Ruined

First Meeting

Eleanor quietly toes up the stairs, wincing as the fourth one creaks. Even she doesn't know why she's so tentative; these are her fellow servants. 

Above her, she hears the jolly sound of laughter. Were they already laughing at her? Had they somehow overheard her conversation with Eva and thought her odd?

It couldn't be. But even so, she reflected back on her words.

"Oh, Agatha is a dear! And we're so lucky to have such a lovely butler, or such an incompetent one, who don't notice a bit o' beef missing from inventory!" one voice rose. Eleanor could almost hear the wink in the jest. 

It held an East-end accent, relieving Eleanor from her inner stress at possibly being the only 'common-sounding' one.

"Well, my dear cook, I couldn't stomach another bland broth this week. But I suppose that's what I get for eating with you lot..." muttered a deeper, masculine voice. 

"Ah, but by sacrificing your luxuries, and your dining room, dear butler, you get all of us as friends, and a common room to boot!"

"That I never get to use!" The butler said back, but there was humour to his voice. 

Eleanor had never heard of a butler being part of the general staff before, they were rumoured to be rather haughty! They were supposed to eat better food and eat it away from the common staff. Some even had separate quarters entirely! She'd heard that servants couldn't even speak to them unless they were addressed first, and they were to stop eating the second the butler did. 

She had been fearing the shadows looming in her mind of strict superiors. 

But Eleanor was pleased she had been wrong - it meant less intimidation, of which she had quite the abundance. 

As she entered the room, she was shocked at how few the staff members were. There were just 11 people around the table! She'd pictured a crowd of 50 waiting for her, but perhaps just a few ate at a time?

For a few moments, nobody even noticed her presence, but too soon, all eyes were on her and the woman who had been speaking just a moment ago looked over in worry. The reason for this nervousness was unclear to Eleanor; the woman looked about five-and-thirty after all.

"Oh dear! I'd thank you dearly if you weren't to tattle on what I can presume you just 'heard! It was just a teeny bit o' beef, I swear it," she exclaimed.

Eleanor's mouth stood agape at her assumptions.

"Dear Lord, of course not! I'd never even dream of it, I'm new here and certainly no Puritan, I simply don't have the right! I send but my deepest apologies for your worry,"

She hoped this incident wouldn't set them off badly.

  Eleanor noticed a man in gardener's apparel wink at his friend from across the table and mutter something quietly. 

A young girl was sat on the far end of the table. She only looked about 15 years of age, but the scowl of an angry mother marred her otherwise pretty face. Her idle hand stirred the soup in her bowl as she scoffed at the cook.

"Why on earth are you grovelling at her, Miss Pattison? Just look at her! I've never seen someone so dishevelled in my life!" she snapped, her voice dripping with self-held superiority.

Eleanor  knew this maid must be exaggerating. Had the grumpy girl never walked the streets of London? Seen the barefoot filthy men who seemed to have been wearing the same rags their whole life? Heard the wails of women, their clothes snatched off them and their hair in one knot? The babes wrapped in but a fraying piece of dirty cloth?