The Daily Grind
The following story imagines a world where Grand Duke Alexander Alexandrovich Romanov, second son of Alexander III of Russia, did not die of meningitis before his first birthday in 1870.
October 1913.
The daily grind. Working, working, working until we fall onto our beds at the end of the day and sink into deep sleep, only to be woken again at 6am the next day to begin that grind again. Meanwhile the nobles upstairs live in luxury, attending balls, dinners, shoots and hunts.
My name is Archie, short for Archibald, and I was the second footman at Malton Hall, the home of the Caldwell family in Yorkshire. The Caldwell family were one of the oldest and biggest landowners in the north of England, their lineage dating back to the Norman Conquests.
Edward Caldwell, the Earl of Malton and head of the family, was incredibly wealthy and (you would think) very powerful with a seat in the House of Lords. Until the 1906 General Election, he had been a junior minister rising through the ranks in the Conservative government and had been touted as a future foreign secretary – or even prime minister. But the 1906 election had been a Liberal landslide and the Tories were banished to the political wilderness, taking with them the earl’s political ambitions. Since then, the Liberals had brought in sweeping labour reforms (making life better for us downstairs!) and had asserted the supremacy of the House of Commons over the House of Lords.
And it was since then that Earl Edward Caldwell had to sunk into a bitter depression. He is the man whose family I serve, and I serve it with every fibre of my being, every single day, every day of the year, with one day off for Christmas and one for Easter.
Right now, we were clearing away breakfast. His lordship, the earl, his daughter Lady Elizabeth and his son Lord William were finishing their newspapers as we gathered the dishes around them. My colleague, the first footman (and total fucking shit), Richard, was gathering the plates and I the cups and saucers. This all under the watchful eye of Mr. Cuthbertson, the house butler (and miserable stiff prick). The room was deadly quiet except for the chink of the china we were clearing away and I could see that the earl was looking over his newspaper, frowning at us.
The Earl of Malton was a tall, handsome man of forty-four, with blonde hair (always combed in impeccable style), a set of dark blue eyes with a stern face that had the tendency to set one’s teeth on edge, terrify but also enrapture. Quite simply, he was a very attractive. But this morning, I could tell he was in a foul mood and there was tension in the dining room. This was nowadays his most common temperament, especially since his favourite son and heir had died in the Titanic disaster the year before. This had also hit his wife, the Countess of Malton (also in her early forties), particularly hard and since then their marriage had broken down irretrievably. They HATED each other now. Perhaps he and the countess had had another argument. The Earl of Malton did tend to fly off the handle into a rage, often taking it out on his wife or his children
Maybe one of his mischievous remaining children, Lord William or Lady Elizabeth, had done something to annoy or embarrass him. His favourite son, Lord George Caldwell, had died at the age of twenty-one in the freezing waters of the Atlantic after having reportedly helped many women and children to safety in the lifeboats. It had shaken the whole household; Lord George was very much liked by everyone.
William was twenty years old and having previously just been addressed as ‘Mr. Caldwell’ (being the second son) was now addressed as ‘Lord William’. He and Lady Elizabeth, eighteen, were also much loved by the countess and staff, but it was obvious that George had always been the earl’s pride and joy. His death had shaken him to his very core. His relationship with his other children had gone from being one of indifference to one of extreme distance and coldness. He constantly picked on William for not matching up to his brother whilst almost completely ignoring Elizabeth.
This morning, I could sense something was boiling beneath the surface, rising up in his chest as we cleared away the plates. As I was just walking around Richard to get the last set of cups from Lady Elizabeth, he subtly stuck his foot out and I caught the edge of it. I stumbled with the cups I was holding and knocked into the back of Lady Elizabeth’s chair but managed to steady myself.
‘Whoops!’ I stammered. ‘Do forgive my clumsiness, your ladyship.’ I looked down and saw Lady Elizabeth staring open mouthed at her father, seated at the head of the table. My heart sank. I looked across and saw that some of the coffee at the bottom of one of the cups I was holding had found its way onto the earl’s white winged collar and cravat. I almost shat myself.
There was complete silence as the earl just stared down at the stain then looked back up at me.
Cuthbertson rushed in to wipe away the coffee. ’I do apologise for Archibald, your lordship, I will see to it that he is properly punished. He said dabbing the earl’s collar with a cloth he had handy.
‘Get off me, Cuthbertson!’ shouted the earl, jumping up from the table. ‘Don’t fucking try and clean it, it will make it worse!’ His lordship rounded on me. ‘You,’ He said, his face contorted with fury. He strode up to me, I started to back away in terror, and he struck my face with the back of his hand. The cups and saucers that I was still holding tumbled out of my hands and onto the floor, smashing into little pieces and spilling their contents onto the beautiful Persian rug that spanned the floor of the dining room.
I was so stunned that I just stared at the earl, who stared straight back at me, breathing heavily.
‘My lord, I’m so—,’ Cuthbertson started.
But the earl turned on his heel and stormed out of the room shouting: ‘Get Brice to dress me in a new shirt now!’
There seemed to then be an endless pause, I could feel the whole rooms gaze shift from the door, to me. I suddenly realised about the smashed cups on the floor.
‘You deserved that.’ Cuthbertson spat. ‘Help me clear this up, you imbecile.’
‘You should be more careful, Archibald.’ Richard said, a smirk creeping across his slimy face.
‘Go downstairs now and get us everything we need to clear this mess up.’ Cuthbertson ordered, obviously furious that I had been the cause of wrath directed at him.
I looked at Lord William and Lady Elizabeth and they were looking at me with a mixture of pity and relief – relief that they weren’t on the receiving end of that rage. Elizabeth got up from the table, got down onto her knees and started gathering up the pieces of china.
‘Your ladyship, please don’t risk cutting yourself!’ Cuthbertson fretted. ‘Leave this to us! This is our job.’
‘It’s not going to kill me, Cuthbertson,’ Elizabeth said, smiling up at me.
I had always liked the Caldwell children; they had always been kind to me. Despite their circumstances they were very down-to-earth and undemanding, and I had heard that they had been that way all through their lives and that this was due to their wonderful mother’s influence. Their kindness made working in this big house just a little bit easier.
As I descended the stone stairs into the basement (the servant’s quarters) I was still reeling. The earl had struck me. Memories of my father beating me as a child flooded back like a fast-moving motion picture across my eyes. Emotion swelled in my chest as the old, familiar feeling of shame washed over me. I was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when tears began to well up uncontrollably in my eyes and a sob escaped my lips. Luckily, a lavatory was just adjacent which I quickly ducked into.
I locked the door and steadied myself by gripping the sides of the sink. I looked into the mirror. Hot tears stung my cheeks as I furiously cursed myself for letting my emotions take over me like that. But I couldn’t help it. I tended to wear my heart on my sleeve and so this happened pretty often. It’s partly why the other male servants thought I was a “wetty” and a “sissy boy”. This is exactly what my father had mocked me for when I was a child. What was even more mortifying was that if they knew my deepest, darkest secret, those names would have even more justification and I would find myself ostracised not just from this house, but from the whole of society.
#
‘Archie, come on, loads of us have been struck by his lordship.’ Charlotte, my best friend and only ally downstairs, said as she poured me a cup of tea in the servants dining room after everyone else had gone to bed. ‘It doesn’t make you special.’
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Charlotte always had a way of cheering me up. She also, unlike me, came from Yorkshire, and so she had that wonderful accent that always seemed to make everything in life seem so much less dramatic than it actually was.
‘I know, I know. I think I was just a bit shocked.’ I said, looking down at my cuppa.
There was a pause. Then Charlotte said quietly: ‘Want something a bit stronger?’
‘What’s going on in here?’ A booming voice said. It was Cuthbertson in his pyjamas, standing in the doorway to the dining room.
‘We were just having a chat before bed, Mr. Cuthbertson,’ Charlotte said, sweetly.
‘It’s getting late,’ Cuthbertson replied. ‘And his lordship has an announcement he needs to make to all of us in the morning.’
‘We won’t take much longer, Mr Cuthbertson,’ Charlotte quipped, dialling up her pleasantest voice. ‘We were just going over Archie’s mishap today.’
Another pause. ‘See that you do. Goodnight,’ Cuthbertson grunted with a curt nod. With that he turned on his heels and went upstairs.
I turned to Charlotte. ‘What do you mean something stronger?’
Charlotte stood up and went into the larder. Moments later she brought out a bottle of red wine. It didn’t look expensive, but I was still shocked.
‘Charlotte! What are you doing?’ I stammered. ‘We’ll get in so much trouble if Cuthbertson finds out!’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, he won’t find out,’ Charlotte said coolly. She seemed effortlessly at ease.
If I was… normal, I would really want to fuck her. Her blonde hair was worn in a simple, yet tasteful style as was expected of lady’s maids and her delicate features (punctuated by two large green eyes) seemed worn with a cheeky grin. She wore her lady’s maids’ uniform, which was frumpy at the best of times, as if it were a chic handwoven Italian masterpiece. The length of the black dress revealed just enough of her stockinged legs to be suggestive but at the same time elegant.
‘How can you possibly know that?’ I asked, looking around at the entrances to the servants dining room to make sure we weren’t being observed.
As Charlotte sat down across from me with the wine, she punctuated every word of her sentence with a movement which seemed to make her all the cheekier. ‘Because. I have Cuthbertson wrapped – around – my little – finger. I just have to whisper in his ear, and he creams his pants.’
I hesitated. ‘Alright. One glass.’
Charlotte smiled her cheeky smile once more and set about uncorking the bottle. She poured us each a glass and I took a small sip. It was heaven. I lit a cigarette and my anxieties seemed to melt away as I sank into my chair with a sigh.
‘Feel better?’ Charlotte asked, keeping the cheeky curl of her smile.
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I haven’t tasted wine this good for a long time. In fact, I haven’t drunk wine for a long time.’
Before I knew it, we were another bottle down and absolutely twatted. We, as servants, never got the chance to drink so we had very low tolerances.
As we stumbled upstairs to our living quarters in the attic rooms, Charlotte stopped on the floor where the family lived. She opened the door from the servant’s cold stone stairs to the red-carpeted corridor of the noble’s rooms.
‘What… are you… are you doing?’ I slurred.
Charlotte swayed around to look at me, her eyes drooping. I would have laughed if I wasn’t almost paralytic. ‘You know… I work on this floor every single d…’ Charlotte hiccupped. ‘Every single day. But I’ve never actually got to… got to look at all of the stuff they have.’
‘Where are you-’ I started, but then Charlotte suddenly wretched and threw up down my arm. ‘Oh my God!’ I hissed. ‘What the fuck.’
‘Oops.’ Charlotte stammered. She seemed to straighten up as her warm sick dribbled down my shirt sleeve as if it had done her a world of good. ‘Sorry.’
I couldn’t help but wretch myself and, even though it hadn’t felt sick, I suddenly vomited… on Charlotte’s shoulder.
‘What the…’ Charlotte shouted but then hushed herself and whispered: ‘You bastard. Look at my dress’
‘Look… at my shirt!’ I spluttered.
‘I need to go and wash this off.’ Charlotte stumbled back down the stairs towards the loo.
I still smelt like vomit and it made me wretch again. I had to get the shirt off. I don’t know why but I took it off there and then, in the doorway to the family’s rooms.
‘Archibald!’ A deep voice thundered behind me.
My heart sank as I froze. My reactions were a little slow, but I managed to turn around just fast enough to see the earl marching down the corridor, in his dressing gown, his face contorted with rage. Before I knew it, I was shoved up against the wall, the earl’s hand clasped around my throat.
‘Do you have any idea what fucking time it is, you insolent little rat,’ the earl bellowed.
‘I’m sorry your lordship!’ I stammered.
He struck me across the face again. The pain was numbed because of my near-paralytic state of drunkenness, but I knew it was going to hurt in the morning.
I kept looking to the side as I braced myself for more blows, but instead I felt the front of the earl’s dressing gown seem to fall open. I could feel the heat of the earl’s body, his naked chest against mine! I looked up at him, trembling. I had never seen a man so in a rage but also so determined. My breathing seemed to stop as I kept his gaze, transfixed by his deep blue eyes.
‘I’m going to get some use out of you before I send you packing,’ the earl said as his mouth twisted into a smile.
‘Edward.’ I heard a female voice say.
Then, as suddenly as he had forced himself upon me, the earl was off me, straightened up and facing down the corridor. I slumped down the wall, reeling. I looked round the earl and I saw his wife, the Countess of Malton, Marianna Caldwell, standing looking coldly at her husband.
‘What are you doing with that poor boy?’ she asked.
‘Nothing he didn’t deserve,’ the earl huffed.
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ the countess continued frostily. ‘I’m sure he didn’t do anything to warrant the perverse attentions of your crotch.’
‘He’s blindingly drunk, Marianna. He stole alcohol,’ the earl said through gritted teeth.
‘Can you blame him, when you’ve treated him so badly?’ As she came down the corridor, one could see she was over a foot smaller than her broad, athletic husband, but that didn’t stop her staring daggers up at him as she approached us. There was a tense pause as she held the earl’s gaze and then turned and bent down to help me up.
‘What are you doing?’ the earl hissed. ‘You can’t seriously be defending him!’
‘What I’m doing…’ the countess looking at me and then back up at her husband, ‘is saving this boy from indecent assault. Last time I checked, servants in this country were allowed to go about their jobs without fear of being attacked by their employer… and work without fear of sexual advances. To my knowledge those rights are enshrined in law. I thought a parliamentarian like yourself would remember something like that. Especially something that his own party brought in.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do in my own house.’ The earl looked as if he was about to hit the countess.
‘Your house… is my house too’ replied the countess holding the earl’s gaze. ‘And if you lay a finger on this boy again, my hand might just slip… and write a letter to my friend the editor of The Times.’
The earl continued to look like he was going to punch his wife, until he turned on his heel and stormed off down the corridor to his bedroom.
The countess turned to me.
‘Thank you so much, your ladyship,’ I stammered. After that drama I no longer felt very drunk, and I could not believe her kindness.
‘If you have any more problems, Archie, come straight to me,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now you better get off to bed. We have an important guest coming in the morning!’ With a last smile and a squeeze of my arm she turned and walked back to her bedroom.
The large wooden grandfather clock behind me chimed. I turned around to see that it was midnight. I better get off to bed.
