Chapter 3

The doctor called. No, not a phone call, a home visit. Perhaps she knew about my connections. Perhaps she just thought the owner of Abbey Hall must have influence. Who knows. Lottie used the phone to make an appointment; the doctor had a surgery once a week in the village, travelling around the locality, but agreed to come to the house after the village surgery.

She was a tall, severe woman with greying hair. I thought she might be in her late fifties. She rolled up on a pedal bike, rucksack on her back which proved to contain instruments and medications. She examined Rosie and Lisa in their room, and fitted contraceptive implants, informing them that they should not have sex for seven days after. Lottie spoke to her too before she left. As she left, I thanked her. “If I can do anything to help, please get in touch. Equipment, medications...”

Her smile transformed her face. “Thank you. I will do that. But for now, just look after those two girls.” She had a ten mile ride back to her base; I wondered how she managed in the winter.

But obviously life at the Hall continued unchanged for several days after that. Rosie baked. Lisa gradually scythed the grass to a manageable length. Lottie cooked excellent meals and warmed my bed at night. Two days after the doctor’s visit Rosie’s mother arrived at the door driving a horse and cart. In the cart a dozen sheep, which she unloaded and introduced to the grass in front of the house, suggesting that we make sure the gate was closed after she left. “I’ll bring another dozen in a week, and take these home,” she explained.

Lisa was delighted, and looked forward to having some more to trim the grass at the back where she’d laboured with the scythe. Wonderful creatures, sheep. No need to mow the grass. Of course, if you have flower beds they might be a problem.

That wasn’t the only excitement. The very next day, that overweight – let’s be blunt, slave trader – turned up again, this time with a teenaged, orange garbed girl in tow.

“Mister Hewson, sorry about the delay. This is OR 31/15. I’m still working on the second maid.” He handed me the clipboard, I signed and handed it back.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he responded, leaving.

The girl stood, thin, brown haired, brown eyes sad, looking dejected. “Come in,” I said, as gently as I could.

She stepped over the doorstep, and I closed the door behind her. “Are you hungry?” I thought that was a good guess, as she looked almost emaciated.

She hesitated. Then, very quietly, “A little.”

“Okay, then. What’s your name?”

A longer hesitation. Perhaps she was trying to remember her name? “Sophie,” she said.

“Come with me, then, Sophie.” I led the way through the house to the kitchen.”Miss Denham, this is Sophie, one of the new maids. She says she’s a little hungry. I’m sure we can find her a snack to fill the gap before lunch, don’t you?”

“Certainly, Master Ralph. Come and sit at the table, Sophie. You can leave her with me if you like, Master Ralph? Or perhaps you’d like a cup of chicory? I’ve just taken some cookies out of the oven.”

“Cookies? Well, I’ve nothing pressing enough to keep me from a plate of cookies and a mug of chicory!”

I sat in my usual place, a couple of seats away from Sophie. Lottie placed a plate with three cookies on in front of the girl and whispered something in her ear. Sophie looked sharply at her. “Really? May I? Milk?”

Lottie nodded and fetched a glass which she filled with milk, and placed with the plate in front of Sophie. She then placed a similar plate, also bearing three cookies, in front of me, then poured hot water from the kettle singing quietly to itself on the range into a mug of powdered chicory. I sipped, glancing at Sophie as I did so. She might have been nondescript, with medium brown hair, brown eyes, her face thin and drawn, but something in her called to me, something that I couldn’t identify.

“Sophie,” I spoke softly, “you are safe here. Miss Denham will explain your duties. You will eat with us in here, three meals a day. You can have a room to yourself, or share one when another maid arrives. You will have a house uniform, not that orange shift.”

She touched the leather collar around her neck, and met my eyes.

“You are an orphan, on a minor’s indenture, I think,” I said. “Being indentured doesn’t change the fact you are a unique person, and will end when you are twenty-one.”

“Four years,” she said quietly.

“Four years,” I agreed. “But here, you have a job, food, your own bed. I won’t treat you as a slave. Talk to Miss Denham. She will explain what is expected of you – and what is not expected of you.”

That night, Lottie came to me, but we didn’t immediately make love. I held her as she wept in my arms. “That poor girl,” she sobbed.

I gentled her as best I could, out of my depth. It seems that Sophie’s previous master was into sodomy. I drew my own (negative) conclusions from the fact the girl was still a virgin, except anally. The man got rid of her when her breasts could no longer be ignored. When Lottie had calmed, I continued to hold her until we both slept, her warm presence reassuring and comforting.

When we woke in the morning, she apologised. “No need,” I said.

“But...” she found my morning wood, “I can at least do something about this.”

I think it was more a matter of ‘we’ doing something about it. Our coupling was brief, but satisfying, and we washed each other before dressing and going downstairs. Rosie and Lisa appeared escorting Sophie, who was looking a little happier.

After breakfast, I went to my office. I had calls to make. One to the doctor; I explained what had happened to Sophie, and she agreed to call to examine her. Another to my father, who was unhappy. He agreed to have a word with the police, and to see about investigating the trader.

“One other thing,” Dad said, “I’m going to see if the Training Centre have a girl suitable.”

I was only peripherally aware of the Training Centre in Derby. The Midlands Committee had set it up in a Victorian military detention centre, and it wasn’t in my father’s area of responsibility. If Dad could find a maid to fit his criteria ... it occurred to me I wasn’t aware of the criteria he was applying. I certainly couldn’t complain about Lottie. She was a treasure.

The house and estate was coming together. The house, dusty and neglected, was gradually coming to life under the attentions of Lottie, Rosie and Sophie. Dull brass gleamed. Once dusty wood shone with wax. Carpets were soft and bright.

Outside, the approach to the house was raked gravel, with grass shorn short by the sheep in the centre tear-drop, and each side. Lisa had rounded up willing friends and neighbours who were willing to fight the jungle at the rear in exchange for good wages. A courier arrived on horseback, like something from the nineteenth century, or even the eighteenth. I signed for a sealed case containing a lot of cash, and, yes, there was an old safe in my office. I was very happy with progress, and with my housekeeper.