Chapter 8: Washed and Clothed

   Gillingham was not the kind to bellow or bluster.   He sat stolidly in a high backed, cushioned,

and upholstered chair.  Gerald spoke.

   “T’were just a few days ago that I came upon this girl poaching a rabbit from your Lordship’s

side of the road.”

   Normally Abri would have interjected at this point in an attempt to sway justice, but today she

was quite subdued by the previous night’s revelation about the clan’s cruelty to John.  She
remembered Da’s instructions about Lordings; she looked down at the plainness of her shoes. 

Even the exquisite inlaid pattern in the wooden floor went unnoticed by her.

   Gillingham finally spoke in an even monotone, “Speak, girl.  What have you to say for yourself?”

   Abri wished it were her own tongue that had been cut out.  

   “Pardon, your excellency.  The rabbit was in the fields eating of the cabbages there.  My aim

was off a little and I only wounded it in the hind quarter.  It scampered across the road and hid

in a bush.”  

   At this point Abri would normally have said something to the effect that she thought it no

harm to take the rabbit since it had been legally shot in the fields, but in her depressed state

she closed her remarks by saying, “I took it from your side of the road, and I’m sorry.”

   Gerald spoke, “The punishment for poaching is prison time, six months or three months

labor in the public works.”

   Gillingham then said, “There is a third option.  Out of respect for your...for Mr. McCullough,

who has been a faithful tenant these several years, I will not allow the public works option. 

Nor would I have you thrown in prison.  But, you will serve here, in my household as a maid

for the six month term of your sentence.  If you are satisfactory as a maid, you may find

continued employment following that time.  Mrs. Gentry will be your mentor and you will be

her charge.  Do as she tells you in all things.  Should you in any way bring disgrace upon this

house, you will be cast into prison for your full sentence.”

   Gillingham then ordered, “Gerald, ring for Mrs. Gentry.”  

   Gerald crossed the room and pulled a yellow cord with a gloved hand.  

   Gillingham continued, “You, young lady, will be bathed and given appropriate attire.  There is

no need to return home for your things.  They will not be needed here.”

   Mrs. Gentry, a small woman of about fifty five years, entered the room and looked at Abri

through a pair of wire rimmed spectacles.  “How may I be of service, My Lord?”

   “This girl will be joining our staff as a serving maid for the next six months.  See that she is

bathed, tend to her hair, find her appropriate livery, and put her in room 241.”    

   “Yes, My Lord.”

   “Prepare her in all ways to function as a serving maid, unless you find her to be stubborn

and insubordinate.  I’ll have none of that at my table or before my guests.”

   “Yes, My Lord.”

    “If she is incorrigible, put her to work in the stables.  That is all.”

   “Yes, My Lord.  Come girl.”

      Mrs. Gentry turned and advanced to the door, quickly, but gracefully.  Abri cast a glance

at Da, and a look of bitter pain crossed her face.  

   “Abi Hon, you must go now.  This is for the best.  Be true.  Serve faithfully.”  And with that

Da turned and strode out.  There was nothing more he could say.  

   What Abri needed to hear was “I love you,” or some other sign that she was not cast off,

that she wasn’t a disappointment.  “Abi Hon,” would have to do.  “Hon” was short for “honey,”

a term of endearment.  Abri took some small comfort in that, like trying to keep warm on a

winter’s night with only a baby’s receiving blanket.  

   She turned and followed Mrs. Gentry.   

   Mrs. Gentry led Abri down a flight of stairs to the basement where the cooking, laundry,

and other needful but mundane labors of the mansion were performed out of sight and out of

mind of the Lord and his guests.  It was Mrs. Gentry’s privilege to give orders in the mansion,

and since she was not about to get near this country girl until she had been stripped, washed,

and clothed in clean clothes, she called to a young woman who was pressing linens.  “Maria,

come.”

   Maria immediately stopped what she was doing and followed.  She wore the black skirt

and white blouse that signified a lower cast among the serving women.  The blouse was

buttoned tight at the neck with a collar that rose straight up for another inch.  A small white

apron with tiny pockets that were not to be used was worn over the skirt.  Every bit of this

uniform, or livery, said, “order” and “propriety.”  

   Mrs. Gentry spoke as they walked briskly to the staircase at the rear of the mansion.  “This

is Abri.  You are to bathe her, wash her hair, and give her a clean smock to wear.  What she

wears now is to be burned immediately.  Check for lice and treat according to what you find. 

Then take her down to have her hair properly cut.  Finally, you will show her where the clean

livery is kept and help her find her correct size.  Abri will be a server at the Lord’s table; don’t

ask me why.  But you are to assess for me how much training will be needed before she is fit

for the task.”

   Mrs. Gentry never asked any of the maids, “Do you have any questions?” because she

considered her instructions to be complete, and because she expected to be listened to carefully.      

   “Charlie, pour a hot bath for this,” Maria called out to the cellar boy.  The lowest of the
servants, the cellar boy never left the basement, but assisted in managing the great furnace
that heated water for bathing, for the laundry, and for the kitchen.  Because he never left the
basement, his attire wasn’t the spotless livery of the maids and man servants.  But it was clean.  

   In the women’s dressing chamber Maria directed, “Remove those (she gestured at her

clothes) and put them into this basket.  If you’ve any keepsake, remove it from your rags,

but keep nothing cloth, only metal or stone.  Abri’s clothes were only rags by comparison to

the mansion livery.  She retained a small pendant.  Even the leather thong from which it hung

was to be destroyed.  

   “Proceed to the bath,” and Maria pointed back up the hallway.  “The second door on your

left.”  

   Abri had never felt so abashed in all of her life as she felt now walking naked up the hall

and into the bath.  She fully expected to encounter the cellar boy, or some other stranger.  

   “Bathe yourself, and use this.”  Maria reached to a high shelf and tossed her a bar of caustic

lye soap laced with poison for lice.  I’ll be back shortly.  And she strode out of the room. 

When she returned she had a small jar of liquid and a measuring tape.  The liquid was poison

for Abri’s hair.  

   “Work this into your scalp,” Maria indicated the liquid, “and let it set for twenty minutes

before rinsing.  Don’t get it into your eyes if you want to ever see again.”  This was a joke, but

Abri couldn’t tell from Maria’s brisk manner.  “While that’s setting, scrub yourself again with

the soap and this brush.  The bristles are tough, but will soften a little in the hot water.”  With

that, Maria hurried out and back to her interrupted labors.  She hated Abri for having

interrupted an otherwise peaceful day.  She hated her because Abri was assigned to a

position that more than half the maids could never hope for but would give an eye for.  She

hated her most for her deep tan and her naturally curly hair, marks of beauty that Maria felt

certain must be the reason for Abri’s position at the Lord’s serving table.  

Abri had never had a hot bath before that she could remember.  The poison in her hair

tingled and stung a little.  The bristles of the brush didn’t soften much, but she scrubbed until

her tan glowed a dark reddish brown.  She felt like she was melting in the bath like a pat of

butter in a hot bowl of porridge.  The pain and the pleasure of it swirled around her

consciousness, and she thought, “I might not want to leave this.”

   Then suddenly Maria was back  with another woman who wore the smock of a hairdresser

and who banging a leather strop across a table.    Abri startled.  “Rinse that poison out of

your hair, and rinse it good,” Maria ordered.  Abri sunk down into the bath and felt her hair

float about her in the water.  Then she worked it vigorously with her hands.  As she brought

her head back above the water, Maria poured a picher of hot water over her head for a

second rinse.  There was no pleasure in this one which was near scalding.  Abri pinched her

eyes tightly closed in fear of the poison.  

   “Get out.”  Abri stood.  A towel was wrapped around her and she dried herself. Then

Maria took several measurements: shoulders, breast, waist, hips, legs, arms, and feet--all

of which she kept in her head.  “This is JoAnne.  She will cut your hair.”  And Maria left.  

    “Sit here.”  JoAnne indicated a chair.  She draped a thin cape around Abri, fastened it

snugly at the neck, and began to cut her hair which fell in dark ringlets at their feet. 

There was something softer about JoAnne: her voice, her touch, the look in her eye.

   “You’re new here, Child?”  It wasn’t really a question.

   “Yes,” Abri replied 

   “They’re going to hate you for a while,” JoAnne said.

   “Who?”

   “The other servants.  You had best grow a tough skin, and quickly.”  

   Nothing more was spoken as JoAnne finished her work and inspected it.  

   Maria returned with Abri’s livery and told her to get dressed.  

   Abri would have marveled had she had the use of a mirror.  The farm girl was no more.

   “Now, come help me fold the linens,” Maria said.  “I’ve lost half the afternoon to you,” and

she turned and left the room.  “Come on now!”  Abri jerked into motion and followed Maria

like one car following another when a great train begins its journey.