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Angela And The Savages

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old slave

old slave

FELIS RESPICIENS
Angela and the Savages


I have written a story about an uneducated girl from rural Yorkshire, set very roughly 1800. I admit my research is not as thorough as some of the contributors on this site, and although all the events described are likely to have happened, they are, to quote Eric Morecombe to Andre Previn, “not necessarily in the right order”.

I’ve attempted to let some characters speak with a Yorkshire dialect. Purists will know there is no such thing as ONE Yorkshire dialect, so I’ve bound to have got some details wrong. And I’ve only lived in Yorkshire 40 years, so still have a lot to learn. If anyone struggles with the dialogue, I’ll happily provide a plain English translation.

I’m happy for people to add or correct historical and geographical facts, and criticise and speculate. There are about 20 episodes, each about 500 words long. If the majority think each posting could be a double length, I’ll consider it.

We’ll go directly to episode 1.
 
I The new maid


She was so proud she had the job at last. She had been promoted to house-maid after several years of trying, and now she was kneeling on the thick carpet in his Lordship’s bedroom, staring intently in front of her.


Angela Wright was the daughter of a blacksmith. She was just having a little think back to her life. A tear came to her left eye, and she wiped it away with the crisp white cuff of her smart new uniform. The daughter of a man who used to be a blacksmith. She helped him out in the forge, her nimble little fingers very good at shaping the small pieces, like door latches and harness buckles, and the little bits which went inside crude locks which her father made. She would have enjoyed working with him now, even though it wasn’t considered a trade for a woman, if it wasn’t for the accident. Something happened in the fire, a small explosion, enough to send the red-hot coals all over dad. He lost one eye, and the other isn’t very good, so he couldn’t make his wares any more. Angela had to work to support them, but she was seen as a dirty little slut only fit to shovel pig-shit.


She worked hard shovelling, giving the pitiful coin to her parents, and her effort caught the eye of the housekeeper, who wanted a scullery-maid. She spent her time carrying water, heating water, washing dishes and washing clothes. With all the washing her skin gradually got clean, especially as she was allowed to bath herself in the water once the clothes were done. Another maid, Jennifer, showed her how to wash her hair, something she had never bothered with before, since the smoke in the forge and the pig-shit had made it dirty so soon. She was given a comb, the first she’d touched, it had a couple of teeth missing but was the first actual possession she had since coming to the estate. And the housekeeper noticed that now she was clean, she was an attractive girl, despite the coarse clothes of a scullery-maid. Presentable enough to be seen in the house.


Angela wiped a second tear from her eye as she contemplated her luck. House-maid at last, admittedly only menial jobs at first, but who knew? Maybe she would make ladies-maid, handling her Ladyship’s clothes, wearing the cast-offs? Dad would be so proud of her then. She checked that she hadn’t marked the cuff of the dress. The dress belonged to the house of course, and the housekeeper has made it plain that the drawers she wore as a scullery-maid were not fit to wear in the house, but she hadn’t earnt enough yet for cloth to make new ones. She didn’t worry though the dress was long and heavy.


She focussed her attention in front of her. The job in hand was to light the fire in his Lordship’s bedroom, she was confident it was a job she could do with little fuss, she’d tended dad’s fire in the forge since she could reach it. The kindling was in place, the hot coals from the kitchen range carefully placed and the wood just catching.


She was wiping a spot of dust from the polished brass fender in front of the fire, when a shoe picked up the hem of the dress, settled on her backside, and slowly pushed her face nearer to the fire.


tbc
 
old slave said:
I The new maid


She was so proud she had the job at last. She had been promoted to house-maid after several years of trying, and now she was kneeling on the thick carpet in his Lordship’s bedroom, staring intently in front of her.


Angela Wright was the daughter of a blacksmith. She was just having a little think back to her life. A tear came to her left eye, and she wiped it away with the crisp white cuff of her smart new uniform. The daughter of a man who used to be a blacksmith. She helped him out in the forge, her nimble little fingers very good at shaping the small pieces, like door latches and harness buckles, and the little bits which went inside crude locks which her father made. She would have enjoyed working with him now, even though it wasn’t considered a trade for a woman, if it wasn’t for the accident. Something happened in the fire, a small explosion, enough to send the red-hot coals all over dad. He lost one eye, and the other isn’t very good, so he couldn’t make his wares any more. Angela had to work to support them, but she was seen as a dirty little slut only fit to shovel pig-shit.


She worked hard shovelling, giving the pitiful coin to her parents, and her effort caught the eye of the housekeeper, who wanted a scullery-maid. She spent her time carrying water, heating water, washing dishes and washing clothes. With all the washing her skin gradually got clean, especially as she was allowed to bath herself in the water once the clothes were done. Another maid, Jennifer, showed her how to wash her hair, something she had never bothered with before, since the smoke in the forge and the pig-shit had made it dirty so soon. She was given a comb, the first she’d touched, it had a couple of teeth missing but was the first actual possession she had since coming to the estate. And the housekeeper noticed that now she was clean, she was an attractive girl, despite the coarse clothes of a scullery-maid. Presentable enough to be seen in the house.


Angela wiped a second tear from her eye as she contemplated her luck. House-maid at last, admittedly only menial jobs at first, but who knew? Maybe she would make ladies-maid, handling her Ladyship’s clothes, wearing the cast-offs? Dad would be so proud of her then. She checked that she hadn’t marked the cuff of the dress. The dress belonged to the house of course, and the housekeeper has made it plain that the drawers she wore as a scullery-maid were not fit to wear in the house, but she hadn’t earnt enough yet for cloth to make new ones. She didn’t worry though the dress was long and heavy.


She focussed her attention in front of her. The job in hand was to light the fire in his Lordship’s bedroom, she was confident it was a job she could do with little fuss, she’d tended dad’s fire in the forge since she could reach it. The kindling was in place, the hot coals from the kitchen range carefully placed and the wood just catching.


She was wiping a spot of dust from the polished brass fender in front of the fire, when a shoe picked up the hem of the dress, settled on her backside, and slowly pushed her face nearer to the fire.


tbc
Click to expand...

Off to a great start ... and nice little teaser at the end of chapter 1. 500 words is an easy read; I read every one. ;)
 
Looks great, OS. :)

Looking forward to more! :):)

It's probably best to let the story seek its own natural breaks, rather than to have to force a break every 500 words. Mind you, as Barb says, chapter one has worked out very nicely!

I feel that I remember a conversation with Eulalia about 1200 words being a good maximum for a posting, which is good advice, though I know I've been guilty of exceeding that.

So.... a stately 'ome in Yorkshire, eh, lad?

york-castle-howard-cvisityork.jpg

She could 'ave 'er work cut out for 'er, tha knows? :eek:
 
Wragg134 said:
Looks great, OS. :)

Looking forward to more! :):)

It's probably best to let the story seek its own natural breaks, rather than to have to force a break every 500 words. Mind you, as Barb says, chapter one has worked out very nicely!

I feel that I remember a conversation with Eulalia about 1200 words being a good maximum for a posting, which is good advice, though I know I've been guilty of exceeding that.

So.... a stately 'ome in Yorkshire, eh, lad?

View attachment 434976

She could 'ave 'er work cut out for 'er, tha knows? :eek:
Click to expand...

WOW! What a pile that one is. Can't imagine what the cellar punishment chambers for wayward housemaids must be like ... bet they are spectacularly equipped. :eek:

Watch out Angela!!! :popcorn:
 
Barbaria1 said:
WOW! What a pile that one is. Can't imagine what the cellar punishment chambers for wayward housemaids must be like ... bet they are spectacularly equipped. :eek:

Watch out Angela!!! :popcorn:
Click to expand...

We aristocrats know how to live in style, Barb! ;)

And how to keep the servants under the rod of discipline! :devil:
 
Thanks for the comments folks.

I pictured them in a house slightly less ostentatious than Castle Howard, more like Bramham Park:

bramham.jpg
​
still a little better than those of the estate workers.

As for the dungeons, what do you think the blacksmith made?

I've tried to build 'cliffhangers' into the end of most chapters, and comments are pretty evenly divided, so I'll stick to this sort of length for now. I fear the wrath of Messaline even more than most fear it of Barb.
 
old slave said:
Thanks for the comments folks.

I pictured them in a house slightly less ostentatious than Castle Howard, more like Bramham Park:

still a little better than those of the estate workers.

As for the dungeons, what do you think the blacksmith made?

I've tried to build 'cliffhangers' into the end of most chapters, and comments are pretty evenly divided, so I'll stick to this sort of length for now. I fear the wrath of Messaline even more than most fear it of Barb.
Click to expand...

You Don`t Need To Go To Castle Howard Or Bramham
You Can, Or Could ,Get Into The Cellar Of The Ruins Of
Howley Hall Near Me. If You Tie Me Up Down There
Make Sure The Dog Get`s Home Safely.

Fantasy can become reality by a news item i just read on the net
Woman in America missing since August found chained up like
a dog in a storage container , Lucky Lady .
 
II The ways of the nobility


“What a delightful little peach I have in front of me. And already peeled for my attention I see”. Oliver Savage, Second Earl of Elmet, the toe of his highly polished boot now resting in the crack of Angela’s arse, smiled down at his newest house-maid.


Oliver’s father had made his money from shipping, cotton and sugar-cane. His wealth had secured him his title and Elmet Hall and it’s estate in Yorkshire. Oliver, as the eldest son, had given himself the job of co-ordinating the family’s business empire, since he had several brothers who were far better than him at actually running enterprises profitably. He was a man of simple tastes: wine, horses, venison, girls, in no particular order. He had plenty of wine in the cellar, courtesy of the shipping with Portugal. He had a stable full of horses, and staff who knew how to look after them. Red and Fallow deer on the estate provided sport and venison. That only left girls, and in that department he was hungry. His wife Gertrude, the daughter of a tenth generation Duke and so not someone to be trifled with, disapproved of his dalliances, and despite Oliver saying if it’s good enough for the King, it’s good for an Earl, girls were reserved for when he visited London alone.


So His Lordship could contain his lust no longer and ordered Angela: “Grip the fender with your hands, spread your knees apart, and I’ll spare your face from the fire.” And the dutiful house-maid, determined to better herself, experienced much the same activity as she’d seen the boar do with the sows, with remarkably similar sounds coming from the Earl. Angela’s mind went back to when she worked with her father. Someone had brought a weaver’s shuttle in for repair, and he’d given her the job of polishing it. She’d tried spittle, but the finish wasn’t very good. She knew of another sort of moisture, so rubbed the shuttle between her legs. This was rather nice, so rubbed some more, poked some more, it slid into her a bit, and she still remembers it to this day. His Lordship’s effort was very poor in comparison.


And that was that. Not even a “Thank you miss”. Angela smoothed down her dress, made up the fire, tidied up and went down the back stairs to her next task.


Gertrude, Countess of Elmet, rang the bell to summon the butler. There was a frostiness between the two of them since Gertrude had caught him with Prudence, her sister-in-law who lived with them. Gertrude cared little about her sister-in-law’s honour, but it was a useful tool to hold over the butler. After all, an out of work butler with no references is as much use as a blind blacksmith.

“The new house-maid, White is it?”

“Wright, I believe, ma’am.”

“I care not. She’s to be out of this house immediately. Make a case that the Earl cannot ignore. A hanging case. Make certain she cannot return.”

“At once, m’lady.”


So it came to pass that a Harrison watch, inherited by the Earl from his father, was missing from its case. And a search was made of the whole house. And quickly (very quickly) it was found under Angela’s flock mattress.


Oliver Savage sat down with a heavy heart at his desk and dipped his quill. A letter in his hand would be sufficient evidence for use at the Assizes in York, there was no need to sit with the foul-smelling oafs in the court room, he had no idea how Oscar, his brother the judge, could stand the stench. He wrote the facts, then finished his letter:

As a postscript, I commend to you the chance to examine this wench in private.

It might be propitious to involve the rest of the boys.

We all owe Orson a favour for the profits he returns.

OS


With a coarse bit of sacking making do as a dress, and her hands tied together tightly with some rope, the estate bailiff lifted Angela into the back of a cart, making sure he had a good grip on her buttocks. He tied off the rope to a ring near his seat, and urged the horse on its way. “Shame I dursn’t stay to see you hanged, girl. But don’t worry, ‘appen as they’ll be some to watch. Tha won’t die alone”.



tbc
 
For those not familiar with weaving technology, this is a shuttle, about 8inches/20cm long.
shuttles.jpg

And John Harrison, from Yorkshire, made the most accurate time-pieces of his day, they were always very expensive.
watch.jpg
 
Dorothy Brown said:
There you are Cellar at Howley Hall
Imagine Being Tied Up Naked
Down There In Winter
Click to expand...

I've walked some of the footpaths round there, including the Leeds Country Way, and never realised what Howley Hall was. I tell you, this forum is so educational, it should be included in the National Curriculum: history, geography, human biology, statistics. Anything else kids need?..........................oh yes, sex.........................
 
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