Storymania - The Mansion by Laura Depriest

The Mansion
Laura Depriest

She toyed with her beaded gown jadedly, sitting ensconced on the divan in the drawing room. “Brooms,” she sighed, “I’m really feeling very unhappy with the state of affairs here. I would like to do something—something useful. Perhaps I shall inquire after the kitchen help and see if my assistance is needed.”
Brooms the butler balked at the very idea of such a thing. “But miss, you do NOT work! You don’t even know where the kitchen is!”
“Oh come now, put down my dinner tray and come along,” she said briskly as she sat down her glass and prepared to stand. The feathers from her enormous hat dangled in her eyes—something she found to be incredibly mysterious and appealing. But the cats were the only other creatures which really appreciate this finery and they often attempted to catch the billowing wisps as they caught and swayed in the drafts from the old English bay windows. Smuts was doing this now. He sat upon the bookcase, paw-length from the hat. It seemed to him that the enormous feathers were taunting him as every time he swatted at their colorful arches they jumped out of his way just in time. He made a final leap at them just as Madame stood and headed to the large oak door of her bedroom. Smuts, as all cats do, landed silently on all fours beside her enormous shoes.
“But…” Brooms stuttered. Of course he was to blame for having applied to work for such a woman. This would be the reason she went through so many servants he thought glumly. He had been warned of her flights of fantasy and split second reasoning.
“Come come, we must try something new. Now where do these people live?”
“These people Madame?”
“Oh you know, the servants, the poor folk. They live in this place somewhere do they not? How can none of them be about? Do I not pay them to do some form of labor for the exorbitant amount I shell from my purse every month for their necessities?
“Perhaps it would be most prudent that we do not reference their lower economic living standards Madame.”
“Pish-posh Brooms. They don’t mind. Poor people are notoriously loving and forgiving. Recall the Cratchits? They simply mustn’t be given the opportunity to think about their misfortune. That could only lead to rebellion which one must never have if one presumes to run a manageable household.”
Brooms simply shuffled along the corridors, following the light clinks and merry jingles of the beads from her dress. He momentarily marveled at her audacity to believe herself in anyway responsible for the upkeep of this house. Despite his short employment, Brooms could already recognize that this was a woman who did nothing while under the façade of complete control and domination. Today she wanted to feel useful, and so she would probably mull about the mansion grounds believing hers were the tasks of true labor men. She would go to bed feeling as though she understood the general population, and never give it another thought after her fine head hit the pillow. Brooms sighed. He had no doubt this would be a very long day.
“Ah-ha! Look here comes one now. You there girl, where are you going?”
“To the rooms ma’am for the cleanin’ I’m assigned.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance. I shall do your work and you can run along. But just a moment dear, what is my new task?”
“Well I was jus’ on my way to clear out them chamber pots ma’am. I thank ye fer the help.” Violet skipped back to the servants’ quarters quickly before any retraction could be made on the offer.
“But…but I…Oh dear, this won’t do at all.” Madame DuBuffry looked around and found only Brooms, looking nervously down at the Persian carpet. He seemed to be edging backward along the paneled hall as if planning an escape. She breathed deeply. Her upbringing might have spoiled her, but she was honest and not one to break a promise. “I suppose that because I have made such a stalwart pledge I must do my part as I promised. Brooms come along and stop dragging your feet. You’ll wear runs into the floor boards. In which room shall we begin?”
“WE, Madame?”
“Well yes of course you didn’t think I could do this alone. Every brave journeyman or woman needs their trusty companion. I am of the opinion that you must know the ropes at least to some degree, and you shall be my instructor.” This of course was more of a command than a suggestion, and Brooms could find no real excuse with which to make an exit. He directed her towards the bedroom. Opening the door with his left hand, he held out his right arm in the formal welcoming position for guests entering their quarters. Madame marched passed him, hiking up her ball gown which she now used as lounge wear around the west wing of her estate. Peeling off her gloves and unpinning her hat, she set them on the dressing counter in front of a large antique mirror. She paused momentarily to check her appearance and touch the graying hairs which framed her face. Time passes so quickly, she thought. It would be her birthday soon, and what would she have to show for it? No children, no family, and few friends; all facts she regretted now.
Glancing over her shoulder to Brooms, she saw he was making a move toward the bathroom, unpinning his sleeves and rolling them up. Madame ran swiftly to block him. “Now just a minute, this is all my making—literally.” She fanned her hands to shoo him away from the door like a small dog. Holding her head high she went in pinning her nose and returned with the shallow basin. Now seriously regretting turning down the offer for house plumbing, she waddled very slowly to the window so as not to slosh her incredibly precarious cargo.
That done, she turned with a sigh of relief. “Perhaps my next task will be less dirty.”
“If I may be so bold ma’am, perhaps you shouldn’t call the work people live by, dirty.”
“Oh,” realizing her impolite remark. “Oh, well yes, I suppose not.”
Brooms noticed her wringing hands and downcast eyes. It surprised him, as a woman of such means very seldom behaved as if she were sorry. He began to think that perhaps she wasn’t such a horrible old prude after all. “Pull yourself together young man this woman is still paying you less than a stable boy,” he muttered. He quickly let the thought dissolve as she pulled him after her to find another servant.
“Here is someone else Madame.”
“Ah yes, hello! Where are you headed good sir?”
“I’m off to scoop the livestock’s stalls.”
“Well I suppose our meeting here was fated. Would you be so kind as to allow us to follow your lead? We are in search of adventure.”
The groundskeeper looked the two up and down. Looking to his shiny-eyed employer, and then to the haggard butler, he grunted a response and kept moving out the door and onto the lawn.
“Madame, I believe he means us to follow,” sighed Brooms. He was already tired, and as endearing as all of this had been, his heart was not jumping at the opportunity to shovel horse manure. I want to go back to my apartment above the kitchen, he thought. I was true that while he lived alone and at times missed human interaction, he was still content in bachelorhood.
“Well, we have to keep positive,” she cut off his contemplation as if reading his mind. “Oh and call me Josephine, Madame was my mother. I’m old, but not ancient.”
Bernard, the groundskeeper, now directing them into the stables laughed to himself. It was rare form indeed for this woman to be so amiable. If anything, he might be able to get a raise out of this charade.
After being pointed to the shovels in the corner, Brooms and Josephine got ready to get down to the task at hand. She, still in the dress, asked for an apron, and Bernard returned with an enormous leather cover-vest. As the stable boys gathered to see the spectacle, the duo set to work. And it was by no means an easy chore. By the time they had finished the first stall, they were covered with dirt and all kinds of unmentionable filth.
“Well Brooms, I suppose we’re going to be here awhile. So you mustn’t feel the need to keep up the pretenses of servitude. What is your real name?”
“Ma’am?”
“Call me Josephine, please.”
“Um…this is most unusual, but I suppose I might as well play along. It’s a good game anyway. My name’s Dale.”
“Well Dale, it’s a very nice name, so I really don’t understand your hesitation. I’m not intimidating am I?” she laughed.
Dale couldn’t help but smile. His name had been uttered so infrequently since his term of appointment; he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. His company in his attic consisted of books and any stray person he could get the nerve to talk with, so as much as he hated to admit it, this turn of events was shinning in his favor. He let go of his preconceived notions and decided to talk to this woman everyone seemed so eager to ignore.
Josephine, thankful to finally have interaction of her own, enjoyed Dale’s company even for the brief time she knew they had. She foresaw the falling curtain but allowed herself the pleasure of the game.
“It has been a very long time since I was able to talk to someone, even if you are so much younger than I,” she grunted in between heaves of hay and feed. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you decide to become a butler? You are young, and I imagine there are many other things for which you are equally qualified.”
“Honestly ma’am…er Josephine,” he sighed, “I figured it would be a pretty easy way to make some money.”
“Ha,” laughed Josephine and the obvious irony of the situation. “But why? There are no opportunities for advancement and no real female companionship. I have found the easiest is often not the best.”
Dale leaned on his broom and looked out the double doors to the stable which were flung open and letting in the sun as bits of dust and debris swirled in its shafts of light. He wrinkled his forehead and breathed in the sweet mustiness of this world, wondering how much he really ought to be revealing to this woman. Despite his better judgment… “Well, I’ve never had a real way with women. I can’t romance them.”
“For some women that simply means you are straight forward. Maybe you shouldn’t be so worried about it. Cupid strikes when you least expect. Every person has someone, but you can’t wait for them to make the first move.”
And it went on this way for many weeks. Everyday the elderly woman and her butler would set out amongst the servants to try their hands at the chores they were so used to expecting from others. The groundskeeper was right. Very soon, the entire household began to shed their prejudices of each other. Groomsmen tried their hands at cooking, and the house endured their concoctions. Cooks attempted to launder for the house, and all had good times laughing and learning from each other. Josephine began to appreciate the work she had so often took for granted, and the servants learned to respect her as they did each other.
Nights she wasn’t completely exhausted, Josephine took to writing letters to her cousins and their families. The house became collectively excited upon hearing the news that Madame’s distant family would be coming to visit the next day. Dale especially was anxious to meet her family, as he had grown to think of the old woman as his own mother. That night, he offered to help Josie (as she was now called) to clean out the chamber pots as they had their first day of exploration.
“Well Dale, we’re back were we began. What do you think of coming full circle?” She coughed a little and passed off the pan to him as she clutched the door paneling to steady herself.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine boy, I’m fine,” she breathed deep to mask the shudder in her chest for air. When he turned his back, she dug in the folds of her smock to find the medication the doctor had given her the month before. It wasn’t providing the instant relief as it had then, but soon enough she felt the tremors lesson as calm prevailed. It wouldn’t be soon now she reflected.
“Let that go for now, it can be done tomorrow. I’m off to bed, goodnight Dale, and sleep peacefully, tomorrow will be a busy day.” She shuffled back to her room which was now much plainer than it had been only a few weeks before. Looking from the big windows to the large feather bed which had stayed even while other priceless items were moved to other bedrooms, Josie fingered the carvings on her old dresser and smiled quietly to herself. She had accomplished so much.
The sun rose slowly the next morning, or so it seemed to the inhabitants of the mansion who were so expectantly awaiting the arrival of their new guests. They had laid lavish plans to impress them, and all were aflutter in anticipation. Dale Brooms, former butler, also awoke early to set about getting ready. He was unsure of how many would be coming today, and he wanted to be prepared for everything. As the hand on his time piece crept past the nine, he looked out his window and saw the carriage drawing into the gates through the fog on the moor. Josie saw it too from her room where she had swept back the thinning curtains and stood in her nightshirt. Her now all white hair hung down onto her shoulders as she watched Brooms greet the carriage, and just as she had expected he was taken aback to find only one passenger. Smiling, Josephine DuBuffry slowly turned back to her desk where she had one last letter to write.
Dale tried to walk calmly out the front door to meet the expected travelers. As the stable boys stroked the horses and invited the driver into the house, Dale opened the large carriage to assist the passengers. His anticipation turned quickly to confusion when he found only a vacant seat. He stepped back, but then quickly hopped forward when he saw a small hand on the sill of the window. One person was all that had ridden, and she came from the seat opposite that of Dale’s attention. He looked to steady her as she set foot on the dirt turn-around road, but lost sense of what he was doing when he looked at her.
“Hello, my name is Lorraine.” She said in a strong voice. Lorraine was beautiful, and Dale seemed suddenly to loose his sense of voice. “You must be Dale, my Aunt’s friend. She spoke of you often in her letters,” she continued.
“Yes…um, yes, I’m Dale. Lovely to meet your acquaintance,” he stammered as he handed her an arm into the house. Hand it to old Josie he thought.
“I’m sure there is much we can talk about, but now I really must go to my Aunt. I feel I know her so well from her letters although we have never met. I need to see her before she’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, gone?”
“Well of course with the disease the doctor said she had a few weeks to live.”
Dale was taken aback by this information, and all the servants gathered in the hall seemed not to understand what was going on. With his thoughts jumping to last night’s events, he turned to the stairs and bounded up to her room. Lorraine was right behind him.
The still fresh ink on the letter was the only sign of life they found in the room. Josephine lay peacefully in her bed, long white hair splashed across the pillow, and a small smile on her lips. The shock in Dale’s chest was sudden and he touched the desk to regain his balance as the room spun around him. He heard the clinking of a glass and looked down to see he had knocked over the ink well. Picking up the parchment, he couldn’t help but be calmed. It was Josephine’s script and it was addressed to him. He looked to Lorraine who had made her way to the bed and who sat breathing silently and kissing her old Aunt’s hand for the first and final time. She was his final gift from Josie, the letter said. Lorraine would love him as she had, and though he might be unsure, this was when he knew the reward was worth the chances. It had been her parting lesson: there were opportunities in everything, even death. She had learned to live her life, and had taught him to do so in the process. He walked to the bed where he put his arm around the delicate shoulders which were now bent in the pose of prayer. She had chosen life even in death, as would he.