Introduction
Feel Good Stories is a collection of short tales
chosen to make you laugh, cry and generally feel all the better for having read
them. There’s something for everyone, modern, historical, coping with what life
throws at you, romance, loss and a good dose of humour.
The Feast by Sarah Swatridge
Originally published in My Weekly in January 2021.
Set in Wales around 1920
Bethan walked slowly down the back staircase, deep in
thought. On the bottom step, she paused, and took a deep breath. Her first job
was to see Mr Thomas, the Head Butler. He would need to be told of Lady Anwen’s
decision.
She jumped as Mr Thomas emerged from the staff dining hall
and almost collided with her.
“Well?” he asked.
“I got it!” she blurted out and gave him a big grin. Then,
composing herself, she added, more formally, “Lady Anwen has kindly offered me
the role of housekeeper, so I can follow in Granny’s footsteps after all.”
“Congratulations Bethan, I had every confidence in you. I suppose now we’ll all have to address you
as Mrs Morgan?”
“Mrs?”
“Yes, you’re married to the job, so don’t forget that.”
Despite his sober warning, he gently pushed open the double
doors to the dining hall to reveal practically all the members of the
household, the staff, that is. It seemed they were eagerly awaiting her news.
This motley group of people had become family to her, and it gave her a warm
glow to know they were behind her, with the exception perhaps of Gwyneth.
A cheer went up and several of the maids came forward to
give her a hug.
“I knew you could do it,” Nerys told her. “I suppose you’ll
be moving down here now?”
“Dyfan! George! Come and help Mrs Morgan move her
belongings,” ordered Mr Thomas.
“Oh, I’m not ready yet. You’ll need to give me a few minutes
to pack up.” She told the butler. Leaning closer, she whispered, “Who is
George?”
“The new footman, a wounded soldier, but eager to help. He
arrived earlier.”
That evening Mrs Jones, the cook, put on a more lavish meal
than usual for the staff and the Master, being the generous man he was, told Mr
Thomas that each member of staff could enjoy a glass of wine with their meal,
so long as it didn’t affect their ability to work.”
“One glass each mind,” Mr Thomas warned as Dyfan carried
bottles up from the cellar.
It didn’t take long for Bethan to pack up her belongings and
to move from the attic room she shared with Nerys, down to the housekeeper’s
lounge on the ground floor.
“Settled in?” Mr Thomas asked from the open doorway.
“Oh Mr Thomas, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,”
Bethan admitted. She waved her arms about the room. “I’ve never had my own
room.”
Mr Thomas coughed, “May I come in?” he asked formally.
“Of course,” Bethan told him. She’d known Mr Thomas all her
life. His family had grown up on the estate just as she had done. In fact, most
of the forty staff members were related in some way or another.
Mr Thomas quietly closed the door and stepped into the
housekeeper’s lounge. At least that was what it was referred to, but in actual
fact, it was a large room divided into three areas. There was a pair of
comfortable chairs around the fireplace where Bethan could read of an evening.
In the corner, by the window, was a bureau for her to keep
her accounts in order. Opposite that was another window and to one side was a
small, circular table set with two chairs. This would be where the housekeeper
could take tea, or interview staff.
On the far wall there was the most enormous dresser. It went
from floor to ceiling and stretched along the entire wall. One section housed
clean linen needed throughout the house, another stocked the very best of the
china only used on high days and holidays, and only by the family. The third
section contained a myriad of household items such as the silver punchbowl,
Lady Anwen’s personal supply of Lavender salts which eased her aches and pains
and various cleaning materials.
“If I may be so bold,” Mr Thomas began. He stood with his
hands behind his back as if he were addressing the Master himself. “The role of
housekeeper is a lonely one. You need to distance yourself from the rest of the
staff, while still being approachable, should there be a problem. You most
certainly cannot have favourites. At all times you need to be on your best
behaviour in order to set a good example to the rest of us.”
“I do understand,” Bethan said. “Granny Morgan prepared me
well. It’s just…”
Mr Thomas stepped forward, “May I?” he gestured to the
fireside chairs.
“Please do,”
Seated together, he continued. “We were all taken by
surprise by your grandmother’s sudden demise. I know it was always her
intention you should follow in her footsteps, and she’s trained you well. But,
with respect, you are young and will have to earn your respect. It is not going
to be easy, but you can count on my support.”
“Thank you,” Bethan smiled. “I shan’t let you down. I’ll
make sure Granny would be proud of me.”
Bethan had already
given her new role a great deal of thought. After all she’d been dreaming about
being the housekeeper for many years, although hadn’t expected it to become
reality so soon.
She knew her first, and most important job, was to earn the
respect of the staff by working hard and showing that she was perfectly capable
of mucking in when it was all hands-on deck, which seemed to happen more often
these days.
Once she felt she’d established herself, she then wanted to
introduce a few new things. There was little turnover of staff because most
jobs were handed down from father to son or mother to daughter. Bethan’s own
mother had died in childbirth, so she’d been brought up by her grandmother and
an aunt.
This aunt now lived with her husband in a nearby village.
She was a founder member of the local Women’s Institute. Bethan had been
impressed by the range of talks that were now on offer to women. But more than
that, the WI arranged practical training sessions and Bethan wanted to
encourage her maids to join so they could learn flower arranging, cake
decorating and other useful skills.
However, that evening when she joined the rest of the staff
for the evening meal, she met her first challenge. It was one she’d not
anticipated.
“It’s the best day of the year,” Nerys was explaining to
George, the new footman. “We move the tables out into the courtyard and dance
until dawn.”
Colour rose in Bethan’s cheeks; she managed to mask it from
all but the watchful Mr Thomas. Nothing ever went unnoticed as far as he was
concerned.
Nerys continued to describe the Twelfth Night meal and all
the preparation that went into it. She rose and skipped along the flagstones
until she caught Bethan’s disapproving eye and sat down again. “The Master and
the rest of the family come down here, imagine, to the kitchens! He has the
first dance with the housekeeper, and then they bid us goodnight and
thankfully, turn a blind eye in the morning if we’re all a bit sleepy.”
Later that evening when all was quiet, Bethan went to call
on Mr Thomas before he prepared for bed.
“But I can’t dance!” she told him. “I’m sure Granny Morgan
would have taught me but…”
“Leave it with me,” Mr Thomas told her.
The following days were very busy as they prepared the house
for the Christmas festivities. Thankfully everyone was in good spirits, only
the Master was out of sorts as he’d gone down with a cold in the head.
Mrs Jones was appreciative of Bethan’s help in the kitchen
as the family announced, somewhat late, that they had guests coming for
Christmas.
Each evening Bethan sat alone by the fire at the end of the
day and said her prayers. She felt it too extravagant to light the fire in her
bedroom.
“Amen,” she said and looked up. She was sure she’d heard a
knock. “Who is it?”
“George Watkins,” came the reply. “Mr Thomas has sent me.”
“How can I help?” Bethan told him as she pulled her shawl
around her.
George was from over the Welsh border but despite his
English accent he was proving a valuable member of the household. He had a
pleasant disposition and willingly offered his help. He certainly hadn’t gone
unnoticed by the maids. He carried himself well and was light on his feet, just
occasionally she’d noticed a slight limp.
In truth she probably would never have been aware of it, but
she’d caught Gwyneth mimicking him. Bethan took her aside and reprimanded her.
“I understand you need dance lessons,” he said quietly.
“Don’t be alarmed. Mr Thomas has briefed me well. I shall be discreet. No one
need ever know. He’ll be joining us in a moment.”
“In that case, Mr Watkins, you’d better come in and shut the
door.”
A few minutes later Mr Thomas arrived and with George’s help
they assembled a gramophone on the table. Mr Thomas made himself comfortable
with the newspaper while George instructed Bethan. Fortunately, the household
was steeped in tradition, so everyone knew exactly which dance she needed to
know.
This happened each evening for the next week. Bethan was not
a natural dancer but George was reassuring.
“The man always leads, so you have nothing to worry about,
just follow what he does.”
At first Bethan kept stepping on George’s toes, or moving
left instead of right. He was patient and charming. It surprised Bethan how
much she looked forward to her nightly dances. It was a wonderful feeling being
held in his arms.
“How did you learn to dance so well?” she asked.
“After the war I worked for a large family with a
predominance of girls. There were seven daughters and numerous maiden aunts.
Male dancing partners were in short supply and it became part of the footman’s
duties to step in, so to speak, in order that none of the ladies felt left
out.”
“Well, we are very fortunate to have you and I am so
grateful,” Bethan told him.
“You seem to have mastered it now,” Mr Thomas remarked as he
carefully folded his newspaper. “One further practise on the eve of the feast
should suffice.”
“But…” Bethan began, she was reluctant to let go of George’s
hand and was pleased to see he continued to hold her at the waist, “Perhaps
just a little longer?”
“It’s our Twelfth Night feast, not the Grand Ball!” Mr
Thomas said and ushered George away.
Christmas was a jolly occasion despite the additional
workload due to elaborate meals, extra guests, and gowns to be repaired. Bethan
kept her maids fully occupied and made sure she lowered her eyes if George came
into the room. She missed his easy company and tender encouragement.
On the eve of the feast, Mr Thomas accompanied George to the
housekeeper’s lounge and set up the gramophone. Bethan had been looking forward
to the evening very much.
“There’s been a change of plan,” Mr Thomas announced. “The
Master has taken to his bed. He’s not at all well. Lady Anwen has arranged for
his younger brother to step in and take the first dance. He is aware of his
duties, so this shouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it’ll be more like dancing with
George, than the Master, and you seem to be enjoying that.”
Bethan glanced up and met George’s sorrowful eyes. “Maybe I
can be permitted to have a dance with you once the family have gone back
upstairs?”
She looked in Mr Thomas’ direction, “The Head Butler and
Housekeeper generally retire early, so that everyone can relax and enjoy
themselves without feeling inhibited,” Bethan explained.
“Maybe on this occasion,” Mr Thomas said, “we could stay for
a dance, or two, but no more.”
Lady Anwen had kindly given Bethan her oldest gown. It had
been adjusted so many times the material was wearing thin. Bethan had asked
Gwyneth to repair it.
Nerys kindly offered to be Bethan’s lady’s maid.
“Thank you but I must speak to Gwyneth first,” Bethan said,
“Gwyneth, may I have a word?” The girl looked sour. “You’ve done a marvellous
job with Lady Anwen’s gown. Is needlework something you enjoy?”
“I do. It beats cleaning any day.”
“I can’t guarantee you won’t be needed to clean, but you’ll
be my first choice if there’s sewing or mending to be done.” For the first time
Gwyneth’s face broke into a smile, and she gave a little curtsey.
Nerys expertly
arranged Bethan’s hair, “You look like a real lady,” she said.
Mrs Jones excelled herself and put on a superb supper for
them all on the evening of Twelfth Night. Once the feast was over, the menfolk
carried the long wooden benches into the courtyard and the flagstone floor was
swept as the musicians set up by the fireplace. There would be no need for a
fire this evening as everyone would be warmed by the ale and the dancing.
Bethan had picked at her meal, anxious that she would make a
fool of herself. It would undo the work she’d done to present herself as the
wise and capable housekeeper.
The musical introduction began. The Master’s younger brother
stepped forward and gave her a bow. Taking her hand, he led her to the middle
of the dance floor. Bethan had never seen the gentleman up close. Although he
resembled the Master, he could have been his son, rather than his brother. The
maids would be so envious but her grandmother would have loved it!
Bethan took a deep breath and concentrated on the task in
hand. George had taught her well, but it was like her first lesson. She was
rigid with fear and didn’t relax until the ordeal was over. The family ascended
the stairs and the real fun began.
Dyfan stood on the bottom step, so he could be seen, and
became the caller for the evening. It took the pressure off, and meant anyone
could join in because Dyfan told them what they needed to do.
George appeared at her side, “Well done,” he whispered.
Aloud he said, “Mrs Morgan, may I have the honour of this dance?”
“Thank you, Mr Watkins, it would be a pleasure.”
For the first time George and Bethan were able to talk
without being overheard. Others promenaded around them. Even Mr Thomas had
scooped Nerys up in his arms and was leading her around the dance floor.
“I was worried the Master would want to stay and dance more,
or worse still, take you away with him.”
“I very much doubt that,” Bethan laughed. “I was so nervous;
he must have felt he was dancing with a washboard!”
“You seem relaxed now,”
“I am. Thank you so much for your help. I’m in your debt,”
she told him.
“Maybe you can help me,” George said, “In my previous
household, they held regularly monthly dances, not just for them upstairs, but
for servants too, obviously in separate venues. Everyone agreed it made the
servants feel like a big family and we worked together better.”
“I see,” Bethan said with a big smile.
“I thought you might, but what about Mr Thomas? We’d need
his approval.”
Together they glanced over toward the Head Butler who was
still dancing. This time with Gwyneth.
“I think, perhaps,” Bethan said, “that might not be as
difficult as we thought. Leave it with me.”
Bethan allowed herself two further dances and then slipped
out of the room to allow the maids their freedom from her watchful eyes.
Reluctant as she was to leave the dancing, she was looking forward to mulling
over George’s suggestion. This was exactly the sort of thing she’d been hoping
to introduce. She knew from experience how hard they all worked. An evening
such as tonight would lift the spirits. A happy household would be more
efficient to run which would, in turn, make her life easier…and yes, she’d have
the perfect excuse to dance with George once more.
About the author
As a child Sarah Swatridge had an imaginary friend called
Charlie who lived under the bath with his family. Ever since then, she’s been
creating unusual characters and setting them in awkward situations, challenging
them to come through it all with a smile on their face.
Her librarian parents encouraged her. She grew up in a house
full of books and her mother, Betty O’Rourke, was also a published writer. They
bought her an electric typewriter for her 21st and she’s never
looked back.
Sarah now has ten Large Print novels on the library shelves
published by Ulverscroft. She’s had more than a hundred short stories published
in women’s magazines, worldwide, and a number of plays performed by theatrical
groups.
Having studied history at Reading University, she’s often
drawn back to the past for her inspiration. She now lives in a quiet village
with her sports-mad husband and feels blessed to have both her sons and their
lovely long-term girlfriends within walking distance.
If you’ve enjoyed Sarah Swatridge’s style, you’ll find
longer stories (novellas) in the Large Print section of your local library.
You’ll find more short stories from Sarah on the Café Lit
Magazine website http://cafelit.co.uk
Her novels are available on Amazon bookstore
