MATILDA AT DYMOCK MANOR
CHAPTER 3: The first night at Dymock Manor
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of activity. Fires were laid for the next day; tables were cleared and linens folded; scraps were collected for the pigs; floors and grates swept. Lamps were filled, polished, lit or snuffed. They were called to clear the supper things, and Matilda felt a jolt of excitement - but the Master had already departed, leaving the remains of a joint of venison on the great dining table. His plate was empty, as was his goblet, though Matilda could see the imprint of his wine-stained lips on the rim. She had an overwhelming urge to put her own lips to the same spot, to taste him there, but the watchful eye of Mrs Smyth discouraged her.
The great kitchen was cleared and cleaned; there seemed to be a never-ending line of pots, pans, crockery and cutlery to be washed, rinsed and dried, before the worktops were washed down and the floor swept and mopped. Matilda worked mostly with Chloe, sometimes with Sally and Nancy, under the watchful eye of Mrs Smyth who patrolled and tutted at them. Matilda was exhausted, hungry and thirsty after her trying day. She did her best to concentrate and do as she was bidden - but her exhaustion got the better of her. As she reached for a kitchen ladle with her drying cloth, it caught the edge of the burn on her finger, and slipped from her grasp, falling with a clatter to the tiled floor. Mrs Smyth was upon her in an instant.
"Clumsy girl!" she snapped. "We'll not have butterfingers in this household. You will treat the Master's things with respect and care, my girl. Give me your hand."
Petrified, Matilda extended her right hand. Mrs Smyth gripped her wrist and turned it palm upwards.
"Now, hold still and count these out. I want a "thank you Ma'am" for each stroke." With that, without warning, Mrs Smyth brought her leather riding crop down on the palm of Matilda's outstretched hand with a crack. Pain shot through her body, and tears started in her eyes, as she cried out. There was a moment of absolute silence in the room, as though time had frozen. Matilda could feel Chloe, Sally and Nancy's eyes on her from the other side of the kitchen; she felt wretched and humiliated. What must they think of her? But Mrs Smyth held her in her vicious gaze, crop poised, waiting. Waiting for what? Suddenly, Matilda's brain clicked over, and registered the instruction.
"O-one, th-thank you Ma'am," she gasped.
With a tiny nod of satisfaction, Mrs Smyth brought the crop down again, even harder this time. The leather whistled in the air, and smacked against Matilda's sensitive palm. Pain sizzled up her arm as a fresh red stripe flourished across the delicate white skin. Matilda sucked in a breath and blinked at the tears in her eyes.
"Two, thank you Ma'am."