NYC Midnight Challenge. Write a Flash Fiction story in 48 hours. Word limit 1000. My prompts were Historical Fiction, Mansion, a kitten
Maidling
Set in England at the beginning of the
First World War this story recounts one ten-year-old boy’s desire to peep into
the house his grandmother worked in before her marriage.
The summer
of 1914 in England was ‘picnic perfect’ promoting confidence that nothing could
falter in such glorious weather. Thus it was a shock to Albert when war was
declared against Germany on 4th August. Albert was ten years old and
after the initial anxiety and distress he resumed his usual pursuits, happy on
holiday with long days to fill. There was no radio at home and he was not much
interested in reading newspapers so war seemed far from his realm.
Albert
and his friends spent hours chasing the humming, jangling trams, which they could
outstrip with ease. Sometimes they would jump on and ride for a few yards
before the conductor chased them off, yelling, ‘Oi, scarper.’ Giggling, they would
run off, punching each other’s arms. After that they went looking for
‘empties’, glass Codd bottles that had been cast aside. They had to decide
whether to return the bottles to the local shop for the penny deposit or smash them
to retrieve the glass marble stoppers. Usually the marbles won.
One of Albert’s
favourite pastimes was visiting a copse overlooking Maidling, a striking mansion
set in extensive grounds. His grandmother had often taken him there when he was
younger. He remembered the swish of her long skirts in the grass and the dust
on her boots.
‘I went
into service at Maidling when I was a girl, starting as a scullery maid. Your
grandfather delivered the groceries there. When I left to marry, I was the
under-cook. In those days female servants had to give up their positions when
they wed.’
‘Was
everything delivered?’
‘Everything
except the fruit and vegetables - they were grown in the gardens. Once a week a
man brought a basket of fresh fish for Cook to buy. Cook was called Mrs Whiting.
That always made me laugh.’
‘You
said you had to leave when you married.’
‘That’s
right. Mrs Whiting wasn’t married but cooks were always called Mrs, just like housekeepers
were. It made them more respectable.’
She told
Albert about the beautiful objects in the house and how the family always left Maidling
at the end of July to travel to the Isle of Wight for Cowes Week and thence to
Scotland and the grouse moors.
This
year, Cowes Week had been abandoned because of the war. The grouse season would
proceed as usual so, the week before the Glorious Twelfth, he saw servants
bustling about, packing trunks into motor cars. Most of the servants would
accompany the family but a few would remain to safeguard the house and see to
the horses.
Albert
watched the motorcade depart for the railway station. As the last car drove
sedately through the gates at the end of the drive he slipped into the grounds.
The servants would be busy covering the furniture with dust sheets as they always
did when the family left. He hoped he would escape notice.
He kept
close to the trees lining the drive, excited at the prospect of seeing inside
the house. He had never plucked up courage before but now he was ten he felt
capable of manly things. Mainly he thought he was fleet enough of foot to
escape should the need arise.
He didn’t ascend the steps leading to
the great double doors but went round the side of the house where the Library
was located. Ever since Albert was a baby his mother, though not an educated
woman, had read to him and encouraged him to enjoy books. The Library had floor
to ceiling windows and high bookshelves filled with leather bound volumes. His nose pressed to the windowpane, his breath
misting the glass, he jumped as a hand squeezed his shoulder and a man said, ‘What
d’you think you’re doing, sonny?’
Albert trembled but stumbled out the explanation
that his grandmother had been in service at Maidling and he’d always wanted to
peep through the windows.
The man asked about her, then smiled. ‘I
remember your grandmother. She was kind to me when I was a lad here, missing my
family. Come and have a look-see.’
Albert
was entranced by wonderful Japanese vases, lacquered cabinets, gilded mirrors.
He gazed at crystal chandeliers glittering in sunlight glancing through tall
windows. As they passed through each room Albert noticed pretty wall-lights and
asked why they were not glowing.
His
guide explained, ‘They’re electric. They can’t be turned down like gaslights so
they’re switched off when not in use.’
He
demonstrated and Albert wondered if his home would ever have anything so
exotic. As they walked from the house towards the copse Albert saw a little
tabby cat scurrying into one of the loose boxes. He called, ‘Puss, puss, puss,’
but the cat ignored him.
‘She
won’t take notice right now,’ said the man. ‘She’s got a litter of kittens. Want
to see them?’
Albert
nodded. Nestled in a corner were three tiny creatures, one black, the others
tabby.
‘Can I touch them?’ he whispered, stretching out a tentative hand. To
his delight the mother butted his hand and the kittens purred and blinked at
him with their milky eyes, huge ears dwarfing their faces.
‘My
grandmother loves cats. She liked the kitchen cats at Maidling. Mrs Whiting said
she shouldn’t feed them as they wouldn’t catch the mice if they weren’t hungry
but she fed them anyway and they still caught the mice.’
‘Has
your grandmother got a cat now?’
‘No, her
cat died. She misses her.’
‘How
about you take one of these kittens for her as a sort of thank you for her
kindness to me?’
Albert’s
eyes shone. ‘Yes, please.’
‘The tabbies
are toms and the black’s a queen.’
‘Could
I have the queen, please?’
‘Got a
name for her?’
‘I’ll
call her Maidie, after Maidling.’
‘Good
name. She’ll be ready in two weeks. All right?’
Albert
skipped home, his brain filled with stunning images. He might never live in the
mansion but he would always have Maidie and his memories.
