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Order only: life below stairs
Jun. 14th, 2009 03:11 pmHullo, all.
I've been meaning to write more and tell you about life with the Finch-Fletchleys, only with all the trouble everyone's been having - Hermione of course, and Remus, and Minerva and Poppy, and even Harry - I've not been sure of speaking at the right time.
Then, too, the young man keeps me fairly busy. I've a newfound appreciation for teachers, given how much work it is to devise a programme for someone in his circumstances.
This seemed like a good morning to report, though. For one thing, most of the house went out to church. For another, I'm going a bit starkers waiting for Kingsley and Frank to say how their interview with Remus has gone or is going. I've got a Grim Truth brewing, but that cauldron is not yet ready to come off the fire, nor do I trust myself to be at all eloquent yet - not in the matter of Hermione's punishment and Harry's adventure - so I'm simply letting it simmer for the time being.
So to take my mind off the process of going more than slightly insane, I'll blither on for a bit about young Justin, his mother, and life with Muggles.
Well, to start off, it's a very different experience for me, to be part of life below stairs. Mrs F-F really does remind me of my late cousin Andromeda. I mean, she thinks she's no snob, but there's an undertone of the life of privilege I'm sure she's used to enjoying. She has a kind of regal air that has nothing to do with her actual status. It's rather amusing, if it weren't directed at one.
Justin tries to emulate this same quality - and that is really very amusing, because he's not good at it. He's got a natural curiosity and a certain affability that war with his obvious belief that he ought to be more distant with people. I think he's been starved for attention, for one thing, and no wonder, shut up in a large, but no less confining, prison most if his life.
We went out to the park on Thursday - me as Padfoot, and Chanton (one of the butlers) for a chaperone - and he said he'd never climbed a tree before. I mean to say. We fixed that right quick, I can tell you, to Chanton's horror! Justin told me his mum wouldn't let him for fear he'd fly away rather than climb down, or similar nonsense. Muggles really don't understand the limits of a child's self-protective magic!
Anyway, as I said, he's a naturally inquisitive kid, though he's overcoming a good deal of learned fear to ask his questions (which are constant, by the way). Meanwhile, I'm adjusting to life as one of the servants. No, really, it's true. It's like something out of a Dorothy Sayers mystery novel, the ones Lily always read. Peter Whimsey? The servants wear starched pinneys and curtsey and bow and pretend not to overhear private conversations. The mistress of the house accepts calling cards but ses no one for fear of the 'family secret' getting out.
Not that the neighbours don't gossip, of course.
One interesting item: another of the butlers, Didier, said something to me on Monday or Tuesday. I was in the kitchen, chatting with Catherine, their cook, and he was reading Le Monde. Kate was telling me about Mr Finch-Fletchley, because it was hard to tell from Justin's comments just where the man has been in the lad's life.
Well, Didier sort of grimaced and Kate told him to shut it. When I asked what they were talking about, he said that it was probably only a matter of time before I learned for myself. Catherine looked about to push him out of her kitchen, but just then her oven needed tending.
Didier then eyed me warily and said, 'Has she asked you yet, then?'
'Asked me what?' I muttered, not sure if he meant Catherine or 'La Maitresse' as most of the others call Mrs Finch-Fletchley.
Didier shook his head and sipped his wine. 'Hasn't, then,' he sniffed. 'You'll know when she does.' He set down his glass, leaned over to me and, very confidentially, 'Best do for her, if she makes up her mind to offer. Wouldn't recommend refusing.'
From his knowing wink, I have a fair idea what he was on about, but I didn't care to dignify it with the question he so obviously wanted me to ask. I took my tea back to my rooms.
It's very odd to live with one set of human beings catering to another - not in the contemptible position of slaves, I mean, but as willing and compensated hired help. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I'm sure I'll never get used to being thought of as 'the help,' either.
Right, well, it's well into the evening, and we still haven't heard from Frank or Kingsley. Any news? Lucky it's my night off; I might have to go out just to stop staring at these pages, willing ink to show!
I've been meaning to write more and tell you about life with the Finch-Fletchleys, only with all the trouble everyone's been having - Hermione of course, and Remus, and Minerva and Poppy, and even Harry - I've not been sure of speaking at the right time.
Then, too, the young man keeps me fairly busy. I've a newfound appreciation for teachers, given how much work it is to devise a programme for someone in his circumstances.
This seemed like a good morning to report, though. For one thing, most of the house went out to church. For another, I'm going a bit starkers waiting for Kingsley and Frank to say how their interview with Remus has gone or is going. I've got a Grim Truth brewing, but that cauldron is not yet ready to come off the fire, nor do I trust myself to be at all eloquent yet - not in the matter of Hermione's punishment and Harry's adventure - so I'm simply letting it simmer for the time being.
So to take my mind off the process of going more than slightly insane, I'll blither on for a bit about young Justin, his mother, and life with Muggles.
Well, to start off, it's a very different experience for me, to be part of life below stairs. Mrs F-F really does remind me of my late cousin Andromeda. I mean, she thinks she's no snob, but there's an undertone of the life of privilege I'm sure she's used to enjoying. She has a kind of regal air that has nothing to do with her actual status. It's rather amusing, if it weren't directed at one.
Justin tries to emulate this same quality - and that is really very amusing, because he's not good at it. He's got a natural curiosity and a certain affability that war with his obvious belief that he ought to be more distant with people. I think he's been starved for attention, for one thing, and no wonder, shut up in a large, but no less confining, prison most if his life.
We went out to the park on Thursday - me as Padfoot, and Chanton (one of the butlers) for a chaperone - and he said he'd never climbed a tree before. I mean to say. We fixed that right quick, I can tell you, to Chanton's horror! Justin told me his mum wouldn't let him for fear he'd fly away rather than climb down, or similar nonsense. Muggles really don't understand the limits of a child's self-protective magic!
Anyway, as I said, he's a naturally inquisitive kid, though he's overcoming a good deal of learned fear to ask his questions (which are constant, by the way). Meanwhile, I'm adjusting to life as one of the servants. No, really, it's true. It's like something out of a Dorothy Sayers mystery novel, the ones Lily always read. Peter Whimsey? The servants wear starched pinneys and curtsey and bow and pretend not to overhear private conversations. The mistress of the house accepts calling cards but ses no one for fear of the 'family secret' getting out.
Not that the neighbours don't gossip, of course.
One interesting item: another of the butlers, Didier, said something to me on Monday or Tuesday. I was in the kitchen, chatting with Catherine, their cook, and he was reading Le Monde. Kate was telling me about Mr Finch-Fletchley, because it was hard to tell from Justin's comments just where the man has been in the lad's life.
Well, Didier sort of grimaced and Kate told him to shut it. When I asked what they were talking about, he said that it was probably only a matter of time before I learned for myself. Catherine looked about to push him out of her kitchen, but just then her oven needed tending.
Didier then eyed me warily and said, 'Has she asked you yet, then?'
'Asked me what?' I muttered, not sure if he meant Catherine or 'La Maitresse' as most of the others call Mrs Finch-Fletchley.
Didier shook his head and sipped his wine. 'Hasn't, then,' he sniffed. 'You'll know when she does.' He set down his glass, leaned over to me and, very confidentially, 'Best do for her, if she makes up her mind to offer. Wouldn't recommend refusing.'
From his knowing wink, I have a fair idea what he was on about, but I didn't care to dignify it with the question he so obviously wanted me to ask. I took my tea back to my rooms.
It's very odd to live with one set of human beings catering to another - not in the contemptible position of slaves, I mean, but as willing and compensated hired help. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I'm sure I'll never get used to being thought of as 'the help,' either.
Right, well, it's well into the evening, and we still haven't heard from Frank or Kingsley. Any news? Lucky it's my night off; I might have to go out just to stop staring at these pages, willing ink to show!
