Two years back,
'What are you doing today Miss Abigail'?
'Language. And really Naomi, have i not told you not to call me "Miss",it is Abigail between the two of us '.
'Yes ma'am-'
'Abigail'
'Yes Abigail'. She smiled, pleased to have gotten her way.
'Come on let's go. Miss Venice should be waiting for us'. We hurried upstairs to Abigail's schoolroom.
Miss Venice was round. Her middle jiggled when she walked and you could see the many stomach folds behind her tightened girdle. She had a chubby, smiley face with quaint facial features, a sweet, calm demeanor but had a mean streak about her. Her pretty long fingers were almost alway fiddling with the ropes on her gown. And you really couldn't see her belly folds unless you truly looked.
But Miss Venice had one problem - apart from, in the societies eye, the fact that she was a score and four years and yet unmarried and that she was French -, she was lazy. Ahh yes, she wouldn't mind delegating her work to others so she might cool her feet and eat bonbon. I can't just understand why a person would choose to be lazy when there was alot of work to be done, but i suppose i wouldn't understand, my life had not been one of luxury and free living.
Miss Venice smiled at us both then addressed Abigail.'Bonjour mademoiselle Abigail. You are ready for your lessons this morning, yes'? She continued without pause. 'Today we will learn the history of Latin and how it became of importance to the Englishman'.
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And thus began my life as a hand maid.
I learnt mundane things like; how to sew, how to embroider, how to knit. How to style a hair, how to choose a dress according to the hair style. How to sit, how to walk, how to drink a cup of tea. How to address my masters, when to speak, when not to speak. The art of dancing, singing and playing an instrument. The act of serving, acting as a chaperone, acting as a wallpaper. What to say, what not to say. I remembered my mama's words to me and tried my best to blend in, knowing that in three or four years time, if i were to be an irreplaceable asset, I had to be in the good books of four important people; Mrs Stanley, the Stanley men and Abigail herself. I knew that in order for Abigail to be the Lady she was meant to be, i had to become one myself. So i learnt to write and read.
The Stanley's owned one of the biggest houses in the countryside, which contained many rooms. It also held a library. It was there i often let myself be lost in, on several days when Abigail is taking her afternoon nap. And when the dinner bell is rung, i'd sneak back quickly to my room to dress for the evening.
It was on one such afternoon that i came across the story of my people, how they had suffered and had been tortured and subjected to slavery through the years. I discovered the ugly truth ot the leaders of the other nations and their corrupt dealings. As i read, it dawned on me that i was reading the sufferings of my people in the very land of the people whose hands they had fallen into in deep tragedy. I thank the person who had courage enough to write the grotesque happenings of the past, still infesting us even in the present. I did wonder what Mr Stanley had it for though.
Then i learnt of the history of other countries and their culture, and England and its culture. I learnt the history of England; the reigns of the kings and queens, from the accession of the Saxon king Alfred the great. A lot of things affected the course of history: wars, revolution, struggles between king and parliament, treaties, and alliances. More that once, England was in danger, more than once, English warriors occupied large areas in Europe.
However, these happenings did not always affect greatly our lives, the ordinary people of England. Most of us were farmers, living far from big civilization. Sometimes some village lad would come back with stories of French wars - Miss Venice was full of tales that her mother had told her and her grandmother had told her mother -, or some wandering pedlar or friar brought news of far-away happenings.
That was all we knew then - before a bit of civilization came trickling in -, living in the wide spaces of the countryside of the world beyond. Age after age the countryman was content with the life of his ancestors.
Kings and queens came and went, but the ploughing and harvesting went on. Life in the countryside might have been full of hard work but the air was clean and life was a lot less chaotic.
Death hung heavily in the air.The solemn tolling of the church bell rang across the fields and through the distance to the ears of those in the Stanley's house. I was outside by the cloth line, hanging up my clothes when i heard the distant sound of the church bell. A wave of shivers ran up my spine and i frowned, a slight fold forming between my brows as i stared across the distance.Quickly, i shoved the shoulder of my dress into the wooden peg and hurried to the house. On the way, i saw James the stable boy and withheld him. 'What is going on? Why i the church bell ringing when it is not service day'? I inquired. 'Well ma'am, seems loike Mrs Daniel has finally gone to meet the Lord'. I gasped and let him go. Could that really be true? Sprinting into the house, i noticed the disheveled state it was in, every one seemed to be gravitating to the drawing room, and so i myself moved in that direction, shoving and pushing people out of the way as i went. 'Out of
I had learnt a long time ago that the world didn't work as one planned and the orange wasn't ever shared equally.One year back,I used to have this nightmares when i was younger, and then i had it again, four years after i had first been assigned as Abigail's hand maid. It was almost always the same scenery;i was on a boat or a ship because the ground swayed. Voices bounced around and above me and sometimes it blended with the hum of the ocean. I was in a dark room along with others, although i could not see them, i heard them, shuffling, coughing, children crying and sometimes hums that turned to singing.Foot steps echoed above us as the person pounded down the stairs. I was singing softly along with the crowd which were already quietening. 'Who said ye baboons were allowed to sing' . His booming voice hollered across the room. He stepped threateningly towards me, i could see his
I had learnt a long time ago that the world didn't work as one planned and the orange wasn't ever shared equally.One year back,I used to have this nightmares when i was younger, and then i had it again, four years after i had first been assigned as Abigail's hand maid. It was almost always the same scenery;i was on a boat or a ship because the ground swayed. Voices bounced around and above me and sometimes it blended with the hum of the ocean. I was in a dark room along with others, although i could not see them, i heard them, shuffling, coughing, children crying and sometimes hums that turned to singing.Foot steps echoed above us as the person pounded down the stairs. I was singing softly along with the crowd which were already quietening. 'Who said ye baboons were allowed to sing' . His booming voice hollered across the room. He stepped threateningly towards me, i could see his
Six years in the fifty years, two years to the fifthiet yearWhen i was a child, my mama used to sing me a poem when i woke up from the nightmares. She'd wipe my sweat and brush away the hair sticking to my face.These handshave subdued stubborn junglesunmasked fertile grovesand plumbed the seedful promiseof loamy plainsThe handscalloused like a tortoise shellhave tended tendrils, joyous,in their leafy danceon the spine of stakeshoed heaps cleanunearthed the venom of wayward weed-she'd pull my hair playfully and smile down on my giggling face-These palmshave lost their linesto the mahogany handleof a thousand machetesthe finger crooked by constant clutching-'like you know who', she wiggled her brows at me and i laughed, 'daddy'.'Ahh you said it not me'-These handsha
Six years in the fifty years, two years to the fifthiet yearWhen i was a child, my mama used to sing me a poem when i woke up from the nightmares. She'd wipe my sweat and brush away the hair sticking to my face.These handshave subdued stubborn junglesunmasked fertile grovesand plumbed the seedful promiseof loamy plainsThe handscalloused like a tortoise shellhave tended tendrils, joyous,in their leafy danceon the spine of stakeshoed heaps cleanunearthed the venom of wayward weed-she'd pull my hair playfully and smile down on my giggling face-These palmshave lost their linesto the mahogany handleof a thousand machetesthe finger crooked by constant clutching-'like you know who', she wiggled her brows at me and i laughed, 'daddy'.'Ahh you said it not me'-These handshave crad
Chapter NineCome on Abigail, why are you dawdling'?'I'm not '!'Yes you are''Are not'!'Are too'!'Are not'!'Are too'! Abigail opened her mouth to respond and i quickly injected in. 'Look, you're doing just that by sitting down there and arguing with me. Now we really do need to go, Mrs Stanley needs-''I know, i know, but i don't feel like shopping' she flopped back on her bed, lying on her back with her arms spread up.'Why ever not'? I sat by the edge and played with the skirt of her gown. 'It's always so rowdy with people every where-''But that's your elements'!'And the place carries and awful odour''Ahh, so it's the smell', she wrinkled her nose up in the air.'You could just endure it a little, couldn't you? And anyway, we're not going to the worst parts of the market'.'Yes we are, you know we are' she harried. 'There'd
I must include, though, that this part of my life i am about to recount is of some shame to me. Of course i had not been born with a fountain of wisdom but i had acted imprudently in the situation.When i arrived, i, instead of going to Abigail's room to give her the flowers- of whence i had been originally headed to until i heard voices in the drawing room, crept in that direction.'Darling, i believe we've talked about this before, Abigail is of age now to be courted', i heard Mr Stanley Jr say. 'I know, i know John'. Mrs Stanley assured. 'But you promised she could be given the chance to court the city gentlemen'.'Darling' Mr Stanley said, 'John and i talked about it. How do you think of Abigail going to stay London, say in about four month's time'?'What! So soon? I'd have to send a telegraph to my father. She would stay with my father won't she'?'Yes we were pending on that'. I gasped. Pending on it? They wanted
Days past, four months was drawing near and summer was here. Which meant traveling was a lot easier than in winter.If hadn't mentioned it before, the Stanley had a large plantation of grains, but not only that, they also cultivated cotton. Summer also meant harvest and so many of my days were taken up in either of the fields. This certainly explained why the Stanley's and others like them, felt the need to buy a lot of slaves. But i didn't know how i felt about that now; if u blacks were meant to work in the fields and houses as servants and do other strenuous works, why then had the Stanley father and son, and mother of course, chosen me as an abigail for their Abigail?The sun beat down on us, soaking into my dress and heating up the threads that made up my cotton dress. Was i getting more brown? I always had a light skin completion which had mayhap gotten lighter before from frequently staying in doors more