That infuriating man!

So many feelings were rushing and raging inside me as I walked back to the house that I felt like a tiny paper boat being swept along down a gully. How dare he call me a hypocrite. A 'good person' whose good will went no further than the tip of their own noses. Who did he think he was? Who did he think I was? 

He thinks you're the lady with her nose in the air who tossed him aside, that's who.  

Rubbish! He's flexing his muscles and showing Mummy he's a big lad. Nothing more.  

Oh, leave off Olivia, I finally admonished myself, and focus on more important matters. 

Preparations for dinner were in full-swing and I would just have been in the way if I had hovered around on the lower floors, so I made my way up to my room, still steaming a bit as I went. 

Agatha had deposited some private post for me on the edge of my writing desk.

I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered I hadn't answered Elizabeth Boyd-Scathby yet about taking in some of her vagrants. It did my humour no favours that I was still stumped as a croquet hoop about what to tell her. Taking in several new men all at once was risky.  Especially those who had been living rough for a while. 

A perfect example was the one now lodged in the Infirmary, damn him! 

After father's death and before I had an inkling as to what I was doing, I'd allowed a few men who were already here when the war ended to stay on and work in exchange for food and board. Those men then started coming to me, hat in hand, to plead for crippled friends and battalion mates who were returning home to domestic difficulties and government offices failing to pay disability support. There were beds, work and friends here, couldn't they come, please? 

What could I say to that?

My generosity had backfired a few times. Like with Hughes.  Poor, crazed Hughes. A friend of Morris' he was. Hung himself in the sheep barn after having been here for only a few months. He had survived the Somme but the poor lad couldn't handle the nightmares, the stress attacks. I'd seen it in his eyes when he first arrived, but had thought a new environment and a support net would work miracles. Thought wrong, as it turned out.

We'd had eleven suicides since '18, and with every new man the risk of another inched higher. What did James think it was like to cut down and bury eleven men years after Armistice? Good people. I'd like to tell him a thing or two about good people! 

The letter on top was from Charlotte. 

She reminded me of our date for tea and a jaunt out to the flickers in a fortnight. Oh, and do keep your undergarments on until then, will you, Olivia? I'd hate for our fun to be spoilt.  

Charlotte had obviously set about flushing some appropriate male companionship out of the brambles, and at the same time was warning me off of James. Well, right now, she had my full agreement. 

The second letter was from a Mrs Amelia Thrower, Bath.   

The name was unfamiliar and I had no idea what to expect as I inserted the letter opener under the flap and slit open the small, square envelope.

Dear Mrs Altringham,

My name is Amelia Thrower and I have been in service to Lady Bucking-Coombs of Bath for neigh on 10 years now as housemaid. Her Ladyship no longer has need of me and I have been given my leave. I am a hard worker and have given her Ladyship no reasons to complain in all my time with her and her gracious family.  

I have heard your name be spoken in connection with the good Christian work you do for men damaged in the War. I lost my husband Owen in '15 at Neuv-Shapel and as a widow I collect a widow's pension, but it is not enough. 

I am writing to you today to inquire if there are positions vacant in your household or tending to the damaged men you care for. 

You will find a letter of recommendation from Lady Bucking-Coombs together w --

There was a gentle knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Olivia, I've come to remind you that you are on night duty tonight." Agatha's voice came muffled through the wood.

"I haven't forgotten!" I called back.

I knew she hadn't gone. I could feel her hesitating, and I was proven right a few moments later as the knob turned and she peeked her head around the door. "Do you have a moment?"

I didn't feel like talking to anyone, but saying so would be rude. "Yes, of course. Do come in." 

She eyed my letters with a hint of cautious suspicion as she entered, closing the door behind herself. "Good news, I hope?" 

I sighed and slumped back in my chair. "Just another house servant let go and begging at doors for a new position. War widow. Seems she'd heard of my..." I read from the letter, "good Christian work you do for men damaged in the War and decided to try her luck with me." 

Agatha shook her head,  "Times aren't easy for domestics. What will you tell her?"

"What can I tell her? I'd gladly take her, but at a third of the wage she's used to?" 

Agatha didn't say anything. She knew how things stood at Cloud Hill and I was grateful for her silence. 

After Armistice, Parliament had decided it needed to regenerate the national economy, and the best way to do that was to tax landed families until we bled. With an over 300% increase in taxes in only two year's time, property that had been in families for centuries was being sold at auction and domestic servants let go in droves simply to pay the astronomical sums the government was demanding. The war had been hard on all of us, but that didn't seem to make a difference. 

If it weren't for the Rabbit Hutch and our various enterprises, I'd jolly well be in the same boat as a great many other families of my class. Namely, facing financial ruin. 

I didn't dare think of what would happen if the Rabbit Hutch failed to turn a profit.

"What about the new man, Davis?" Agatha asked, one eyebrow raised.

That question I wasn't so grateful for. I made a few noises in way of an answer as I folded and stuffed Miss Thrower's missive back into its envelope.

"I did not speak with the doctor before he left, Olivia. Is the man seriously ill?"

"No. Nothing rest and. . . a decent, healthy diet won't cure."

And perhaps a few slaps to the head. 

"I'm quite pleased to hear that. I was informed he's only to stay for a short while, is that correct?"

I nodded. "That's what we've agreed upon, yes."  

"But it isn't certain." 

I shrugged slightly and began rearranging pencils and stationary blocks on my desk. I took out a sheet of paper and unscrewed my pen. Perhaps it would look as if I was busy and Agatha would take the hint and go. My hopes weren't high, but I was not above trying my luck. "That's what we've agreed upon." 

Agatha pursed her lips and slipped both hands into the pockets of her dress.  "He's already made trouble, then. More than giving Brooks a lathering." 

"Why would you say that? He has episodes like every other man here. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Agatha smiled, "Because I've known you since before you were born, child. Davis is going to be a hand-full and you know it already."

"He won't be staying. It's certain. I promise."

She looked at me for a long moment. "You go on duty at eleven."

I nodded and Agatha turned and left, leaving me alone with the blank page in front of me. I knew what I needed to do now. The sooner James left the better. Better for all of us here. 

I tapped the pen against my finger a few times, and began writing.  

Dear Elizabeth, 

I am pleased to let you know that there are currently positions for three (3) men available at Cloud Hill . . .