took little effort to adopt the next of my humours, that of extreme indulgence. Predictably, the girl is— like most of her kind—unsettled by such behaviour in a person of superior status. She gave every sign of being uncomfortable and her relief, when I announced my intention to retire, was palpable.

Clearly, the disorientation had produced in her some (albeit deeply-buried) trait of servility—but I began to wonder whether the mere fact of having been awoken from sleep caused this or whether it was provoked by one of the humours that I had displayed, and if so was it anger or indifference? I was even tempted to wake her for a second time and try the experiment again and it was only with great difficulty that I refrained from doing so.

I have heard tell of distinguished and learned gentlemen who spend all night in their laboratories, mixing chemicals in vials and scrupulously recording the results of their experiments. Of course, I could not compare myself to a true Scientist, being only a Dabbler, but even I have lost sleep, so preoccupied have I become with my little “hobby-horse‘. Nevertheless, no matter how great the urge to press on with my enquiries, I must be careful not to disturb the subject’s rest too much. After all, she is not a vial of Sulphuric Acid that can be lifted and peered at and shaken, no matter what the hour of day or night. Sulphuric Acid needs no sleep and does not hand in its notice, whereas maidservants can and do.