Twelve Days
by Charles Lacey
Chapter 5
Tuesday 17th December
Surprisingly, for I usually slept the night through, I woke two or three times. The third time, I had to get out of bed anyway as I needed to visit the WC. Although we had chamber utensils, we were discouraged from using them as it made unnecessary extra work for the maids when they 'did' the bedrooms in the morning. That done, I thought I would look in on Tracy, just in case there was anything he needed. I tiptoed upstairs and very cautiously opened the door of his room. He was sound asleep, lying on his side facing me, the blankets hiding the lower part of his face. There were smudges of grime on his nose and forehead which somehow made him look even more vulnerable and appealing. I wanted to get a flannel and wipe them off, very gently. But he was so obviously in need of sleep that I let him continue as he was and returned to my own bed.
I was woken again by Jane, coming in as usual with hot water for washing. I made, I fear, but a sketchy toilet and then made haste to go upstairs to see how Tracy was getting on. His room was empty, but I noticed the clothes I'd put out for him were gone. The obvious place to look for him was the kitchen.
Tracy was sitting at the kitchen table, making short work of a bowl of oatmeal porridge and a pot of tea. It looked odd, seeing him there wearing my old clothes. But he had clearly managed to wash – I later found that he had used the scullery sink. Seen by daylight, dry and clean, despite his gauntness he was strikingly good looking. I greeted him, a greeting which he returned gravely, and was about to open a conversation when I heard Mamma calling me to breakfast in the dining room. But as soon as Mamma dismissed me and the girls from the table, I returned to the kitchen, to find Tracy still seated at the table, now busy with polishing the silver. He seemed to be doing it very competently, so much so that I wondered whether he had perhaps been a hall-boy at a good house. But that still didn't explain how he had been reduced to beggary. Oddly, now that I had the opportunity to ask him about his history, I was overcome with shyness. Instead, I took a rag and helped him with the silver.
Sissons came through on the way to his pantry and looked approvingly at us. "That's what I like to see," he said, "'Idle hands', you know…" It wasn't the first time I'd helped to clean the silver, of course. Next to the Morning Room, I think the kitchen was my favourite room in the house, and I certainly regarded all of the servants as my personal friends.
Jane came in. "Lawks, Master Christopher, if you haven't made a rare job of that salt-cellar," she said. And then, "And you, young sir, what do we call you?"
"Tracy," he replied, briefly.
"What? Just Tracy?"
"Yes. Just Tracy."
Jane giggled briefly. "That's a girl's name."
"No, if it's a girl's name it's spelt T-R-A-C-E-Y. Mine doesn't have an E."
Rose came in then with the dishes from the Dining Room and the two maids went through to the scullery to wash them. Tracy and I continued quietly polishing silver. At intervals Sissons came in, inspected what we had done prior to removing it and bringing more.
The kitchen clock struck ten. Mrs Huntly came in, saying, "I must put on the water for the Master's coffee. He'll be wanting it presently. And you, Master Christopher, would you like a glass of milk and a biscuit? And what about you, young man?"
"Yes, please, Mrs Huntly," we replied in unison.
Our milk drunk and biscuit eaten, we continued with the silver until, unexpectedly, Papa put his head round the door. Tracy and the maids shot to their feet; Papa said, "Please, sit down and carry on. Don't mind me. I just came to have a word with our visitor."
Tracy went white. As he put down the rags he had been using I could see his hands trembling.
"Now, young man," Papa began, "In the first place, you'll be glad to know that Miss Emily is no worse for her adventures yesterday. She's staying in bed for this morning, but I am sure that when she comes downstairs she will want to thank you in person."
"There's no need for that, sir. Anyone would have done what I did. I just happened to be the nearest, that's all."
"Your modesty becomes you, but to plunge into those icy waters… it was a deed of no ordinary courage. Now, yesterday you told us that your home – your sleeping place – is underneath the arches at Chelsea Reach. Is that true? Do you really have no place to call a home, no people to call a family?"
Tracy looked down at his hands, a sallow blush on his face.
"Yes, sir. That is correct. I did have a place in an old warehouse in Rotherhithe, but the other boys… drove me away."
"Then you must stay on here. Is there anyone who depends upon you?"
The relief on Tracy's face was manifest. His head came up as he spoke. "No, sir. Nobody."
So there was no crippled brother, at any rate.
"Then for the moment you must remain here. I am sure Mrs Huntly can find plenty to keep you busy, at this time of year."
"Yes, sir," broke in Mrs Huntly, "I'm run off of my feet, just now, sir. I could do with some 'elp."
"Then that's settled," said Papa. "After Christmas we must see about getting you some better clothes. For now, we will see what Master Christopher can find for you."
Tracy looked down at his hands again and I fancied there was a blush on his hollow cheeks. "Thank you, sir. I'm very grateful."
"Well, Tracy, we are grateful to each other, then. We must all do our best to make it a good bargain on both sides." He held out his hand, which Tracy clasped in his, before going upstairs to drink his neglected coffee.
But there was another puzzle about Tracy. Had he really no family? I wondered what had become of them. Perhaps he was an orphan, whose mother had died and whose father had gone away. Perhaps (my imagination really began to run away with itself now) his father was really a Russian Grand Duke, or Scandinavian minor royalty. Or perhaps he was the heir to an immense fortune, hiding in disguise as a beggar to avoid jealous rivals. Perhaps… perhaps… I consoled myself with the thought that we should know, sooner or later.
We helped Jane to make some space in the boxroom, which was going to be Tracy's bedroom for the time being. Obviously he couldn't sleep with the maids, and Mr Sissons had his own little bed-sitting room next to the Butler's Pantry. For the moment Tracy would have to make do with a mattress on the floor; a new bedstead could be ordered after the Christmas holidays had ended.
And so things settled down. Tracy was a model servant: quiet, respectful and hard-working. He was a real help to Mrs Huntly, fetching coals for the kitchen range, helping Jane and Rose with the fires above stairs, fetching and carrying the heavier items. He maintained a complete silence about his history, though; even Mrs Huntly could not wheedle anything out of him. "A perfect mystery, that Tracy," she would say, "you mark my words, there's something there he don't want known. Still, he seems to be a good lad. There's no 'arm in him."
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