So, Anne stood silently as the bed curtains were opened and Philipa turned her head to look at the assembled staff. Her eyes roamed each of them, inspecting their uniformed livery from pressed cap to skirt hem. Philipa missed nothing. Her lips never seemed to smile and her face bore the wrinkles to prove it. A painting in the lower hall showed her in her youth when she had been a bride, but there was little of that sparkle left in the woman before her. Anne watched Philipa through her eyelashes as the line of maids lowered their heads in deference.
“My feet were cold last night.”
The covers were drawn back as the lady sat up. Plump pillows were moved behind her back as she adjusted her position.
“The fire was not laid correctly; the coals lost their heat.”
None of the maids said a word. They lowered their heads each time Philipa spoke as they moved in a practiced team around the chamber. The heavy tapestry curtains were pulled aside with a care for how expensive such fabric was. The huge fireplace was quickly cleaned of its ashes and another fire built to warm the chamber. Anne waited until the lady looked settled before placing the tray across her lap. She was careful to make sure that the small brass legs of the serving tray didn’t touch either of her mistress’s legs but slid smoothly onto either side to hold the tray above Philipa’s thighs.
The lady began to inspect what was hidden beneath the polished silver domes on her morning tray. Her lips pressed into a hard line as she dropped one dome back over whatever the cook had prepared.
“Tell the cook to present herself at noon.”
Every maid tensed just the slightest amount because they had all been the unfortunate recipients of the lady’s displeasure before. The cook would not have a pleasant day. Philipa began eating one of the offerings while she watched the servants with a critical eye. Every one of them had learned to move on carefully soft steps, so as to not bring notice to themselves. All eyes were kept downcast for fear that the mistress might single them out.
“I am ready to rise.” Philipa dropped her eating wares with a clatter. The tray was removed almost in the same instant. Another maid pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed.
Anne joined the maids bringing in water to begin dressing the mistress. Depending on Philipa’s mood, it might take up to two hours to dress their mistress. The maids flowed around Philipa cleansing her feet and hands before easing the knitted stockings up each of her legs. A fine chemise was lowered over her head and a quilted petticoat followed. It was a lovely garment, the harsher wool covered with expensive cotton from India and thousands of tiny stitches worked in pleasing designs to hold it together. Even in early spring it was needed to keep the lady warm. Warwickshire was the last estate under English rule before the land belonged to Scotland. The lord of the manor was constantly being summoned to court because of his importance as a border lord.
Anne missed her father greatly.
Times were good when the earl was in residence. Her lips twitched and she clamped them back into a firm line lest she offend Philipa. But her heart was happy as she thought about her father. Her mother was always filled with joy when he returned, even dancing at her age when the front riders burst through the gate to announce the approach of the lord of the manor. He had been at court all winter. Four long months of Philipa’s sour disposition to tolerate without his loving attention. He did adore her and her siblings but clung to tradition. Philipa was the lady of the house, so Anne fell under her direction.
Still, it was better than many others had. She had a roof over her head and food on the servants’ table below. There was a good wool dress on her back and shoes on her feet that had been made for her, not passed on from someone else. There was much she had to be thankful for. One unhappy mistress was less than many had to suffer.
At least Mary wasn’t at home.
Anne shuddered. The legitimate daughter of the house was a mean-hearted bitch and she didn’t feel a bit of shame for thinking it, either. Mary whined like a babe and could throw tantrums better than a madwoman. Even going so far as ripping good fabric because it was not as fine as something one of her friends attending court had. Philipa coddled such outbursts, finding money in the estate coffers to buy the things her daughter demanded.
Anne frowned as she faced away from Philipa. More rightly put, it was she who found the funds that made Lady Mary stop her howling. By tradition the ledger books should have been kept by Philipa and the duty taught in strictest detail to Mary. ’Twas not the case here at Warwickshire. After seeing to the duty of dressing Philipa, Anne would spend the rest of the daylight hours and even more into the night ensuring that the estate books were balanced. Her lord father had insisted that she and her siblings be educated. Yet Philipa was the one who directed where their education was put to use. Anne’s duty was the estate books and making sure that the budget was tight. Every time Lady Mary demanded more gold, it was Anne who was set the task of finding it where the lord would not notice. The funds were found either from the sale of lambs or from the cloth woven by the household staff. Anne hated seeing the waste. Warwickshire would be stronger if it wasn’t being plundered so often for vanity.