maythehighgroundbewithyou:
One thing you should not be mistaken about is the fact that the lady of the house could walk perfectly without her cane. The cane wasn’t there to aid her in walking, it was a status of power - a power she wielded in more ways than one.
The moment the door closed, James came face to face with a woman who shared his height. His mother had always been one of the taller sides. His father is smaller than his mother.
He didn’t speak, not without mother’s permission. And he wouldn’t cry without his mother’s permission. Those were the rules of the punishment - and James knew that he would get punished.
The cane hit him unexpectedly. A loud sound echoing the room as the wood almost shattered by the force the woman used. James flinched but still didn’t say anything, and he could see his mother’s eyes filling with glee at the sight of it. She knew she still had power over him. And that was all she needed to know to hit him a second time, this time the cane did scatter, and so she went for his throat next.
“Pathetic little boy, James.” This time, James’s eyes did fill with tears, but only because his throat was fighting for air. For a woman, his mother was very strong, and she knew exactly what she needed to do to get her son on his knees.
“I told you to sleep.” She spoke once more, impatiently and hurried. “Why aren’t you sleeping, James?”
“I’m sorry.” The man said with a shut throat, and she released him. She had no interest in continuing this play - she wished to wash her hands with soap. After touching something so dirty. “Goodnight James.”
Tina had met her fair share of horrible women. She had worked for plenty of them (though their husbands were usually far worse), whose wealth spoke status, and that status spoke ill of the little scullery maid with the dirty apron and the messy hair. She had friends with mothers with no maternal bones in their bodies, forced into the life through necessity. She had friends with no mothers, who weren’t any better off. Aunt Mary was no angel herself, though, perhaps, in the grand scheme, she had done a kindness by taking Tina in and offering to help her. And, in the world of orphans and maids, it was the unspoken courtesy to turn a blind eye to the treatment dished out by those above your station. It wasn’t worth stirring the pot when you couldn’t afford the pot to begin with.
When Tina began her work in the Hook house, she had been warned of exactly that, and expected no less. She had heard other maids whispering behind closed doors, but never been privy to the conversations herself. If Tina had been an ounce more jaded, she would have turned a blind eye now. The thumps could be heard from downstairs in the kitchens, but the words could not. The other maids carried on about their evening, with one offering to help Tina with some soup so as not to bother the matron. There was some left in the pot from dinner, so all it took was heating it up over the stove again.
By then, when the sweet smell of carrots and leek and potato filled the space again, all went quiet from above. They listened for the thumping of the cane along the floorboards, until they faded to the other side of the building, Ms. Hook’s quarters, before they urged Tina back out of the kitchen quickly, armed with a tray, a bowl, a spoon and some bread.
Tina wished someone else had taken the task, but their jobs were more important than Tina’s in the grand scheme, so she was left to it.
She couldn’t knock when she arrived, so she whispered through the keyhole, tapping the foot of the door with her toe. “Mr Hook, Sir… I have your soup…”