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Half-past nine, Miss Kenton had said. That was when she’d be back from meeting the gentleman she used to work with. I recall as that time approached I found myself checking my pocket watch with increasing frequency, and finding reasons to pass by the front windows. A storm had blown in and it was raining terribly, but I had seen Miss Kenton leave with coat and umbrella, so I hadn’t been overly concerned.
Half-past nine came and went. Miss Kenton being usually punctual, I stood at the window and peered out at the gates. I had left them unlocked for her so I needed to stay up until she returned, so that I could lock them. Therefore this issue was not only one concerning Miss Kenton, but my own duties as well. It was too dark to see down the driveway, so I could not see whether she was simply a few hundred yards away and just within reach. Naturally the rain and the moonless night may be quite an impediment when cycling, especially on unlit country roads, so I assumed her lateness was due to her extra caution.
But as the time passed ten o’clock, I became somewhat annoyed. Her lateness impacted me, as I had spent at least half an hour stood looking out the window when I could’ve retired to bed. There were already dark grey clouds descending this afternoon, so she should have predicted how the weather would lengthen her journey and departed from her gentleman-friend earlier.
Then I considered that perhaps she had forgotten all about the time because of her meeting with that gentleman. Perhaps – and truly, I didn’t want to think this of Miss Kenton, but experience has taught me that romance distracts many a capable housekeeper – perhaps Miss Kenton wasn’t going to return to Darlington Hall at all tonight. Perhaps she was going to return home to that gentleman. I thought it unlikely, as she had only recently started meeting with this man so it would be quite rushed, but as time dragged on I was forced to consider it. I hardly had any right to feel as disturbed as I did at this notion; it did not break any rules and really had no bearing on her job whatsoever. In fact, if this was how she was to conduct her relations, then it was better than her getting married and leaving Darlington Hall for good.
I stood gazing in the rain, deep in thought, for rather a long time.
When I checked my watch again it was nearly eleven. That confirmed it for me – she wasn’t coming home. I rubbed my eyes, resolving to go to bed, but when I opened them again a flash of light outside caught my attention.
To my surprise and relief, there stood Miss Kenton outside the gate with her bike. I hurried downstairs to let her in. Despite the gate being unlocked, she hadn’t come through yet so I picked up an umbrella and went outside to help her. The rain was torrential, the wind bitingly cold for the time of year, and it was completely dark aside from her bicycle lamp, so I could hardly see her face or the state of her clothes.
“Miss Kenton? Are you quite alright? It’s nearly eleven o’clock!”
“Oh Mr Stevens, I’m so sorry – I fell off my bicycle. If you just help me in, I can explain once we’re out of the rain.”
I agreed to this and took hold of her bicycle to wheel it into the kitchen for her, when suddenly she grabbed my shoulder and leant heavily on me.
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes, it’s my leg, I can’t walk on it.”
I now had too much in my hands – I passed the umbrella to Miss Kenton and left the bike by the gate, and instructed her to put her arm around my shoulders, so she could use me as a crutch. Once inside, I led her over to the chair by the kitchen hearth and went back to lock up. I began lighting the fire. Now that she was in the light I could see the sorry state she was in. She was utterly drenched, shivering with cold, and I could see even through her tights that her knee was cut up and swollen.
“Oh dear. Miss Kenton, if you just stay there I’ll fetch some towels and blankets and then I’ll put on some tea.”
At this point her teeth were chattering – the kitchen was still relatively cold – so she only nodded and smiled her thanks. I hurried upstairs and gathered a few spare towels and blankets from the linen room, but then I considered that she would remain cold for as long as she stayed in her wet clothes. I wasn’t going to go digging through her room for a change of clothes, so I quickly grabbed one of my own cardigans as I passed my bedroom. This was perhaps an overly-personal thing to offer her but it seemed the most appropriate thing to do in the circumstances.
I returned to the kitchen and placed all the things I’d gathered on the chair opposite. Things become somewhat awkward as I didn’t know the extent to which I should help her.
“Ah… there’s some towels for drying yourself off, and blankets for putting on, but I’ve also brought you my cardigan – because you’ll catch a chill if you keep that wet coat on, so… I’ll just go and put the tea on.”
“Thank you, Mr Stevens, that’s very kind, but I actually already tried to take my coat off and I can’t, my fingers are too cold to undo the buttons.”
“Oh… right… well then would you like some help?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
I approached her cautiously, and ended up standing between her legs because her injury meant she was having to sit awkwardly, with one leg stretched-out straight. Trying to keep my distance was somewhat pointless considering my fingers were nearly brushing her neck when I started undoing the buttons. I tried to talk to fill the tense silence.
“What happened then? You fell off your bicycle?”
“Yes, well, this car suddenly drove very fast up behind me so I swerved to avoid it. Because of the rain and the dark I didn’t see that I was cycling into a pothole, and I fell. I don’t know what I’ve done to my knee but I couldn’t stand up for several minutes, and then it was too stiff for me to cycle so I had to limp all the way here. That was when I was about a mile away.”
“Hm. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow morning but for now I can help patch up the wound.”
By this point I’d unbuttoned nearly half the coat. The buttonholes were stiff and the fabric was so sodden that it was taking me longer than expected to undo them.
“I’m sorry, if you just lean back I’ll be able to undo these.”
With the angle she was sat and the fit of the coat, I couldn’t undo the buttons around her waist without uncomfortably pressing my hands on her stomach to get the fabric to lie flat. But I soon realised my instructions were ill-advised as Miss Kenton was now arching her hips up out of the seat.
“Actually, no, it might be better if you just stand… use me for balance.”
I helped her stand up and she kept her hands on my shoulders when I kneeled down to undo the lower half of the coat. Again I only belatedly realised the connotations of the position we were in, my head being level with her skirt. If anyone had walked in at that moment they would undoubtedly have been horrified.
I finished unbuttoning her coat anyway and helped her remove it. She took off her cardigan but mercifully her shirt was only slightly damp, so she put my cardigan on over it. Her only being slightly shorter than me meant that my cardigan actually fit quite well. Seeing her wear it felt strange.
“Thank you, Mr Stevens.” She was hugging the cardigan around her.
“Yes… that’s no problem at all, Miss Kenton. I’ll just go and sort the tea…”
I had felt, in that moment, overcome by a profound sense of awkwardness and I was quite glad to put some distance between us and attend to the stove. I became quite lost in thought while I stood there staring at the steam rising from the kettle – but I don’t think I can recall the exact content of the thoughts, and I’m certain they were nonsensical anyway.
I poured the tea and found the first aid kit – I must note that these kits are still quite uncommon in private houses like Darlington Hall, but I had insisted on the staff having access to one because of the frequency of kitchen and gardening accidents among the younger staff. Yet clearly it was useful in Miss Kenton’s case too, as when I turned around, I saw that her injured leg was covered in blood. She had, thankfully, managed to pull her tights down past her knees at least. I returned to my seat opposite her.
In truth, it was quite a distressing sight, seeing her bleed that much. It wasn’t a situation I could ever have predicted; I certainly never expected to find myself pulling her tights down her bloodied legs. If it was daytime, I am sure I would’ve found somebody else to do this. It was a medical necessity, and I helped her with no ulterior motive, yet I couldn’t help feeling like I was crossing the boundaries of propriety. I had this guilty feeling as I thought of what Lord Darlington would think if he suddenly walked in and saw us. But we weren’t actually doing anything at all.
I got to work cleaning the wound, using a wet, clean cloth to wipe the blood from her knee. It had bled a surprising amount for such a small cut. As I ran the cloth down her shin I suddenly realised how presumptuous I was being in touching her without asking if she even wanted my help. But she also hadn’t said anything to stop me. I paused and glanced up at her face; she was looking at me in a curious way, and appeared to be blushing, so immediately I assumed I’d embarrassed her.
“I’m sorry Miss Kenton, I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m sure you would rather do this yourself.”
“Oh no, please continue Mr Stevens, you’re not overstepping at all. I would struggle to do it myself.”
I nodded and continued, but the air still felt tense so I attempted to distract both of us from the fact that my hands were touching her knee.
“Did you have a pleasant evening? Besides the accident?”
“Oh… yes, well, for the most part. I met with Mr Benn at the pub, you remember I knew him from Stanton Lacy? I’ve seen him a few times these last few weeks, and well… I suppose I should’ve expected it but I didn’t really… but he proposed to me.”
This naturally came as quite a shock to me too. A strange feeling rose in my stomach as I considered the implications. Miss Kenton would be gone from me, taken by the very man who had warned me that she would eventually marry and leave Darlington Hall. It all felt wrong. Of course, losing a housekeeper is always disruptive. But it was something more than that.
“Oh… and what did you say?”
“I said I’d have to think about it. He wants to leave the service and move to the West Country.”
“I see… well, you know I’d be very sorry to lose you.”
“I’d be sorry to leave. I like it here very much. But I don’t want to stay in service all my life, I want to marry and have a family, and I fear that if I don’t in the next five years I’ll be stuck in service all my life. Don’t you ever feel that? That there’s more to life than work?”
“I can’t say I think about it much. Providing the best possible service for my employer brings me all the satisfaction I could need.”
“What about when you retire? What will be left for you?”
“That’s still decades away Miss Kenton, I promise you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll have enough savings put by.”
“But I do worry, Mr Stevens. It’s not about money. If you or I don’t build anything for ourselves outside of work we’ll have a very boring and lonely retirement, won’t we?”
I sat in thought for a moment. Retirement was something I avoided thinking about, as I planned to work for as long as my body was able and I didn’t look forward to the day I would no longer be useful. Indeed, my role in making my father accept his limitations was as distressing for me as it was for him.
“I suppose that may be true. I haven’t really planned it, but I’ll probably endeavour to keep myself busy one way or another.”
“Mr Stevens, sometimes I fear that you’ll work yourself into an early grave.” She sounded exasperated. “And what happens if you can’t work or keep yourself busy? You’ll have nobody to look after you.”
“Ha! Miss Kenton, I assure you I do not need looking after, and if I ever do, I will call a doctor.”
“You can laugh Mr Stevens, but look at me, I doubt I’ll be able to work for the next few days if I can’t walk. I’m lucky I have you here looking after me… and your father as well. He’s lucky he had you.”
She said this in a nervous tone, for it was evidently quite a sentimental, dare I say affectionate, thing to say. It struck me as being quite revealing of how she viewed me – I hadn’t considered myself to be, in that moment, “looking after” her, neither had I considered myself as having really looked after my father, beyond finding him employment and accommodation. Clearly she saw something that I did not, for, in truth, I have always been aware that I am not a “warm” person, that I have no skill at all in comforting or caring for people, and so I have avoided it wherever possible. Yet the idea that I was “looking after” Miss Kenton did not disturb me, as would be expected; instead I felt strangely happy.
I was needed, but in an entirely new and fascinating way; in service of Miss Kenton, not his lordship or any social superior. Exhilarating as this revelation was, I was quite at a loss at what to say in response.
“Thank you,” I eventually settled on.
“Thank you? I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, Mr Stevens.” She laughed, confused. “I meant to thank you for doing all this. And to say that you must know I would do the same for you.”
“Really?”
For some reason, the thought of Miss Kenton doing what I had done for her – helping me inside, removing my coat, laying a blanket round me, tenderly cleaning my wounds – made me suddenly feel choked up.
“Oh, Mr Stevens…”
I must make it clear that I was far from being in hysterics – I was not sobbing – it was just that, unfortunately, Miss Kenton had noticed my eyes tearing up. She reached forward and grasped one of my hands while I wiped my eyes with the other. The sight of me so discomposed was likely quite shocking to her; I do not cry in front of other people, indeed, I can’t say that I really cry at all.
“I’m sorry for mentioning your father, I didn’t mean to upset you by it.”
“Oh no, no it wasn’t that Miss Kenton…” I croaked out in a most piteous way, trailing off when I realised the impossibility of explaining why I was upset.
She frowned. She was still holding my hand, and was stroking her thumb along my knuckles in an exceedingly gentle way. I absently wondered if she would have done the same for any of the other male staff. I hoped not.
“Are you planning to accept Mr Benn’s proposal?”
She seemed caught off guard by my sudden return to this line of conversation. So was I, as I didn’t plan to say those words so much as they simply fell out of my mouth.
“I’m terribly sorry for prying, I’m sure you still have much thinking to do, it was just that…”
I looked up at her as I considered what exactly I could say that would stop her marrying that man. She looked a bit of a mess, in that moment: her hair was halfway dry and therefore much curlier than usual; it appears she had put on some make-up earlier this evening, which had now washed away, leaving slight smudges around the eyes; her face had gone quite red from the growing heat of the fire. She was still wearing my cardigan; she had bandages in place of tights; she had a hodgepodge of towels and blankets surrounding her. She was sat in an awkward way with a leg she couldn’t move, and she was still holding my hand.
“It was just what, Mr Stevens…?”
“I find that I very much do not want you to leave.” I confessed. Of course, I already knew that I didn’t want her to leave – housekeepers of her skill and professionalism are like gold dust. The issue was that I had suddenly realised I possessed an emotional attachment to Miss Kenton. Whether it was friendship or something more – which I did fear, in the back of my head, for its dangerous implications – I could not say. Regardless, this feeling had compelled me to almost beg her to stay.
“Then I’ll stay.”
“What – really?”
“Yes, if you wish me to.”
“That would make me very happy indeed, Miss Kenton, but I don’t want to have total influence over your decision. If you would be happy with Mr Benn then I don’t want to hold you back.”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t think I actually would be happy with him Mr Stevens. It’s more that a lack of suitors has made me desperate.”
“Oh?” I asked, confounded at how a woman like Miss Kenton could be short of options.
“Indeed, Mr Stevens…” She paused in thought for a moment, looking around. “It seems we’re all done here, but if you help me up to bed I’ll tell you something even more shocking about Mr Benn.”
“Of course Miss Kenton, but you don’t need to bribe me with gossip to help you!” I got up and quickly cleared everything away, before returning to help Miss Kenton up.
“It might be best if you wrap your arms around my neck, and I lift you from under your arms?” I said somewhat awkwardly, standing there assessing the situation. It was a low armchair and she could only put weight on one leg, so it was quite impossible for her to get up independently.
“Of course – come here then.”
I leaned down so my face was level with hers, leaving us only inches apart while she wrapped her arms around me. Once again, this felt and likely looked quite improper, but it was the only way I could help her up. I lifted her, and in a moment we were stood face to face, her arms leaning on my shoulders for support.
“If my leg wasn’t injured, I’d have to dance with you now, Mr Stevens.” She looked rather gleeful at this idea.
“You would have to teach me, Miss Kenton. I haven’t a clue.” I said airily, deciding to indulge her fanciful idea.
“I will hold you to that, Mr Stevens! Just give me a fortnight or two.”
I laughed. We hadn’t moved yet; we were still stood between the chairs, grinning at each other. But that made sense, because Miss Kenton needed a moment to stretch her good leg before walking.
“Shall we?” I asked, gesturing towards the door.
She acceded, and resumed our earlier arrangement of laying one arm around my shoulders in order to use me as a crutch. I also put an arm round her, to help bear her weight. We eventually hobbled to the stairs – there was fortunately only one flight, but they were narrow. I had to press in closer, moving to stand slightly in front her, keeping one arm around her back and holding her hand in the other. There were no banisters, so she was having to grab me to pull her injured leg up the steps one at a time. I offered words of encouragement along the way for it was evidently quite frustrating and painful for her.
We finally reached the corridor where her bedroom was. I realised I’d never seen it – not while she was inhabiting it. Of course, there was no reason for me to.
Miss Kenton unlocked the door. I felt some trepidation here as I was once again unsure as to what extent she wanted me to help her.
“If you could just help me to the bed Mr Stevens, I’ll manage the rest myself.”
The room was dark so I couldn’t make out any personal decorations on the walls or shelves, but the light from the hall allowed me to guide her to the bed and sit her down.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?”
She smiled wryly at that, but I didn’t know why.
“I should be fine, Mr Stevens, and you’ve done so much for me already. Thank you.”
“You are very welcome.”
“Oh! I just remembered I promised to tell you about what Mr Benn did.”
“What he did?”
“Yes. He kissed me.”
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been concerned, as she had already said she wasn’t going to marry him. Yet I must confess that when she said that, I seemed to feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. For the first time in my life, I felt jealous. I knew that it was jealousy because it was identical to the feelings described in several of the romance novels I had read: the protagonist learns that the person they are in love with has had a dalliance with another, and they get irrationally angry or upset. Indeed, I understood the feeling was jealousy because – and I may as well admit this here – it felt unjust that it was Mr Benn who got to kiss Miss Kenton, and not me.
My inner turmoil must have shown on my face for she quickly clarified:
“I didn’t enjoy it. He was a terrible kisser, very insistent, it felt like he was trying to eat my face.”
All I could do was stare at her; I hadn’t a clue what to say. With my back to the door, blocking the light from the hall, the space between us was shrouded in darkness. Unseen, I felt her lay her hand just above my elbow, pulling me in slightly.
“And yet, do you know what I was thinking the entire time?”
“What?”
“I wish this was Mr Stevens.”
I may have shuddered; I cannot exactly recall. I was dumbstruck. Her words seemed to transport us into some other plane of existence in which boundaries, propriety, all those unspoken inhibitions that rule our behaviour had fallen away. For when I stepped forward, she immediately took hold of both my arms and pulled me in to kiss her.
Yet the kiss was gentle and shy, at least at first. This suited my lack of experience, and perhaps corrected for Mr Benn’s earlier discourtesy. Miss Kenton’s earlier comment indicated that she did not like insistent, open-mouthed kissing; her present conduct contradicted that notion somewhat.
My hands had found their way onto her shoulders – I feared to put them anywhere else – while hers were all over my face and neck in apparent disbelief that it was me she was kissing.
I pulled back when I remembered that the door was wide open behind us.
“Miss Kenton –” I cleared my throat, turning around to check the corridor was empty, “I think we should perhaps… return to this at a later date.”
She was beaming, evidently not fussed at the prospect of being found out.
“Don’t you think it’s time we called each other our Christian names? In private, of course.” She asked.
“That does seem quite reasonable,” I was nervous again, uncertain and daunted by our new reality. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I can hardly go anywhere else! If I’m going to be bed-bound you must come visit me.”
“Yes, certainly, I will.” I said rather too eagerly.
“Well then, goodnight James.”
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
We shared another small smile between us which, although familiar to me through years of working side by side, now seemed to hold so many new meanings and possibilities. I stepped out into the hallway and undertook the walk back to my room, reflecting on the knowledge that I had just irrevocably changed my life in one evening by the fire.