The AltoBy Meltha
Abbie
1594: London, England"Wake up, slug-a-bed!" came the harsh voice as a swift kick connected with the child's backside, knocking her forcefully from her small pallet onto the stone kitchen floor with a thud. "Tis near dawn, and Mistress will be wanting to break her fast nigh on only an hour hence! Ye know yer duty, so set about it!"
"Aye, Nellie," said the child drowsily as she pulled herself from the tattered remnants of an old blanket that was more hole than whole.
With a shudder of disgust, she shook out her skirts to send the roaches that had taken up residence there during the night scuttling back into the shadows. No matter, she thought grimly. They would only come again tonight. Her face was nearly as black with grime as the enormous soot-darkened hearth that took up most of one wall of the kitchen, and she could see that the fire that should have been burning there was now only vaguely hot, light gray ash. She stuffed her feet into a pair of pattens at least three sizes too large for her and tromped into the courtyard to bring in kindling and logs from the woodpile. Normally, it would have taken her three trips to bring back the needed supply, and though she was still exhausted and aching from having to wash dishes until nearly two in the morning because of a ball the lord and lady of the house had thrown the night before, she thought it best to risk the splinters and sore back from bringing in the load all at once. Nellie's ugly face was looking murderous this morning, and she could guess why. A rather large portion of the leftover ale had found its way down the cook's throat last evening, which had led to her falling asleep and leaving Abbie, the scullery maid, to do all the washing up. The old woman obviously had awakened with a horrible headache. This wasn't an unusual circumstance, and the girl knew from experience that the slightest provocation would lead to a beating with the handle of the broom that stood beside the fireplace.
Unfortunately, provocation proved to be quite unnecessary.
"Abbie, ye foul slut! Move yer worthless arse faster, girl! I'll not tolerate gold-bricking from the likes of a fatherless guttersnipe!" the older woman hollered as she grabbed the child by the ear painfully and threw her across the room. "Now, get the plates down from the cupboard and fix up a tray for her Ladyship right quick or I'll tan the living hide off ye."
Abbie didn't bother to waste time with a reply as she scrambled to do the cook's bidding as quickly as possible, though she mentally hurled every crude name she could think of at her. In what seemed to be a heartbeat, the dishes were laid out in anticipation of the meal. She faltered for a moment, not sure if pointing out the oversight would be worse than letting it go.
"Nellie, won't his Lordship and the young Mistress also be wanting their trays?" she asked from the opposite side of the room, keeping her distance as much as possible.
She was lucky. The heavy iron griddle missed her this time. Nellie really must have drunk more ale than Abbie had thought for her aim to be so poor.
"Don't ye backtalk me, baggage! They'll not be up afore mid-morning after last night's festivities. Her Ladyship will only rise so early since she must meet with her cousin, the Lady Davenhilt, this morn," the cook fairly screamed. "Now, bring in the eggs and start to frying the bacon and making the bread as the fire should be hot enough by now."
With that, the cook did Abbie the great favor of passing out across the table, thankfully sparing the tray. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, the girl quickly set about putting the morning meal in order, but not before being sorely tempted to tie Nellie's apron strings to the chair once again. However, she remembered all too clearly the price she'd paid for that last time; her left shoulder still pained her in cold weather. It wasn't worth the trouble.
The meal was done in barely enough time to bring to her Ladyship, and still Nellie hadn't stirred from her place. The cook was still breathing Abbie could see, so her luck hadn't been perfect, but still, it was a vast improvement over most mornings. The child's hands shook slightly as she lifted the heavy wooden tray heaped with bacon and eggs. Her empty stomach growled loudly at the scent; she would eat in a few hours, but it would be significantly less than this.
The long walk up the main stairs and into her Ladyship's chambers was made slowly so she would not to trip and spill the food, a circumstance that was sure to cause her own breakfast to be taken away for carelessness. Abbie scowled at the long row of portraits that hung in the hall, all of them ancestors of the family, and all of them looking decidedly smug and disdainful. She had to fight the urge to throw a fistful of jam-slathered bread at the painting of the current Lord Worthshire's portrait, which captured his unhandsome face and oxen-like physique so well that he had nearly refused payment to the artist, but she managed to contain herself.
With a soft but firm kick, Abbie knocked on the door of Lady Alice Worthshire's bedchamber.
"Good morrow, my lady," called Abbie in what she hoped was an acceptable tone.
"Enter," said the woman's voice sleepily, and the scullery maid pushed open the door and brought the tray over to the bed where Lady Alice still lay, one arm thrown over her eyes to block the sunlight pouring through the window. Lord Henry Worthshire kept a separate apartment to himself at the other end of the hall, as was often the custom so as not to seem vulgar to the servants. It was also highly convenient for Lord Henry to smuggle his various female companions back and forth without the notice of his wife, who was, of course, fully aware of what was happening under her own roof, though she never deigned to raise a complaint so long as he didn't parade the women before her.
Lady Worthshire herself was a tall woman with reddish brown hair that was currently streaming across the pillow beside her. Abbie supposed that she was thought quite beautiful by most of the nobility, but there was something strangely pinched about her face, almost as though one always expected her to be about to sneeze. Her mouth was just a shade too hard and her eyes a touch too narrow not to communicate a definite coldness. Still, as mistresses of a household went, she hadn't treated Abbie horribly, but the girl did not entirely trust her.
"Put the tray on the table, Abbie," she said tiredly. "Where is Cook?"
"She hath stumbled upon a loose stone in the kitchen flooring and nurses a swollen foot. She sent me to serve thee, my lady," Abbie invented quickly. Lying was a skill that was important to master when working with Nellie if one wanted to remain healthy.
Throughout the meal, Abbie waited upon Lady Alice, pouring more wine for her and scuttling away finished dishes until finally the tray lay empty and her Ladyship appeared somewhat revived. The meal had taken very little time as she had eaten with great zest and speed.
"Run you to the courtyard and draw forth a fresh basin of water for me to wash my face and hands with, girl," the woman ordered offhandedly as she wandered to her wardrobe, "and call the maid to bring it to me and to bedeck me for the day. When you have finished this, then you shall awaken Millicent."
"Yes, Lady Worthshire," she said as she carried the slightly lighter tray from the room.
Millicent was the young Mistress of the house, a maiden of some sixteen years, and the ball the evening before had been in her honor, specifically with an eye towards drawing a suitor. Abbie knew that there would likely be a wedding in a few months at most; Millicent was at a ripe age for marriage, came from a noble and wealthy family, and her beauty was really quite astounding. She was slim and blonde with large blue eyes, a noble forehead, and a very regal bearing. The ball was a mere formality.
It happened that Abbie needed to pass Millicent's chamber on her way back to the kitchens, and she decided that perhaps she would simply finish the job of awakening the slumbering daughter now rather than having to climb the stairs once again after rousing the chambermaid. It was chance that made her do it, but it was a chance upon which hinged many fates. She set the tray down in the hall and knocked with her knuckles on the door.
"Mistress Millicent, good morrow," she called, not waiting for a response as she swung upon the door. "Your lady mother begs you to rise and..."
There was a loud shriek of shock, and this was everyone's undoing. Abbie clamped her hand over her mouth, but the damage was already done. Mistress Millicent was most definitely not alone. Her companion was the youngest son of Sir Grashill, Frederick, and the scullery maid had happened to catch the pair as Master Fredrick was proving his ardor to the decidedly no-longer-maiden Millicent for what was to be the last of three times since he'd climbed her trellis window at midnight.
"You stupid little fool," the compromised lady hissed between her teeth as racing footsteps grew louder with each passing moment. Master Fredrick Grashill, for his part, sprang from the bed with remarkable speed for someone who had slept but little the night before and began pulling on his leggings.
It was this scene which greeted Lady Alice's eyes as she sped through the door, and her mouth hung open in shock for a split second before her face set determinedly and she shut the door.
"You," she barked quickly at Frederick, "conceal thyself beneath the bed and move not one of thy muscles if thou wishest to retain all the parts of a man. Millicent, speak not a word."
He dove at once beneath the small bed frame, pulling his jerkin quickly after him. No sooner did his foot disappear beneath the counterpane than the door burst open again and Lord Henry appeared in the room.
"What has passed here?" he asked angrily. "I did assume that robbers had tried to steal my dear daughter, the jewel of my house, but I find naught but the scullery maid."
If he had perhaps said some other thing, Lady Worthshire might not have hit upon the plan, but as things stood, she saw a way to save all.
"Not steal thy daughter, good husband, no, but steal, aye, that is right. Tis this wench who reeks of filth that is the culprit," she said quickly, her eyes scanning the room quickly for her quarry.
"How now?" asked Lord Henry. "What say you?"
Lady Alice, if women had been allowed on the stage, would have made a marvelous actress. The scene she played was brilliant, and her quick handwork would have made her a wonderful conjurer of tricks. She placed her hands on the back of the chair that sat before Millicent's dressing table and leaned towards her husband with a look of perfect earnestness.
"Would thou believe, dear husband, that this one who appears to be a mere babe, who we have coddled and cosseted and treated with all Christian charity in her fatherless condition, didst try to steal the very necklace that thy daughter wore last eve? When Millicent did surprise the little sinner, she did scream in terror at being found out."
Abbie was completely confused. Of course she had seen the monumentally large necklace that Millicent had worn to the ball last night. Set with half a dozen rubies and a great pearl all fixed in heavy gold, it was impossible to miss and had been chosen for her to wear as an advertisement of her family's fortunes. However, Abigail had never dreamed of even touching the thing. Frankly, she considered it ludicrously ugly despite its value, but besides this she had not been born a fool. It had been resting on the corner of the dressing table; she had seen it glinting brightly from its case out of the corner of her eye as Master Frederick had been burrowing under the bed.
But it was most definitely not there now.
"See for thyself, dearest Henry," Lady Alice said evenly as she stood behind Abbie and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "She hath hid it in the folds of her skirts."
"Is this truth, Abigail?" he asked sternly. "Dost thou confess this act?"
"Nay, sir," said the very confused child. "I have not taken the necklace. My lady must be mistaken in some wise."
"Then shake out thy skirts, child," he said.
Abbie was glad to comply with his order since it would prove her innocence, but she didn't count on Lady Alice's slight of hand. No sooner did Abbie take hold of her skirt and begin to shake it thoroughly when she felt the hand on her shoulder drop something down the back of her dress, something cold and scratchy that quickly fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
"You see!" cried Lady Alice triumphantly. "Twas there even as she did lie to thee!"
Lord Henry bent and picked up the shining golden necklace, staring at it furiously. He stood straight once more, then cracked the child sharply across the face with the back of his hand. Abbie was hurled to the floor by the force of the blow, and her lip began to bleed a small river across the stones. She was too dazed and terrified to speak.
"'Spare the rod, spoil the child,'" he shouted as his face turned purple. "I will not tolerate a liar and a thief in my household. Wife, send to the sheriff to see she is duly punished."
"Aye, I will, husband," she replied. "She shall not leave my sight until then."
"Tis well," said the man as he left the room. "I am right well pleased that twas caught now rather than after she had a chance to grow in her treachery. Who knows what else she may have done given time?"
Lady Alice waited a moment and then shut the door once more.
"Master Frederick, you shall robe yourself and leave with all quietness through the window. Do not think of returning here," she said coldly.
Frederick, who was still shaking a bit, put up no argument to this and disappeared at once.
"Millicent, thou hast nearly lost all this morn. Thy foolishness almost cost thee the hand of Sir Grashill's eldest son, Stephen. He did ask thy father for marriage to thee last night, and your father did consent. Had your father seen this, he would, fool that he is, have reneged upon this agreement out of honor and either forced thee to marry that wastrel or thrown thee out of doors. As it is, all is well. Thy marriage will take place in a fortnight, and if thou barest a child, all will think tis thy husband's."
"Aye, mother," Millicent said demurely. "I humbly thank thee for thy kindness."
"As for you, scullery maid," she said, rounding on Abbie, who still lay bleeding on the floor, "if you speak a word of what has passed here, e'en one, e'en to no one but the empty air or God Himself, I assure you, the trials you are about to go through shalt seem as a pleasant day in the fine air. Dost understand?"
Abbie nodded in terror as she saw the merciless anger in her ladyship's eyes. In later years she could never remember how they made their way from Millicent's chamber to the doorstep, but she did recall sitting utterly still upon the doorstep with Lady Alice hovering vengefully behind her, waiting for the maid to return with the sheriff. At some point, she had begun to shake violently and couldn't stop herself in spite of her ladyship's commands and slaps. She remembered being dimly aware of the rest of the household staff, even old Nellie, standing behind the pair of them in the entryway, looking down at her with expressions of varying interest. After what seemed ages, she saw a pair of unfamiliar, horse manure-stained black boots in front of her eyes, and she knew the sheriff had arrived.
"Lady Worthshire, your 'umble servant," said the man with a deep bow. "What's the trouble?"
"This ungrateful brat hath been caught in the very act of a great theft, and it is my wish that she be severely taught the error of her ways before her soul is so besmirched with sin that she is fit for naught but hell e'en at so young an age," said Lady Alice with a small show of sorrow as she dabbed at her completely dry eyes with her handkerchief.
"Indeed. Best to correct the fault in the young than see the fruits of it in the grown," said the man asked in a voice that sounded far too eager.
"Please," said Abbie, finding her voice at last, "I did nothing wrong! I beg thee mercy!"
"You see how the baggage lies?" said Lady Alice as she shook her head. "Tis a bad case. You must believe naught that she would say, the little perjurer."
"Aye, I know better than to listen to the likes of 'er, Lady Worthshire" he assured her. "How shall I deal with 'er?"
As the lady looked down upon the child before her, she knitted her brows together in consideration for a moment.
"I believe that the stocks are in order for full two days at the least," she responded firmly. "Dost thou believe this shall suffice?"
"Aye. Twill put her right, I have no doubt," he said as he picked the child up savagely and dragged her off through the street.
It took only a small time for the people who were going about their business near one of the city's many markets to hear the small girl pleading and yelling at the top of her lungs as the sheriff pulled her onward towards the center of the market square where the stocks sat. A fairly good-sized and very curious crowd, in fact, trailed behind the pair by the time they reached their destination.
"Good people, though you might be 'ard-pressed to believe it, this child is naught but a pint-sized thief and liar. For 'er benefit, and the benefit of the people of London who would suffer by 'er 'ands if she were allowed to continue 'er ways, she 'as been ordered by the family what cares for 'er to be locked in the stocks for the next two days. Do with 'er as ye will," called the sheriff as he roughly threw Abbie onto a bench and clapped closed the stocks around her ankles and wrists, pinioning her in place.
Two days doesn't sound like a great deal of time, perhaps. If one were told they were going to die in two days, it would certainly seem like far too short a time to accomplish much of anything. Abbie, on the other hand, spent two days in perfect hell and had no concept of the possibility of life happening after those days.
The "good people" as the sheriff had called them took a few hours before they began to come around. It began with a couple carrot pairings that someone tossed at her almost gently. With time, though, the pace picked up considerably as the populace seemed to treat her more and more as a rubbish dump. After a while, Abbie didn't bother to even react to the garbage that was thrown at her: apple cores, rotting vegetables, even the filth that the horses left in the streets were tossed at her in turn as though it were the most pleasant game in the world.
Somewhere about mid-day, the rain began. At first, Abbie was actually grateful for this as it washed away some of the grime and allowed her to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, but as the rain continued for hours she was soaked to the skin. The only good thing about it was the weather kept most of the citizenry indoors so the hail of refuse became less frequent.
As the sun began to set, the rain finally stopped, but the air was horribly chill, and Abbie began to shiver in her wet things. More than once she called out for help to passersby, but they either ignored her or laughed. By the time total darkness had swept over the city, Abbie, who was not known for being cowardly, had begun to shake yet more violently and not just with the cold. Every footfall sounded to her like the approach of a maddened murderer, and each small sound was magnified so greatly in her ears that it seemed like a cannon blast. The moonlight made shadows fall strangely around the square, and anyone who passed seemed strangely spectral and otherworldly.
Not long after a clock had tolled three far off in the muffled distance, Abbie had the prickling sensation that she was being watched closely from across the open space. Her eyes fought to make out a form in the blackness, but she saw nothing. Then, briefly, for a single instant, she thought she saw two pairs of golden eyes glimmering out at her from the dark, eyes unlike anything she had ever seen, either human or animal. She was about to scream when they simply winked out of existence. Terrified, the child fainted, slumping forward onto her outstretched arms.
When the cold dawn broke the next morning, Abbie was awakened by a splash of cold water over her face. The sheriff had returned with a bucket of water, and her offered her two dippers of it before he left. The shivers that had begun the night before had not stopped, and Abbie dimly recognized that she was now ill. A fever was making her brow damp with sweat, and as the sun rose in a completely cloudless sky, the heat became oppressive. Still sitting in the midst of the squalor of the day before, Abbie soon found that the rats were so drawn to the smell that they paid no heed to her completely ineffectual attempts to scare them away. By noon, the stink from the piles around her and from herself was horrible, and the heat reflecting from the stone cobbles made the air waver in an unreal way before her eyes. More abuse and garbage were thrown at her throughout the day, and her back, arms, and legs ached horribly.
By the time night came round once more, she would almost have been happy if there had been another rainstorm. She was parched, and sleep would not come. Her mind moved in the strange fog of fever, and she thought about her home.
It was about midnight when she had run out of all the possible things she would like to do to Lord and Lady Worthshire and their lovely daughter Millicent if she had the chance and the strength. Fury had formed a hard knot in her chest, and it was almost succeeding in keeping her sane. She was going to see the dawn, she was going to be free, because someday she was going to pay them back with interest-not just the noble Worthshires but the whole of London.
A few hours before dawn, she drifted to a fretful sleep, plagued by dreams of the golden-eyed beings she had thought she'd seen the night before. "Nay," said one of them in her dream, "I'll not eat something so covered in dirt as that! Come, let's find better quarry." Abbie shifted uncomfortably again and found that the sunrise was beginning to come at last. The sheriff arrived with his dippers of water again, but he did not set her free. Her ladyship had said two full days, and it was not until mid-morning when he released her from the stocks.
"I do 'ope as ye 'ave learned from this," he declared in ringing tones for the benefit of everyone around, "that this and worse will befall all who steal and lie. Yer lucky, brat, for if ye were grown, for this selfsame crime ye'd have been whipped bloody and like as not 'ad yer nose slit or ears cut off into the bargain. Go you 'ome to your lady and beg 'er forgiveness upon ye, and perhaps she shall be kind to ye, though yer befouled soul warrants it not."
"If my soul be foul and hers fair, then may I have no soul at all," she thought angrily.
The sheriff needed to carry her home since her legs were so painful she couldn't walk. Lady Alice did not bother to see her when she arrived, and the child was placed back on her pallet in the kitchen without ceremony. Nellie took one look at her and laughed loudly, saying that just this once she would let her shirk her duties but she must be up all the earlier the next day.
In the dead of that night, when Abbie's limbs had once more grown nearly sensible again, she crept brokenly from her bed. Moving with complete silence, she ignored the sleeping cook and bundled together in a napkin two leftover loaves of bread, a half dozen leeks, and a few apples. She carefully moved aside a loose brick beside the fire and took out a few coins that she had found on the street and kept there secretly. She cast a wary eye at the silver drawer and took five spoons from it, hiding them in her apron. Before leaving the kitchen, she looked back at Nellie, who lay sprawled on her more comfortable cot in the center of the room. With a triumphant grin, she tied the laces of the cook's shoes together and bolted out the door and into the night, intent upon never setting foot in the house of Lord and Lady Worthshire again.
Abbie left behind her the trials and cruelties of the only home she could ever remember, but her life was to be far from easy. Over the next weeks, though no real search was ever mounted for her, a different pursuer hounded her: sickness. Weakened by her punishment and unable to find enough food of shelter, she quickly caught measles. It was through sheer determination and luck that she was able to withstand and recover from the disease, but, as it so often did in those days, it left her sterile. However, this condition was to prove most useful in the years ahead.