The position at Bell House

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

Mrs Vale came to the workroom on an afternoon when the windows had been shut against the rain. The air smelt of paste and damp wool. At the longest table, six women bent over account books while Ruth copied columns of figures into the narrow spaces allowed for them. Mrs Vale watched her for some minutes before asking the forewoman whether the girl always wrote such a fine hand.

I was working beside Ruth and saw her straighten at the question. The forewoman said that neatness was expected from everyone. Mrs Vale smiled as if she had received a different answer.

‘I require a young woman at Bell House,’ she said. ‘Someone to arrange my correspondence and read to me in the evenings. You would have a room of your own, proper meals and twenty pounds a year. It would lift you out of this place. Few girls in your position are so fortunate.’

Ruth glanced towards the closed windows. Our mother’s cough had worsened that winter, and Ruth’s present wages scarcely paid for coal. She asked whether she might send part of the new salary home.

‘Your money will be your own,’ Mrs Vale replied. ‘Naturally, I shall advise you in its sensible use.’

Ruth then asked if she might visit us on Sundays. Mrs Vale drew off one glove, finger by finger. She explained that Sunday evenings were when she most needed to be read to, but added that a carriage might fetch our mother to Bell House whenever it was convenient.

‘There is one small matter,’ she continued. ‘My last maid was called Ruth, and the name would cause confusion. Margaret is your second name, I believe. We shall use that. And you will not need these dark dresses once you are with me.’

Ruth looked down at the sleeve she had mended twice. She thanked Mrs Vale and accepted the position.

Three days later, I accompanied her to Bell House. Her bedroom was larger than the room our whole family shared, and there was a fire already burning. On the desk lay clean paper, a silver inkstand and a ring of little keys. Ruth touched each object carefully. When Mrs Vale entered, she placed one hand on Ruth’s shoulder and presented her to the housekeeper as ‘my Margaret’.

I reminded Ruth that our mother would be waiting for news. Before she could answer, Mrs Vale said that the first evening’s letters were unusually numerous. Ruth turned towards the desk. ‘Tell her I am fortunate,’ she said.

Those were Mrs Vale’s own words. I carried them home while the gates of Bell House closed behind me.

‘The writer presents Ruth’s new position as an escape that may become another form of confinement.’