We have a Range. It stands in the Kitchens next to the scullery below stairs.
Over this range Cook will do whatever it is that cooks do, and then she will have one of her underlings, but usually herself, mainly because we had to let both underlings go on account of not having kept a proper eye on them and unexpected babies and that, but in any case she will then load our provender upon the base of the dumb waiter and pull on an ancient rope which dongs a bell to let Lambert know that there be food ready to come up to the dining rum. She will then customarily stand with a vengeance, extreme attitude and a scowl at the bottom of the shaft, arms folded across her far too ample breast and sweat running freely off her nose, awaiting the moment when Lambert takes up the slack.
The dumb waiter comprises a lift contraption entirely propelled by human power either up or down as the case may be, by an intricate and mysteriously byzantine affair of ropes. Now truly speaking, it would make sense, and indeed is the normal custom, for Cook to manipulate the ancient ropeworks in order to achieve this lofting result. Cook however, believes this to be mans work, and therefore that Lambert should be the one who does all the pulling.
Now this situation causes much jocularity and no mean amount of dalliance for the diners in the dining rum, and to be honest, some days it is so jolly boring that we positively look forwards to this moment.
Lambert occasionally likes to show his superiority over Cook, being as he considers himself Butler, and therefore above all forms of manual labour and I would have to agree, but only on the grounds that manual contains the word man, and if nothing else, Lambert is no man.
The last time this occurred, Lambert offered the pretence that he did not hear the bell, which in any case would not be hard since in one ear he is deaf, and from the other he cannot hear anything. In this ear he does have a spritely sprout of hair, which in certain lights can appear uncanny. Not uncannily like anything, just uncanny.
Well naturally Cook would seek her revenge for such act of subordination, not even realising the irony of doing so, and why would she? No one likes overmuch to argue with cook. She substituted our provender with the dog, which so happened to be helping himself to tomorrows joint, or at least as much as he could get his mouth around.
Meanwhiles, in the Dining rum above, Lambert stood with his back resolutely turned to the mouth of the dumb waiter, a smug smile slipping shrewd across his face.
With this smile still enthroned, he reached behind him when the dumb apparatus arrived, wholly expecting a tureen or two and was momentarily nonplussed, and very soon after, outright terrified to find that instead of there being some inanimate object stood placid there, what greeted him was anything but placid, nor indeed inanimate.
It took some scuffling shuffles for him to disengage a hungry and sorely teased dog, and there was no small amount of blood let. Whilst I made fast a slavering dog, Lambert was hurriedly despatched below stairs for some emergency surgery, after manually carrying our dinner to table of course.
Recognising his obvious distress following our meal, we even helped him clear our dishes, by leaning slightly to one side as he gamely managed everything with his one remaining good arm.
So you see, not everyone doesn't have a range.
Lizzie xx