Introduction…

Part One…

It was a busy day at the manor. Lord and Lady Madison were both in bed with colds, and the kitchen staff was running around frantically trying to organise themselves. It was the annual birthday party, or rather, gathering, for Lord Madison, and this year several disasters had prevented them from planning things in advance. Aside from the master’s illness, which was without doubt the worst of the events, Cook’s beloved cat had vanished, several items of food had mysteriously festered overnight, and the best cutlery plainly refused to become clean, despite everyone’s best efforts. The maids were running everywhere, Cook was driving herself into a terrible fluster, the butler was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the guests were due to arrive in five hours’ time. The roomy kitchen could be described, at best, as a shambles.

In addition to the general mess and bustle, a crash and a clatter was heard from one of the far walls. After a brief, puzzled silence, the commotion resumed, but not before Cook’s bewildered cry was heard:

“For goodness’ sake, Heather, take care! We’re having enough problems as it is without you breaking the master’s family china!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Simmins!” came the timid reply. Heather was new, not more than twenty years old and trying to help her own poor family. She returned home on a regular basis with any food she could cadge, which, fortunately, was a generous amount, as well as any money she was able to scrape together. Her theory was, as long as she had a roof over her head, a warm bed to sleep in, and sufficient nourishment, her family was in greater need of her well-earned wages. It was this good nature and her almost infectious willingness to work which prompted Lord Madison to hire her without a second thought.

She picked up the dropped silver tray and took it to Anna, one of the other maids, who placed upon its mirror-like surface two cups of steaming hot tea and some pills for the Madisons. Heather turned around awkwardly with it, and Anna gave her gentle push in the vague direction of the door.

After proceeding up two flights of stairs, and navigating herself through the labyrinthine corridors, she eventually reached the bedroom door. Balancing the tray on her knee and against the sturdy wooden door, and standing precariously on one leg, she knocked. Hearing a cough, a sneeze, and a weak “Come in…”, she entered the darkened room.

“Anna-“, she began, before being interrupted by Lady Madison:

“Not ‘Anna’, Miss Lockley, but…”

“Sorry, mum. Miss Anna says you’re to take these pills, and you should be fine to come down later.” She paused. Looked thoughtful. “Oh. That’s wrong isn’t it, mum?” The lady of the manor nodded.

“Don’t panic, you’re new. You’ll soon learn the ropes.”

“Besides, Miss Lockley,” added her husband, “I think ‘Miss Anna’ suits her better, don’t you?”

Curtseying, she politely replied, “Yes, sir,” and placed the loaded tray on the bedside table, depositing the contents neatly beside it. She put the previous evening’s tea things on the tray, and made her way to the door with it. Halfway there, she was stopped by the hoarse voice of Lady Madison. “By the way, Heather, tell Mrs. Simmins to give everybody tomorrow off – they’ve all worked so hard!”

“Yes, mum.” Heather left the room and returned to the chaotic kitchen. She gave the tray back to Anna and told Cook the news. Mrs. Simmins looked at her with obvious relief. “Thank goodness for that, eh? We could do with a rest.” Heather nodded.

“Anything else I can do?”

“No, I don’t think so” She looked thoughtful. “You could help them lay the table if you like. I don’t want you being rushed off your feet on your second day. It’s a rather busy time for a young ‘un like you to start.”

“I’ll go there right away, Cook.” Heather found herself pulled back by her apron waistband before she could move.

“Not ‘Cook’, Miss Lockley.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Simmins!” She ran off.

“WALK!” Heather slowed to a trot and disappeared in the direction of the dining room. “Poor girl; she’s a lost cause.”, muttered Cook. “Anna! Jessie! Stop gawping and get on with the washing up! Aren't those vegetables prepared yet? That chicken isn’t going to roast itself! Ye Gods…” Her ranting could be heard throughout the whole house...

Part Two…

The party was a success! Lord and Lady Madison recovered sufficiently to attend, and after much effort, the food was prepared to a remarkably high standard. The meal was consumed eagerly, and Lady Madison gave a short speech on behalf of her husband, who complained of a sore throat, in front of the guests and assembled staff:

“I’m sure you will all agree that the food was fabulous! Please join me in congratulating our Cook, Mrs. Simmins, and her wonderful staff.” A short round of applause rang out. “I would also like to thank and introduce our new worker, Heather Lockley, who has been here a mere two days and has already been more than useful. Well done, Heather!” More applause; Heather's pale skin flushed pink, and a brief bout of laughter was heard, then silence. “Finally, thank you all for coming again, proving once more that George has not insulted anybody this year – I’m looking at you, Sir Arthur Kidby!” (More laughter.) “By the way, I’m so sorry to hear about your daughter.” Sir Kidby shrugged, and his wife smiled in a carefree way. It was clear that Lady Madison had hit a nerve with her comment, but she was not to be deterred. “Such a lovely girl. Well, anyway,” continued Lady Madison, “will you now join me in celebrating with a song.”

They all sang a chorus of “Happy Birthday”, and “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow”, accompanied by the butler at the huge, black grand piano, the focal point of the whole room.

After the remnants of the wine had been devoured, and the guests had departed, the kitchen once more became a scene of calm, although a few people were still working quickly.

Heather and Anna chatted while they and Cook washed up.

“Heather, you’ve really got to try and learn the rules around here.”

“I am trying, Anna. It’s just so difficult.”

“I’ve been there too, you know. I reckon they should give new recruits like you a week off to learn everything properly!”

“Anna! I’ll hear nothing against Sir and Madam!”, warned Cook. Anna ignored her, but continued with her theory.

“I think that list of rules goes back to the Stone Ages!”

“It’s almost as if they add a new rule every year.” said another girl who happened to pass them. “That rule book must be THIS thick by now!” She indicated several inches with her fingers, overemphasising her point. Anna continued:

“And there’s some really strange rules in there, as well. Rule number three-hundred-and-seventy-nine-part-B…” Heather interrupted.

“No rollerskating along the corridors whistling while also feeding a donkey!” Anna and Heather giggled, and even Cook managed to laugh in spite of herself. Then she coughed and tapped Heather’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, but if you quite finished gossiping, I’d appreciate some help with this washing up!”

The girls realised that in their joking they had drifted further away from the sink, so they moved back and retook their positions. Cook suddenly realised something: “Heather. Would you please fetch the rest of the things from the dining room.” Heather nodded and left. Cook had words with Anna while she was gone. “Listen, here. I don’t want you leading that girl astray. She’s very influential, you know. She’ll do anything anybody tells her.”

“I know that. I just thought she might want a friend – she’s a strange thing, Heather, she’s… well… I can’t think of a word to describe her.”

“I don’t disagree that she DOES need a friend. I’m just saying that you should be careful…” Heather had just walked in with a selection of plates and glasses, red-faced from her journey.

“Be careful of what?”

“Anna nearly dropped a plate.” Cook looked at Anna. Heather, not suspecting a thing, placed her burden carefully at the side of the sink, and joined Anna to help with the washing up. Suddenly, a strange scratching noise was heard at the back door, much to Cook’s annoyance. “It’s that blasted dog again!”

Heather was confused; to save her asking the obvious question, Cook said: “Yes. There’s this dog that comes looking for food, and it never goes until it’s been given something.”

“It’s all Jeeves’ fault!” suggested one of the maids, looking at the butler, who was skulking near the pantry. He looked up with an expression of mock innocence, and then returned to whatever it was he was doing. The girl continued: “If he hadn’t felt sorry for it, and given it those scraps, it would never have come back.” The butler turned around again, looking uneasy, then walked out without saying a single word. Watching him leave, Heather realised something: “You know, in the two days I’ve been here, he’s never said a thing. Except for the time he greeted me, of course.”

“Jeeves keeps himself to himself, doesn’t talk much – just part of his job,” explained Anna. Cook was getting decidedly irritated by the dog. She suddenly snapped at both of the girls, making Heather jump:

“Would you two stop gossiping and do some work! Just because we get tomorrow off doesn’t give you an excuse to slack! Heather! For God’s sake get rid of that animal before I throw something at it; it’s driving me mad!”

Heather obediently, if a little shaken up, walked to the stable door and opened the top part. A small hound looked back at her with large, appealing eyes, and whimpered pathetically. Not seeing any suitable scraps, Heather shooed the dog away, but it would not budge. She opened the whole door and tried the chase the animal, but instead of being intimidated, it took the base of her apron in its teeth and pulled hard. So as not to destroy her uniform, she followed the eager dog to the part of the garden which Lady Madison used for growing roses, where it started yapping excitedly. Bending down, she said: “What is it, pup? What’ve you found in here?” She pushed away the branches to see. “Oh my…” She ran back to the kitchen, shouting: “COOK! ANNA! Come quick!”. The three of them bolted back to the bushes. They bent down and looked at the tightly wrapped thing in the dirt.

Cook picked it up and held it warmly. Heather was even paler than usual. “Is it…dead?”, she gulped.

“I don’t know.”, replied Cook. “Anna, take Heather inside and give her something warm. I’ll see to this.” With much protesting, Heather was finally brought inside while the strange package from the bushes was taken by Cook to the dining room – the warmest room in the house, with it’s great fireplace.

After about an hour, Cook emerged in the kitchen with it, and proudly announced that it was alive: “…but only just. It needs to be kept warm.”

“May I?” Heather, calmer now and shaking less, came from her chair and meekly held out her arms.

“Of course.” Cook handed the creature to the young girl, and it opened its eyes. And smiled at her.

Part Three…

Cook was going to go insane, she had decided. The baby just would not stop crying, and the more she attempted to calm him, the louder he would bawl. If only Heather were not at home with her family. The child only appeared to calm for her – it had been the same since day one, when they had first found him. Heather had named him Michael, after her youngest brother, because it had seemed like an apt name at the time. Cook was considering changing it to Nuisance, for the same reason.

As soon as she had thought this, she instantly regretted it, for the baby, still crying, looked at her. She could have sworn it was telling her something, but she realised that it must be her imagination. Yes, she thought, I am going mad! In a final desperate attempt to lull the child to sleep, she gave it some warm milk, and that seemed to work, so she quietly left it alone and stealthily moved into the corridor. Jeeves was waiting outside for her, and as she closed the door, he suddenly tapped her on the shoulder.

“Madam?” Cook turned around with a start.

“Mr. Jeeves! Don’t sneak up on a person like that – it’s not decent!”

“Sorry, madam.”

“And don’t call me ‘Madam’, either. You can call me Cook, or Juliet if you prefer.”

“Cook… will do fine.” He realised he still had not told her his message. “Oh yes. Miss Lockley just telephoned and asked me to inform you that young Michael only sleeps if you sing a lullaby.” The screams began anew from behind the door. “Although it seems that information may have arrived too late! Are you enjoying being a nanny?”

“No I’m not, it’s nothing but hard work and burst ear-drums! Thank you for the message – I’ll try that. Was that all you wanted?” Jeeves looked as though he was about to say something else, but just as he opened his mouth, the master’s bell was heard.

“Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you good evening and attend to Lord Madison.” He passed Mrs Simmins and proceeded at a quick pace to the main bedroom.

Cook returned to the child’s bedroom, covering her ears defensively. “A lullaby you want, is it?” She looked thoughtful. “Not sure if I can remember any lullabies. Will Brahms suit your Highness?” She began humming the tune softly. The baby eventually stopped weeping and was quiet even after she had finished. She sat down in the large rocking chair by the cot and fell asleep herself, exhausted.

When Heather returned home, she immediately sped to Michael’s room, and on opening the door saw a mysterious sight. Both Mrs Simmins and the boy were asleep. She had certainly never expected this. The idyllic view did not last long, however, as the baby sensed her presence and slowly awoke. Heather immediately ran to him and roused Mrs Simmins, who gave a sigh of relief and looked as though she were about to throw her arms around Heather as soon as she saw her. She managed to restrain herself and get up out of the chair to straighten her clothes.

“Was Michael all right, Mrs. Simmins?”

“He was fine, but I’m not so sure about me.” Heather laughed.

“Thank you so much for looking after him for me.”

“Perfectly fine. It’s given me a taste of motherhood again – I thought I’d forgotten what that was like! One thing’s for certain, though, I shall never recommend having a baby to anyone!” Heather laughed again. Mrs Simmins was a really a kind old soul, even if she was strict.

“It was very good of you to do this – I realise how busy you’ve been lately.” Ever since the party, Lord Madison appeared to have worsened in his medical health, and the whole house became bedlam once more. Strangely enough, Heather’s younger brother, Andrew, had also taken ill suddenly, and she had been recalled home to help her mother care for him. As soon as Andrew had recovered, she returned to the Madison household. Michael was suddenly one of her top priorities, despite all her other duties in the house.

Mrs. Simmins was about to leave the room, when she gave Heather one of her important looks, which she specifically used to give advice or order people about. “Listen, Miss Lockley,” (her voice had a warning tone to it) “I know you have a kind of bond with that boy, but I must really advise against keeping him.” Heather looked decidedly disappointed. “I really don’t think you’re old enough to cope with him. God knows, I had enough trouble, and I’ve been there plenty of times!”

“I appreciate your concern, Cook. I know he’s not really my child, and I ought to tell an orphanage, but he seems to have a liking towards me. I can’t give him up.” She cradled the child in her arms, as he slept once more. She looked down at him. “I really can’t. I’m sorry to reject your advice, but I have plenty of my own experience – I have seven brothers all younger than me. I was almost a second mother to them.” Mrs. Simmins gave her a final warning look and left without another word. Heather was unaffected by her words to her, since she was lost in some kind of other world with the boy she had decided to keep as her own…

Michael’s infancy went very quickly, and very soon he was walking and talking and destroying anything breakable he could lay his hands on. Heather, amazed at his speedy development, also noticed various other physical changes in him. When they had found him in the thorny rose bush, he had possessed amazing blonde hair, and pink rosy cheeks (this, Cook put down to her own job of keeping him by the fire to warm him up), but now his hair was getting darker and his skin paler. Heather did not worry about this too much.

After making the conscious decision to keep him, Heather had not been able to let him have her last name, so it was Michael she at first named him, and Michael he remained. She taught him how to read using books from the house’s huge library, and found him paper to teach him how to write. He was a very fast learner.

One day, when Michael was four years old, Heather got the shock of her life when she went to fetch him from bed. She opened the curtains to his darkened room and pulled back his covers, then her hand shot to her mouth. His hair was now a dark, jet black, and his skin was almost white. He had suddenly become very much like herself. His hair, she noticed, was getting long and she decided to cut it that afternoon. A well-meant plan turned into a huge disaster…

She had said to him: “I’m going to cut your hair today, Michael.” He had looked worried.

“Will it hurt?” he asked. Heather was unable to tell if he had gone pale.

“No.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. It’s not going to hurt.” After convincing him of this she took him to the bathroom to perform the deed. She sat him on a stool and wrapped a towel around his neck to catch the stray hairs. As soon as she produced the scissors, Michael panicked and fled to the kitchen, still wrapped in the towel. Mrs. Simmins was not pleased when Heather came to find him.

“What did I tell you about letting him run around the house?”

“Sorry, Mrs Simmins. I was trying to cut his hair and he just ran off.” He knelt on the floor under the huge table. He looked rather guilty. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt. Why did you run away?”

“I was scared by the scissors.”

“Why? They can’t hurt you, look.” She opened and closed the scissors in front of him, and he looked away, genuinely scared.

“Take them away, I don’t like them, they’re big and sharp.” She handed them rather swiftly to Anna, who had given herself the role of ‘aunt’.

“Look, Aunt Anna isn’t afraid. Are you?” Anna was not used to talking to children, but she did her best.

“Scissors are nice things, Michael. They help you to… to…” She was stuck and thought about what to say next. “…to cut out all of your favourite pictures.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Michael was a very sceptical four-year-old.

“Well, then you could stick them into a big book and keep them to look at. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes.” He turned to Heather. “May I have a big book like that? To keep things in?” Heather looked at Anna, with an expression that showed she did not think it was a good idea, then looked at Cook for further advice. Cook was fed up of giving advice and plainly looked back at her.

“All right, if I can find you one. But you must promise to keep it neat and tidy and ask me before you cut anything up.”

“I promise!” He threw his arms around her waist and scampered off. Heather went off after him. She found him later in the library looking at books and finding all the pictures that he liked with great enthusiasm, and she made a mental note to have a chat with Anna at some point about talking to children.

As it transpired, she never got around to cutting his hair, but it appeared not to be necessary. It suddenly just stopped growing. It was as though Michael had made the conscious decision that he was not going to have his hair cut, that he liked it how it was and from that point it lengthened no more.

And thus did the writer’s block set in… shame really, it could have been promising… Oh well.