The Trouble to Check Her is the latest release by author Maria Grace. It is my pleasure to have Maria Grace visit at More Agreeably Engaged and tell us a bit about her research for this book. I must say that the things she shares about housework in the Regency era does take a bit of the glamour out of the time and definitely adds to the reality of it. Those that were gently born certainly had a life much easier than the maids. They had to be tough women to do the things that were required of them.
This novel follows Lydia at Mrs. Drummond's School for Girls. Lydia gets to learn first hand some of these chores that she was used to the maids doing at Longbourn. Don't you know she felt that quite beneath her dignity?
Maria Grace, I enjoyed reading about your research and the excerpt. I am ready to continue reading your story that is getting so many good reviews! Best wishes on your book, The Trouble to Check Her.
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Thanks so much for having me Janet.
I confess I’m a bit of a research nerd. One of my favorite
parts of writing is the research I get to do along the way. I love getting into
the nitty-gritty of people’s lives in the Regency era. One surprising place I’ve ended up is
researching how housework was done. Housework had a big part to play in my
latest book, The Trouble to Check Her, in which Lydia Bennet finds herself
doing a great deal of it.
All the things we take for granted, like specialized
cleaning produces, vacuums, clothes and dish washers, irons, even just
detergents were not available in the Regency era. So they had very different
methods to keep things clean.
Here are a few of the most interesting tidbits I learned in
the process.
Dust was a HUGE problem in the era. Coal dust and fire soot
were everywhere. Maids spent a great deal of effort dealing with it. It was so
bad that before rooms were dusted or floors swept, large dust cloths were
placed over the furniture and curtains pinned up away from the floor to keep
the dust from dirtying them. Then damp, used tea leaves or damp fine sand was
sprinkled on the floor to help give the dust something to cling to as it was
swept up. Maids would get very dirty with all the sweeping and were required to
don large ‘bed making aprons’ before touching bed linens and other things that
might be soiled by their dusty gowns.
Speaking of beds, they generally had at least two or three
mattresses, each stuffed with something different. The lowest, called a
paillasse was stuffed with straw. It was turned once or twice a week. This of
course meant removing EVERYTHING on top of it. Upper mattresses might be filled
with horse-hair, wool, flock or down. Well-to-do houses might have four or five
mattresses stacked on top of each other. These required turning and shaking
every other day or so. The mattresses were supported by ropes along the bottom
of the bed. The ropes required regular tightening using large wooden pins. All
of that had to be dealt with before the bed clothes were addressed. Makes me
glad I only need to turn my mattress once or twice a year!
In addition to dusting and straightening, houses needed a
great deal of scrubbing. Floors, stairs, hearths, stone floors, stoves, fire
irons…I get weary just thinking about all of it! Elbow grease was the first
ingredient in any cleansing preparation.
After that there were three basic ingredients, an abrasive, a base to
carry to abrasive and something to apply it with. The abrasives ran the gambit
from coarse sand and brick dust, to pumice, fuller’s earth and rottenstone. The
bases it was mixed into could be as simple as water, milk, small beer or sweet
oil, or might include various soaps, washing soda, or lye. Salt, lemon juice
and even vitriol (sulfuric acid!) found their way into cleaning preparation.
These would then be applied by bare hands(!) with hair or bristle brushes,
flannel, wool, soft carpeting, soft leather, even feathers!
Kind of puts a new spin on cleaning day, doesn’t it?
~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s a snippet from the book of Lydia tackling her first
bout of housecleaning at the girl’s school to which she had been sent:
The Trouble
to Check Her
Excerpt:
Bright morning sun streamed into her room. She pulled the
sheets over her head.
Why did it have to taunt her misery?
“Did anyone explain our Sunday routine to you?”
Why was Juliana so cheerful?
“No.” Lydia peeked above the covers.
Whatever it was, she was not going to like it.
Juliana waddled into the sunlight and stuffed her feet into
a pair of worn slippers. “I will go downstairs for some wash water and explain
it all when I return.”
She padded away.
Lydia groaned and ducked under the bedclothes. Perhaps if
she fell back to sleep before Juliana returned, she might be left in peace.
The doors squeaked open.
“We were very lucky today. Cook had a kettle steaming when I
got to the kitchen.”
She huffed a bit as she placed a ceramic jug on the wash
stand.
“What good fortune.” Lydia rolled out of bed.
“You have the first turn—only pray, leave me some warm
water.” Juliana shuffled aside.
Lydia sloshed water into the wash basin and then added a bit
more. What right had Miss Waddles-About to tell her how much to use?
She washed her face and hands and turned to find Juliana in
her chemise and stays, wearing a hopeful look.
“Could you help me with these again?”
Lydia huffed and flung a hand in the air. “I suppose so. Shall
I do your hair as well?”
“Thank you, no. It is all hidden under my cap so there is
little point.” Juliana turned her back to Lydia.
Gah! Was the girl too stupid to recognize sarcasm?
Lydia pulled at the laces. “These are near to breaking.”
“Do not pull them very tight. I cannot afford new ones.”
Lydia nearly dropped the laces.
Not able to manage so minute an expense? Surely she
exaggerated … but why else would she wear such ridiculous stays?
“That is perfect. Thank you. I am sorry to keep bothering
you with them.” Juliana trundled off and began to wash.
Lydia dressed, appreciating her own short stays as never
before.
“Now we must clean our room.”
“Excuse me?”
“Each Sunday before holy services, Mrs. Drummond requires we
clean our rooms.” Juliana slipped her apron over her head.
“She … I … but …”
“It will not kill you. And we never know, one day we might
have to find employ as maids.”
“I shall never be a maid.” Lydia tossed her head.
“I hope you are correct, but it is a better fate than
starving in the streets. Either way, we must clean the room.”
She was serious? They were actually going to do this?
“No matter, I will show you. It is not so bad once you get
accustomed to it. Go downstairs and get a kettle of boiling water and a pail
for the slops. I shall start on the beds whilst you are gone.”
Who was Miss Waddles-About to order her around?
“Would you rather work on the beds and I get the water? I
have already fetched water once today, and only thought it fair we should share
the job. But, if you disagree, here is the dust rag.”
“Why would I need that?”
“To dust the chairs before you turn the sheets on to them.”
“Oh, I suppose I will get the water.” Lydia hurried out lest
Juliana invent another chore for her.
Joan met her on the stairs, water jug in hand. “So you have
been sent to fetch water, too?”
“I am to bring boiling water.” Lydia wrinkled up her face
into a mockery of Juliana’s expression.
Joan choked back a laugh. “Did you not have hot water to wash with?”
“Juliana brought some up.”
“Why do you need more? We always use it for cleaning, too.
What is the point in climbing the stairs more than we must? She’s just seeing
how much work she can make you do.”
“I thought she was demanding far too much.” Lydia stomped
into the kitchen.
Mrs. Drummond presided by the stove near Cook, adding
kettles and pots to heat.
“I need wash water,” Joan said.
“And a boiling kettle and slop pail,” Lydia added.
“Provide Miss Bennet with her request whilst I have a talk
with Miss Colbrane.” Mrs. Drummond took Joan by the elbow to a far corner.
Cook wrapped the handle of the kettle in a towel and handed
it to Lydia. “Mind yourself not to get burned.”
Lydia could just make out Mrs. Drummond scolding Joan’s
attempts to take short cuts in their cleaning. It sounded as though they would
be cleaning the teachers’ bedrooms as well. Amelia would be so angry!
Perhaps it would be best to listen to Juliana for now. She
seemed to have garnered some favor from Mrs. Drummond. If she played Juliana’s
friend, she might share in it as well.
She trudged back upstairs, burning herself twice along the
way.
Juliana met her at the door. She took the kettle and set it
on the hearth. “I have the windows open and the beds stripped. Empty the wash
basin and chamber pot into the slop pail, scald the vessels, along with the
water jar and tumbler and empty them into the pail.”
“Why am I to do all the work? I brought up the water.”
Juliana turned aside as though she had not heard. “I will
cover the large furniture with the dusting sheets and fetch the supplies to
clean out the fireplace. Just be happy we do not have a carpet to drag outside
and beat.”
Unpleasant though it was, emptying and scalding the vessels
and discarding the slop pail did not take very long. So, she was sent to fetch
damp sand for the floor and a fresh pail of scrub water.
Just how many times had she climbed the stairs this morning?
Surely Juliana was inventing errands.
Juliana finished the fireplace and ordered her to dust the
windows and furniture while she did the walls and ceiling.
How often had the lazy girl stopped, huffing and panting,
unable to catch her breath? A clever way, indeed, to leave Lydia with all the
work.
Dusting finished, Juliana took the sand jar, leaving Lydia
to drag all the small furniture to the center of the room.
Lydia shoved the broom at Juliana. “You sweep. I am utterly
fagged.”
She leaned on the doorjamb to watch. How droll was Juliana,
maneuvering the broom around her belly.
“Oh!” Juliana staggered and caught herself on the chest of
drawers. The broom clattered on the floor.
“Juliana!” Miss Fitzgilbert rushed in.
When had Miss High-and-Mighty arrived? Probably sent by Mrs.
Drummond to snoop on them.
“The midwife told you not work too hard. Come, lie down in
my room whilst I fetch Mrs. Drummond.” Miss Fitzgilbert took Juliana’s arm.
“You need to finish sweeping and scrub the floors.”
“By myself?”
“Can you not see she has made herself ill? Had you been a
bit more considerate, she might still be able to help you.” Miss Fitzgilbert
tossed her head and disappeared with Juliana in tow.
Lydia stared after them. How could she possibly be expected
to do so much alone? She grabbed the broom and flung it from side to side. That
only threw dust upon the furniture she had just cleaned.
Gah!
Mama was very particular about how the maids did their work.
What did it look like when the maid had done this at home? She closed her eyes
and mimicked the motions she remembered.
Yes, that was more effective.
“Do not forget to sweep under all the furniture.” A voice
called from the door.
How kind of Miss Fitzgilbert to stop and offer advice.
Lydia snatched a flannel cloth and reached under the chest
of drawers. There was hardly anything under it. Underneath the beds was
similarly clean.
What a waste of time.
Dust pail filled, the only thing left was to scrub the
floor. Wretched task, on her knees, her hands in the cold water, by herself.
She turned her back to the door and dunked the cloth in the chilly, soapy
bucket. How she hated the feel of it on her hands, slippery and dry all at the
same time.
Soon she would sport chilblains and cracked fingertips! How
then would she be able to sew or practice the pianoforte?
She sat back on her heels and dragged her sleeve across her
forehead. Only in spring and fall, when Papa demanded everything be completely
cleaned did she ever work this hard. And then only if Mama did not have enough
extra household money to hire an additional girl for the duration.
“I see no one has taught you to scrub floors.”
She jumped to her feet, slipping in a soapy puddle.
Mrs. Drummond loomed in the doorway behind her.
“Ah, yes, I mean no, madam.”
“Then I shall show you, but pay attention for I shall only
do it once.” Mrs. Drummond minced over the sopping floor, leaving footprints in
her wake. “Bring the sand. You have some stains.”
Lydia slipped and nearly overturned the sand jar.
Mrs. Drummond dropped to her knees near the far corner and
beckoned Lydia down. “First, you must always begin farthest from the door and
work toward it, lest you trap yourself inside with a clean, wet floor between
you and the way out.” She pointed to the messy footprints.
Lydia winced.
Mama’s maid started from the far side, too. Who knew it
should matter so much?
“Now to begin, soak the cloth in the soapy water and wring
it a bit. Too much only makes a mess. Now rub it along the length of the floor
boards, not across. This is especially important if you must scour a stain.
Here, give me the sand.” She sprinkled a generous pinch on a dark spot. “Scrub
with the grain of the wood until it is gone. Do not rub in circles or across
the grain.” She looked up at Lydia. “I will not have my floor boards ruined.”
“Yes, Mrs. Drummond.”
“Now, when you are finished, you must use fresh water—where
is your rinse pail?”
“I … I … do not have one.”
Had Juliana told her to get one? Perhaps … oh bother, she
did not remember now.
“Go downstairs and fetch one. Quickly, now!”
Lydia almost tripped over her own feet as she dashed to the
kitchen. Several buckets waited near the door. The cook signaled her to take
one.
One never realized how heavy water was until it needed to be
carted about. No wonder charwomen were so disagreeable.
Lydia staggered into her room. The pail sloshed out splashes
as she skidded toward Mrs. Drummond.
“Down here with me.” She passed a clean rag to Lydia. “Dip a
fresh rag in the clean water and wring it well. Rinse the soap off the floor or
it will leave ugly marks and the dirt will stay behind. Like that. Finally, use
a dry cloth and sop up the rinse water.”
Side by side, they wiped the clean patch dry.
“Now you have a clean floor.” Mrs. Drummond rose and dried
her hands on her apron. “Finish up, and you may go to the morning room for
breakfast.” She left Lydia to stare at the empty doorway.
How cruel, to leave her to this huge dirty floor all by
herself.
Lydia shoved stray hair out of her eyes. Perhaps—she tucked
it under her mobcap and it stayed. That was useful.
Hunkered down on sore knees, she whimpered. Why had Mrs.
Drummond not brought Juliana back to help her finish? No, no such work for the
headmistress’s pet. She muttered under her breath and set back to scrubbing.
An hour later, she swabbed the last bit dry and backed out of the door, dragging her
pails and cloths with her.
Miss Fitzgilbert bustled past. “Bring all that down to the
scullery, the rags too. You will see a great basket for them as you enter.”
Oh, how she wanted to speak her mind, but she was far too
weary—and now too hungry—to do so.
She trudged behind Miss High-and-Mighty, and left her
burdens in the cramped, dark scullery.
How very good it felt not to be stooped over a bucket of
dirty, frigid water.
She straightened her back and stretched. Other girls with
their burdens pushed past her, and she dodged out of their way.
What was that? Something smelled very good indeed.
She followed the scent to the morning room. All manner of
good food graced the table. Plain to be sure, but hearty and plentiful.
Amelia waved at her to take the seat between her and Joan.
“I am so fagged!” Lydia fell into the chair and threw her
head back.
“I hate Sunday mornings!” Amelia muttered through a mouthful
of potatoes.
“At least we get to eat before she drags us off to hear the
vicar.”
“Oh I detest the sermonizing.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “And
Mr. Weatherby is so long-winded—”
“And holy!” Joan sat up very straight and folded her hands
before her, eyes cast skyward.
Amelia giggled. “Very, very holy. Can you imagine being a
vicar’s wife?”
“What a horrible fate, particularly with one like him. How
can one do anything right in his eyes?”
Amelia leaned low to the table and whispered. “It is truly
awful when Mrs. Drummond has him to dinner with us.”
Lydia covered her sigh with her hand. “Does she do that
often?”
“At least once a fortnight.” Joan pouted. “I expect he will
be joining us sometime this week.”
“How he likes to remind us of how very wicked we are.”
“And how grateful we should be for our situation here.”
“As if anyone could be grateful for this workhouse.” Lydia
piled a slab of ham and several potatoes on her plate and reached for a platter
of scones.
_________________
This is just the beginning of Lydia’s adventures in The
Trouble to Check Her.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Trouble to Check Her Book Blurb
Lydia Bennet faces the music…
Running
off with Mr. Wickham was a great joke—until everything turned
arsey-varsey. That spoilsport Mr. Darcy
caught them and packed Lydia off to a hideous boarding school for girls who had
lost their virtue.
It
would improve her character, he said.
Ridiculous,
she said.
Mrs.
Drummond, the school’s headmistress, has shocking expectations for the girls.
They must share rooms, do chores, attend lessons, and engage in charitable
work, no matter how well born they might be. She even forces them to wear
mobcaps! Refusal could lead to finding themselves at the receiving end of Mrs.
Drummond's cane—if they were lucky. The unlucky ones could be dismissed and
found a position … as a menial servant.
Everything
and everyone at the school is uniformly horrid. Lydia hates them all, except
possibly the music master, Mr. Amberson, who seems to have the oddest ideas
about her. He might just understand her better than she understands herself.
Can
she find a way to live up to his strange expectations, or will she spend the
rest of her life as a scullery maid?
~~~~~~~~~~
Buy Links:
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Author Bio:
Though
Maria Grace has been writing fiction since she was ten years old, those early
efforts happily reside in a file drawer and are unlikely to see the light of
day again, for which many are grateful. After penning five file-drawer novels
in high school, she took a break from writing to pursue college and earn her
doctorate in Educational Psychology. After 16 years of university teaching, she
returned to her first love, fiction writing.
She
has one husband, two graduate degrees and two black belts, three sons, four
undergraduate majors, five nieces, six new novels in the works, attended seven
period balls, sewn eight Regency era costumes, shared her life with nine cats
through the years and published her tenth book last year.
She
can be contacted at:
Email
Twitter @WriteMariaGrace
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It has been great having you visit again. It is always a delight to have you stop by and share interesting tidbits with us. The book blurb has my mind wondering about this music master! Could he possibly be a good influence on Lydia? Oh, to read the book and find out!!! :) Isn't it great that Mr. Darcy took the trouble to check her. There may be hope yet!
Thank you again for being my guest today, Maria Grace. I hope you will come back soon with another new release.
