Chapter 79:
Homesick
Gerard looked up from polishing a pair of Dr. Halifax’s boots. A low hum of conversation filled the servants’ hall at Grange Molliner. Licking his lips, Gerard squinted into the dimly-lit room. The Grange’s maids were seated around the dining table, working on mending and gossiping about their friends from the nearby estates. Mrs. North sat in the corner of the room, a book clasped on her lap, her head tilted back as she snored softly.
He sighed, missing the intimate evenings at No. 65 Belgrave Square when Mr. Speaight would read to the staff from Mr. Dickens’ works as Mrs. Pepper brought the tray of butter biscuits and hot chocolate. Those were comfortable evenings. Sure, Ethel and Jenny would giggle and tease one another until Mr. Speaight scolded them. Vi would frown judgmentally from her sewing. Hutchinson would wander in and grumble about the chill in the air. But, they felt like a family—Gerry seated, shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles, listening to Mr. Speaight’s impressive reading voice and stealing glances at Gamilla who would be embroidering some little thing for Colin.
But, that night—their first at the Grange, Speaight had gone to bed early and Mrs. Pepper had taken to her room after another quibble with the Grange’s cook—Mrs. Gall. Gamilla was upstairs with Colin since Miss Barrett had taken ill. And, Charles was in the pantry, pressing the Duke’s collars.
Seated there by the fire—alone—Gerard couldn’t help but feel homesick. He grinned slightly for a moment, considering the fact for the first time in his life he had a home to miss. Sighing again, Gerard turned back to the boots, trying to focus on each stroke of polish. He didn’t notice Finlay approaching until the man was right next to him.
“There, lad, I think that’s polished enough.” Finlay smiled.
Gerard looked up. Finlay grinned at him—his face half-lit by the flickering fire, bathing his attractive features in an amber light. He held two beakers. Gerard’s stomach rumbled at the thought of hot chocolate, a comforting thought.
Finlay extended one of the beakers. “I brought this for ya.”
Happily, Gerard took the beaker and smiled, raising it to his lips. But, then, he paused when the aroma of whiskey tickled his nose.
“Oh.” Gerard sniffed.
Finlay sat down next to Gerard.
“What’s the matter, lad?” He winked.
“I…” Gerard shook his head. “Thank you, but I…”
“Come now, man.” Finlay laughed. “It’ll warm ya.”
“Nah.” Gerard smiled politely. “But, thanks.”
“Ah—now, a rugged fella like you. Can’t handle a little nip?”
“That’s just it.” Gerard blushed. “I like a nip, but not just a little one. It’s best if I don’t.”
“Well, then.” Finlay shrugged. “More for me.” He took the beaker and poured the contents of it into his own. “You a rummy, then?”
“Dunno.” Gerard shook his head. “Just best if I don’t.”
“You just looked a little lonely, lad.” Finlay smiled, sinking into his chair. “Missin’ your girl?”
“Maybe.” Gerard smiled slightly.
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a girl like her.”
“What do ya mean?” Gerard squinted.
“You know.” Finlay responded. “An African.”
“She’s no different than any of them girls over there.” Gerard replied, nodding at the gathering of maids around the table.
“Didn’t say she was.” Finlay replied.
Gerard nodded.
“So…” Finlay grinned. “Have you two…”
“Come on, Finlay.” Gerard scowled.
“Sorry…sorry.” Finlay chuckled. “Just curious, lad. Ain’t like there’s any love for ol’ Finlay here. I gotta take my joy from others.”
“So you got no one?” Gerard asked.
“Nah.” Finlay shrugged. “Maybe if there’s a valet or somethin’ who comes with some Duke or Baron to one o’ them estates up a ways. But, nothin’ regular.” He paused. “Gotta say, ain’t never talked ‘bout it with another man like you. Folk think I’m sick most of the time—least, ‘round here. Guess it’s different in London. No one seems to bother about the Duke and that handsome doctor.”
“Not as I know.” Gerard replied thoughtfully. “The masters keep to themselves. They’re…” He squinted, trying to find the words. “Dunno. They belong to each other, you know. Don’t think it matters to ‘em what folks think.”
“Not even Her Majesty?”
“Don’t think Her Majesty cares. His Grace and Dr. Halifax—they go to the Palace all the time, they do. Takin’ meals and such with Their Majesties. No one seems to mind.” Gerard grinned, taking great pride in the fact that his masters were friends with the Crown. “Her Majesty even asked special for Dr. Halifax when Prince Leopold was born.”
“Ach, well, then. Good for them.” Finlay nodded, taking another swig of whiskey.
“It is.” Gerard smiled.
“Where’s your mate, then?” Finlay asked.
“Charlie’s in the pantry—doin’ His Grace’s collars.”
“Ah. Mrs. North don’t like to see pressin’ in the servants’ hall. She’ll let the girls do their mendin’, but she don’t think it’s right for a gentleman’s things to be out in the hall. She’s always been like that.”
“You been here a long time, then?” Gerard asked.
“All me life.” Finlay nodded. “Born here. Me pa’s the Grounds-man.”
“Your ma?”
“Dead.” Finlay sighed. “She was the cook before Mrs. Gall. Me whole family worked here. My auntie was the Upper House Maid.”
“She still here?”
“No.” Finlay replied. “She was married…” He wrinkled his nose. “She’s gone now. ‘Cept for Pa, I’m alone. Just like you seemed to be just now.”
“I was just missin’ Belgrave Square.”
“And your girl…” Finlay winked. “And, your mate, Charles. You two seem to be thick.”
“We are.” Gerard nodded. “Wasn’t always that way. We didn’t get on when we first met.”
“Why’s that?”
“Charlie’d been in service a long time. When the Duke took me on as Dr. Halifax’s valet, I hadn’t served a gentleman before.”
“Oh? What’d you do?”
“Different things,” Gerard replied uncomfortably.
“Right.” Finlay smiled. “So, you ain’t been with the masters long?”
“’Bout a year—more or less.”
“What of Charles?”
“Same.”
“Thought you two’d been with them a long while. The masters seem to like you both so much.”
“They’re good gents.”
“The Duke’s a little…” Finlay began.
“Careful, mate.” Gerard warned.
“What?” Finlay laughed. “I’m just sayin’ that the Duke’s a little…peculiar. Saw him earlier talkin’ to a doll.”
“Weren’t a doll.” Gerard snorted. “It were a puppet.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Dunno.” Gerard snapped. “But, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the Duke. He’s a good man.”
“Guess he can afford to be a little different.” Finlay shrugged. “Who’s gonna tell the Duke of Fallbridge how he can act?”
“He’s a good man.” Gerard repeated.
“Ain’t sayin’ he’s not.” Finlay grinned. “Must be a good man—takin’ in his sister’s bastard and raisin’ him as his own.”
“We don’t think of Colin as anything other than His Grace’s son.”
“Sure, sure.” Finlay nodded. “He’s a good boy. Your girl loves him, I can see that. Too bad the governess took ill or maybe your Gamilla could be down here with you.”
Gerard sighed.
“Seems like a sharp one, that Governess.”
“She is.” Gerard nodded.
“Your Charles don’t like her.”
“No.”
“What’s the story there…” Finlay began.
“Listen, mate.” Gerard interrupted. “I want us to be friends. I think you’re a decent bloke. You got a head on your shoulders. And, you’re quick with a joke. But, I don’t wanna talk ‘bout other folk. I can talk ‘bout me-self and you and I can talk ‘bout our own lives, but let’s not get to gossipin’ ‘bout the others, then.”
“I respect that.” Finlay nodded, taking another swig from the beaker. “It’s just that it gets dull here, lad.”
“I understand.” Gerard yawned.
“Sleepy, then?” Finlay smiled.
“I am.”
“You and Charles got a good room. Right next to mine.” Finlay smiled.
Gerard nodded.
“If you lads wanna talk durin’ the night, just knock on my door.”
“Right.” Gerard replied.
“Well, I’d best be off.” Finlay set his beaker down on the table between them. He stood up. “Early mornin’ tomorrow. Thanks for the chat then.”
“Sure.” Gerard smiled.
“If you get lonely, you know where to find me.” Finlay nodded.
“’Night.” Gerard replied.
With that, Finlay walked off in the direction of the service stairs.
The firelight reflected off of the sides of the beaker on the table, illuminating the picture of Queen Victoria which had been fired into the glaze.
Gerard could smell the remaining whiskey.
He stared at the beaker for a few minutes.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard gathered his brushes and rags into his kit, picked it up in one hand and the doctor’s boots in the other, and, taking one last glance at the beaker, quietly walked through the servants’ hall to retire for the night.
Did you miss Chapters 1-78? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 80 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.
Gerard looked up from polishing a pair of Dr. Halifax’s boots. A low hum of conversation filled the servants’ hall at Grange Molliner. Licking his lips, Gerard squinted into the dimly-lit room. The Grange’s maids were seated around the dining table, working on mending and gossiping about their friends from the nearby estates. Mrs. North sat in the corner of the room, a book clasped on her lap, her head tilted back as she snored softly.
He sighed, missing the intimate evenings at No. 65 Belgrave Square when Mr. Speaight would read to the staff from Mr. Dickens’ works as Mrs. Pepper brought the tray of butter biscuits and hot chocolate. Those were comfortable evenings. Sure, Ethel and Jenny would giggle and tease one another until Mr. Speaight scolded them. Vi would frown judgmentally from her sewing. Hutchinson would wander in and grumble about the chill in the air. But, they felt like a family—Gerry seated, shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles, listening to Mr. Speaight’s impressive reading voice and stealing glances at Gamilla who would be embroidering some little thing for Colin.
But, that night—their first at the Grange, Speaight had gone to bed early and Mrs. Pepper had taken to her room after another quibble with the Grange’s cook—Mrs. Gall. Gamilla was upstairs with Colin since Miss Barrett had taken ill. And, Charles was in the pantry, pressing the Duke’s collars.
Seated there by the fire—alone—Gerard couldn’t help but feel homesick. He grinned slightly for a moment, considering the fact for the first time in his life he had a home to miss. Sighing again, Gerard turned back to the boots, trying to focus on each stroke of polish. He didn’t notice Finlay approaching until the man was right next to him.
“There, lad, I think that’s polished enough.” Finlay smiled.
Gerard looked up. Finlay grinned at him—his face half-lit by the flickering fire, bathing his attractive features in an amber light. He held two beakers. Gerard’s stomach rumbled at the thought of hot chocolate, a comforting thought.
Finlay extended one of the beakers. “I brought this for ya.”
Happily, Gerard took the beaker and smiled, raising it to his lips. But, then, he paused when the aroma of whiskey tickled his nose.
“Oh.” Gerard sniffed.
Finlay sat down next to Gerard.
“What’s the matter, lad?” He winked.
“I…” Gerard shook his head. “Thank you, but I…”
“Come now, man.” Finlay laughed. “It’ll warm ya.”
“Nah.” Gerard smiled politely. “But, thanks.”
“Ah—now, a rugged fella like you. Can’t handle a little nip?”
“That’s just it.” Gerard blushed. “I like a nip, but not just a little one. It’s best if I don’t.”
“Well, then.” Finlay shrugged. “More for me.” He took the beaker and poured the contents of it into his own. “You a rummy, then?”
“Dunno.” Gerard shook his head. “Just best if I don’t.”
“You just looked a little lonely, lad.” Finlay smiled, sinking into his chair. “Missin’ your girl?”
“Maybe.” Gerard smiled slightly.
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a girl like her.”
“What do ya mean?” Gerard squinted.
“You know.” Finlay responded. “An African.”
“She’s no different than any of them girls over there.” Gerard replied, nodding at the gathering of maids around the table.
“Didn’t say she was.” Finlay replied.
Gerard nodded.
“So…” Finlay grinned. “Have you two…”
“Come on, Finlay.” Gerard scowled.
“Sorry…sorry.” Finlay chuckled. “Just curious, lad. Ain’t like there’s any love for ol’ Finlay here. I gotta take my joy from others.”
“So you got no one?” Gerard asked.
“Nah.” Finlay shrugged. “Maybe if there’s a valet or somethin’ who comes with some Duke or Baron to one o’ them estates up a ways. But, nothin’ regular.” He paused. “Gotta say, ain’t never talked ‘bout it with another man like you. Folk think I’m sick most of the time—least, ‘round here. Guess it’s different in London. No one seems to bother about the Duke and that handsome doctor.”
“Not as I know.” Gerard replied thoughtfully. “The masters keep to themselves. They’re…” He squinted, trying to find the words. “Dunno. They belong to each other, you know. Don’t think it matters to ‘em what folks think.”
“Not even Her Majesty?”
“Don’t think Her Majesty cares. His Grace and Dr. Halifax—they go to the Palace all the time, they do. Takin’ meals and such with Their Majesties. No one seems to mind.” Gerard grinned, taking great pride in the fact that his masters were friends with the Crown. “Her Majesty even asked special for Dr. Halifax when Prince Leopold was born.”
“Ach, well, then. Good for them.” Finlay nodded, taking another swig of whiskey.
“It is.” Gerard smiled.
“Where’s your mate, then?” Finlay asked.
“Charlie’s in the pantry—doin’ His Grace’s collars.”
“Ah. Mrs. North don’t like to see pressin’ in the servants’ hall. She’ll let the girls do their mendin’, but she don’t think it’s right for a gentleman’s things to be out in the hall. She’s always been like that.”
“You been here a long time, then?” Gerard asked.
“All me life.” Finlay nodded. “Born here. Me pa’s the Grounds-man.”
“Your ma?”
“Dead.” Finlay sighed. “She was the cook before Mrs. Gall. Me whole family worked here. My auntie was the Upper House Maid.”
“She still here?”
“No.” Finlay replied. “She was married…” He wrinkled his nose. “She’s gone now. ‘Cept for Pa, I’m alone. Just like you seemed to be just now.”
“I was just missin’ Belgrave Square.”
“And your girl…” Finlay winked. “And, your mate, Charles. You two seem to be thick.”
“We are.” Gerard nodded. “Wasn’t always that way. We didn’t get on when we first met.”
“Why’s that?”
“Charlie’d been in service a long time. When the Duke took me on as Dr. Halifax’s valet, I hadn’t served a gentleman before.”
“Oh? What’d you do?”
“Different things,” Gerard replied uncomfortably.
“Right.” Finlay smiled. “So, you ain’t been with the masters long?”
“’Bout a year—more or less.”
“What of Charles?”
“Same.”
“Thought you two’d been with them a long while. The masters seem to like you both so much.”
“They’re good gents.”
“The Duke’s a little…” Finlay began.
“Careful, mate.” Gerard warned.
“What?” Finlay laughed. “I’m just sayin’ that the Duke’s a little…peculiar. Saw him earlier talkin’ to a doll.”
“Weren’t a doll.” Gerard snorted. “It were a puppet.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Dunno.” Gerard snapped. “But, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the Duke. He’s a good man.”
“Guess he can afford to be a little different.” Finlay shrugged. “Who’s gonna tell the Duke of Fallbridge how he can act?”
“He’s a good man.” Gerard repeated.
“Ain’t sayin’ he’s not.” Finlay grinned. “Must be a good man—takin’ in his sister’s bastard and raisin’ him as his own.”
“We don’t think of Colin as anything other than His Grace’s son.”
“Sure, sure.” Finlay nodded. “He’s a good boy. Your girl loves him, I can see that. Too bad the governess took ill or maybe your Gamilla could be down here with you.”
Gerard sighed.
“Seems like a sharp one, that Governess.”
“She is.” Gerard nodded.
“Your Charles don’t like her.”
“No.”
“What’s the story there…” Finlay began.
“Listen, mate.” Gerard interrupted. “I want us to be friends. I think you’re a decent bloke. You got a head on your shoulders. And, you’re quick with a joke. But, I don’t wanna talk ‘bout other folk. I can talk ‘bout me-self and you and I can talk ‘bout our own lives, but let’s not get to gossipin’ ‘bout the others, then.”
“I respect that.” Finlay nodded, taking another swig from the beaker. “It’s just that it gets dull here, lad.”
“I understand.” Gerard yawned.
“Sleepy, then?” Finlay smiled.
“I am.”
“You and Charles got a good room. Right next to mine.” Finlay smiled.
Gerard nodded.
“If you lads wanna talk durin’ the night, just knock on my door.”
“Right.” Gerard replied.
“Well, I’d best be off.” Finlay set his beaker down on the table between them. He stood up. “Early mornin’ tomorrow. Thanks for the chat then.”
“Sure.” Gerard smiled.
“If you get lonely, you know where to find me.” Finlay nodded.
“’Night.” Gerard replied.
With that, Finlay walked off in the direction of the service stairs.
The firelight reflected off of the sides of the beaker on the table, illuminating the picture of Queen Victoria which had been fired into the glaze.
Gerard could smell the remaining whiskey.
He stared at the beaker for a few minutes.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard gathered his brushes and rags into his kit, picked it up in one hand and the doctor’s boots in the other, and, taking one last glance at the beaker, quietly walked through the servants’ hall to retire for the night.
Did you miss Chapters 1-78? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 80 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.
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