Dead Man's Bells

The Cook & The Maid

The Head Maid

Her purse. She was always forgetting her purse. Agitated she rummaged around in her bag and through her coat pockets, but she knew, like always, she had left it in her room. With dismay, she turned to look up at the stairs. She knew that, with her old joints, it would take her at least five minutes to get to her quarters in the attic. But, thanks to some angelic miracle, Miss Peridot rounded the corner. A polite smile played on her lips, as she began to speak. 'Katherine, I was wondering if you'd mind accompanying me to town today?' She inquired. 'It would, of course, be my treat.' She added with a slight knowing lift of an eyebrow. The dread of struggling up stairs vanished and delight took its place, as Katherine realized she would no longer need her purse. 'It would be my pleasure.' She replied and joy lit up Miss Peridot's eyes.
Their ride to town was short and they mostly spoke about Katherine's home life and interests. Miss Peridot listened intently and a comfort fell about Katherine. She rattled on about her week's grunt work and did not feel rude complaining about it in front of her, as she did not warn her not to speak in such a way or tell her that it was frivolous complaining when it would not help. Instead Miss Peridot nodded and laughed, which was frankly quite refreshing. Katherine decided, that she was indeed, developing a liking for the young girl. They wondered down the cobble streets and stopped to look at the dresses in a fancy dress makers, when suddenly Katherine's knees buckled beneath her, sending a flash of pain to her legs, making her cry out. Miss Peridot frantically grabbed her elbows before she could fall. ' My goodness!' She exclaimed, 'are you alright?' The softness of her voice calmed Katherine, 'yes, don't worry, I've just been standing for too long is all.'
Katherine could not believe she had just made herself so vulnerable, in front of most likely her biggest rival at work. But Miss Peridot was nothing but gracious, and did not press the situation further. She suggested they had tea at a cafe, and the singular act of care made Katherine feel a surge of guilt. How could she think so horribly of a sweet girl like her? She had cared for so many others she had forgotten what it was like to be cared for. Perhaps she could trust Miss Peridot.

The Cook

On a Wednesday, Edmund fell ill. It as only a flew, but Mrs Craig-Hart barely acknowledged it, the neglect did not go unnoticed by the cook Ms Robinson, who became especially invested in his health, bringing him soups and herbal remedies. Mrs Robinson was a thin, withering lady in her mid 40s. Her clothes hung off her like huge drapes and her bony delicate fingers carefully spooned the hot brew into Edmunds mouth. Her compassion seem to have a flicker of sadness within it, and her eyes were almost distant as she stoked Edmund's face in a motherly fashion, before quickly snatching her fingers back, remembering where she was and mumbled an excuse to leave. 
She couldn't believe that she lost control so easily, but seeing him lie there brought back so many memories she had tried to push out of her mind or lock away. It still hurt everyday, like a knife piercing into her heart letting her sorrow flow out like a river, waking up to silence, going home to an empty house. Sometimes she thought the pure silence would deafen her, so she kept away, stayed at work for the longest hours and came home only to sleep. Her early commitment to her job, meant she had no family to grieve with or friends to support her.
By Friday Edmund was still bed ridden and worry clouded Ms Robinson's mind. She could not focus or immerse herself into baking, when the constant anxiety tickled the back of her mind. Finally she could no longer take it and summoned the vicar to pray for him. He arrived after dinner, the fresh drizzle of rain coating his jacket and the smell of burning oil from his oil lamp followed him into the house. The cook hurried him up to Edmund's room, but was ushered out as he began to clear the room. She picked up a stool and placed it by the bedroom door. She sat there wringing her hands nervously awaiting the vicar's prognosis. She was slowly seeping into a pit of black dreamless sleep, when a pat on her shoulder jerked her awake. 'I have prayed for him and will continue to do so.' He whispered, 'I believe God will help this young boy.' A sense of relief rushed through her body and suddenly the exhaustion of being on alert for so long flooded her senses. But she persistently stayed up all night with Edmund, not allowing him to slip away.