Story: The Best Laid Plans. Chapters 5-7.

by Jackie J

Chapter 5

Margret pondered her impending secondment to High Trees Hall into the service of Lord and Lady Parsons. Lord Parsons had complimented Molly’s service at one of her Mistresses functions but she was still a little apprehensive of taking her developed skills outside the security of Woodland manor.

Margret need not have worried she wallowed in her assured anonymity within the walls of High Trees Hall displaying all the attributes associated with a certified Penfold Maid.

This was so different to her contrived position within the familiarity of her own home.  She was away from the safety of the shore now out in the open sea just a simple maid loaned from one house to another. None of her imaginings had engendered feeling like the ones stirring her emotions at High Trees. Treated with total disdain with no hint of familiarity by her Mistress and Master, or their guests, there was no thought of pretence, no time to dwell on a privileged past, she had been given over to strangers to do their bidding and willingly danced to their demanding tune. 

Thankfully maid Molly’s training under the tutorage of Mrs Farrow allowed the High Trees maid to carry out her tasks to the unmentioned satisfaction of her owners. Yes, owners because not only did the Parsons treat her and remind her she was owned property but Molly accepted that she was, felt like she was.

With Lord and Lady Parsons guests leaving High trees suitably impressed it had been agreed that Molly would to remain in their service for the remainder of the week. It was Thursday morning when Molly was called into the parlour by Lady Parsons and she dutifully curtsied.

“Mistress?”

The vitriolic chastisement she received from Lady Parsons, following being accused of taking some cherries that she had used to decorate a cake that she had baked, which she had, stirred all the welcome emotions she desired. Molly had come to know her Mistress at Woodland manor and the number and effect of her chastisements was waning. The angry eyes and expression of Lady Parsons was different, meaningful. This wasn’t someone she had constructed for her own perverse debasement this was an aggrieved Mistress berating a delinquent nobody of a maid and held nothing back. Only three cherries but in the eyes of Lady Parsons Molly was no better than a thief. Molly was given Hobson’s choice, be reported to the police and her Mistress or accept Lady Parson’s punishment for her. 

The motivation for Lady Parson’s display of authority, beyond the trivial matter of the cherries being that Lord Parsons had taken a shine to Molly which had not gone unnoticed by Lady Parsons. She was not going to have a trollop of a maid, Penfold maid or not, being coveted by her husband.

Called into the parlour Lord Parsons had a strap thrust into his hand by his wife who then sat back in one of the large leather chairs with a look of smug satisfaction on her face. Poor Molly already bent over an adjacent chair her skirts raised knickers to her ankles awaiting the inevitable.

“Thrash it Cedric she admits to being a thief and has agreed and deserves to be punished” 

Any reservation by Lord Parsons was muted by the raised voice of his wife.

“I said thrash it Cedric.”

Lord Parsons stared at the quivering peach of a bottom displayed before him. He had wanted the ass of the maid but not like this but with a further command from his wife he had no choice.

“Cedric?”

Molly whelped and whimpered the strap lashing her tender behind. The burning sensation faded to a weakening dull ache when the last stinging stroke slapped her reddened ass with no less enthusiasm than the first. Glancing back at her assailant through tear filled eyes the obvious protrusion in his pants sent a strange erotic shudder through her. A secondary glance to a gloating Lady Parsons, who was no less aware of her husband’s arousal, sent further powerful shudders of wanton distress quivering through her. Remaining prostrate over the arm of the chair Molly watched Lady Parsons gracefully stand and smile at her husband her predatory eyes glistening when they flashed back to her maid. Watching her Mistress take the strap from her husband Molly feared that she was in for more of the same, how wrong she was.

Manicured fingers danced delicately stroking across her short hair and Molly sighed looking up at a smiling Lady Parsons. 

“I just love your hair girl, very boyish.”

Lord and Lady Parsons, no different to most of their class, lived a life were assumed yet undeserved and unearned entitlement and privilege was theirs and demanded by right, their birthright. They wanted something they took it, if they had finished with something they discarded it, with no differentiation between goods, animals and of course people. 

“You have been a very naughty girl Molly and you have paid for that now it is time to show your Mistress what a good girl you can be.”

A maid’s duty is to her Mistress and Master and Molly carried out her duties to the complete satisfaction of both. Molly wasn’t angry or feeling shame for what she had done. Lady Parsons had been extremely gentle with her more so than Lord Parsons but even he was not brutish. Laid on the bed in her quarters, which were much more spacious than the maid’s accommodation at Woodland Manor, she was quite sanguine about the whole contrived episode. Sure, she had been used no doubt no differently than other maids before her but the so long forgotten memory of intimacy made her smile.  Fumbling John the first then needy Catherine, there was potential with Rupert but it was the heartbreak with Magdalene that had left Margret celibate for so many years. Margret had not resisted the advances of the privileged pair on the contrary she had meekly coalesced to their depravity embracing the feelings of worthlessness it engendered within her. Margret had never thought that the self-sought subjugation she had so carefully engineered for herself would take the form of sexual molestation but her temporary Mistress and Master had opened another door for her debasement and self-deprecation. 

Friday morning should have been the time to leave High trees but nothing was said and whilst somewhat anxious there was little maid Molly could do or say. She was just a maid it was not the place of a maid to question her betters was it? There was much to do for the busy maid following the departure of Lord and Lady Parson’s visitors. Along with her general duties there was the extra laundry and cleaning of the guest rooms Lady Parsons had also been large amount of sewing that she required to be completed. 

It was the Tuesday of the following week that Molly, becoming quite concerned, dared to raise the subject of returning to Woodland manor with Lady Parsons.

Entering her Mistresses private quarters uninvited Molly curtsied.

“Mistress.”

Lady Parsons scowled at her maid not wishing to be disturbed.

“What do you want girl have you finished your sewing already?”

Molly instantly put on the back foot curtsied again and started to mumble.

“No Miss, sorry Miss it’s just....................

Lady Parsons stood from her desk and glared at her wilting nervous maid and cut her short.

“How dare you come into my rooms without being called get out and return to your duties I want that sewing finished do you hear me girl finished, now out, out, out.”

Molly cowered under the verbal onslaught and curtsying scurried from the room.

Outside in the hallway Molly was shaking panting for breath what had she been thinking, that she could just engage her Mistress in conversation like she had tried, who did she think she was?  

Molly returned to the sewing room and continued with the adjustments and repairs to the mountain of her Mistresses fine gowns, blouses and her master’s shirts, trousers and jackets.

In the quite of the sewing room Molly contemplated her position a position that she herself had placed herself in. She was just a Maid in a house of nobility, they had no knowledge or care of whom she was. Margret was trapped, trapped within the persona of her own making, for her to reveal who she truly was at this stage would surely be ridiculed and certainly disbelieved. 

She was a trained and certified Penfold Maid, endorsed documents proclaimed the same and she was branded to be such. The double lock to her exquisite feelings of helpless abandonment of her past and the chainless shackles that bound her into a life of servitude that she had so desperately craved being the indenture she had signed. A binding legal indenture document which had been back dated to well before she had commenced her ruse, authorised by her Mistress Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe and witnessed by Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe’s legal representative, Michael Jones, a solicitor with the highly respected London based legal chambers of Winston Brown and Watkinson. Filled with the weakening emotions of her dutiful compliance to her constructed subjugation maid Molly sewed the last button to the bodice of one of her Mistresses fine silk gowns, a gown not dissimilar to one that she herself would have worn not that long ago.

 Molly worked long into the night to finish the last of the garments, she was tired and her fingers sore when she slipped between the sheets of her bed but with a sense of pride with the work she had done for her Mistress.

 The young maid that Lord and Lady Parsons had sent to Woodland manor, to cover for the absence of Miss Whittingham-Smythe’s maid, made up for her lack of skills with her enthusiasm.  Jenny was nothing like the trained Penfold maid that Francesca had become used to. Jenny was cheeky, spoke coarsely and was a little unkempt. On reflection more like the maids Francesca had encountered before coming to Woodland Manor. Strange but Molly had never been any of these things even when she was incompetent, she was obedient in the extreme, spoke with a refined accent and was always well presented? The initial agreement was for Molly to be at High Trees for just the week but, when contacted by Lady Parsons, Francesca had agreed for the arrangement to be extended, an invite for Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe to attend a dinner party at High Trees, at the end of the month, proving to be a convincing incentive.

Two weeks passed and her cheeky replacement maid had disappeared again, obviously skiving somewhere and the Mistress of Woodland manor was going to find her maids hiding place and thrash her, she had enough of her going missing there was laundry to finish.

Francesca had never been up to the attics but hearing the creak of floorboards and the sound of giggling she crept up the stairway to confront her delinquent maid.

At the end of the dusty attic, illuminated by a roof light sat her giggling maid rummaging through papers an opened trunk by her side.

Hearing the footsteps behind her Jenny quickly stood banging her head on a roof beam and falling down onto the dusty floor which probably saved her from the thrashing her Mistress had planned for her.

Tearful and rubbing her head a dizzy Jenny sobbed her apologises but her Mistress was more concerned with the contents of the chest and the picture that had fallen from her maid’s hand?

Having dismissed her maid to get cleaned up and continue with the laundry Francesca stared at the picture and the silver locket her maid had dropped. Fuck, what the fuck?  Fuck!!!! Jenny had obviously broken the asp on the chest but that was of little consequence and Francesca’s skills soon had the other two chests sprung open. Having spent some time investigating the contents Francesca closed up the trunks and returned to the lower floors clutching the book she had found written by Dauphine le Mur, the title intriguing her and two diaries, Francesca with only one thought on her mind, why??

Jenny was suitably punished for what she had done but Francesca was not too hard on her giving what she had revealed.

Two days to read the novel and, along with what she had discovered in the attics, much became clear about her appointment to be the custodian Mistress of Woodland Manor and the strange personal criteria that she had to meet. No wonder the maid was incompetent when she had arrived at Woodlands and the conditions within her contract to be strict with the manor’s maid. The likeness in the pictures was astonishing their hairstyles identical.

Francesca closed up the book and sat back by the fire in her easy chair chuckling thinking of the maid’s school she had sent her maid to and the indenture and now working at Lord and Lady Parson’s residence. The diaries Francesca had discovered in one of the trunks were even more revealing of the strange desires of Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe.

Francesca took a sip of wine and smiled.

“Well well the best laid plans hey?”

She wanted her Penfold maid back at Woodlands but she would have to wait.

 

Chapter 6

With no further thought to question her return to Woodland manor the next two weeks at High Trees were gruelling for maid Molly. She seemed to have scrubbed every floor and step, cleaned every window, washed down all the walls, blacked every fire, beat all the rugs and cleaned the carpets. Molly’s Mistress was relentless in the harassment of her maid. With each guest room finally prepared in pristine condition chaffed reddened knees, grazed knuckles the displayed trophies of Molly’s hard labour. It was maid’s work but for one person extreme. But for her training and self-nurtured, now imbedded meek and compliant servility, Molly would surely have snapped at the constant haranguing by her Mistress but of course she didn’t she knew her place, she was a Penfold Maid. When called to her Masters or Mistresses chambers Maid Molly was no less compliant it was her duty wasn’t it?

There was a reason for such preparation the annual hunt ball was to be held at High Trees and Molly hung the last of the dressings in the main hall.

Guests arriving Molly greeted them with a curtsy and a glass of champagne. Molly weakly smiled when Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe, in the company of her solicitor Michael Jones, arrived looking resplendent wearing one of her finest gowns and expensive jewellery. Francesca took her champagne from the silver tray extended to her and smiled at her maid. Francesca now fully aware of who her Penfold Maid truly was.

“I do hope your time here at High Trees has been a pleasant one Molly?”

Molly curtsied.

“Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress.”

With a smirk on her face Francesca followed the throng into the main hall to mingle with the wealthy of the district. 

Molly was kept busy during the evening along with the other maids that had been drafted in for the prestigious event and saw little of her Woodlands Mistress, Miss Whittingham-Smythe.

Speech’s and presentations being made the maid’s where herded into a side room out of the way. Among the other maids there was one other Penfold Maid a stern looking girl named Peggy. Whilst she blanked the other lesser maids she spoke with Molly. She was retained by the Symonds family and like Molly was well spoken. Whilst number 205, and a maid for many years, she had not lost the poise ingrained into each and every Penfold maid. Their brief chat showed just how far Margret had come from the Lady of leisure she had been to the maid she now was talking of duties and rotas rather than dresses and shoes. 

Called back into the main Hall the maids dispensed champagne from loaded trays for a celebration toast. The guests danced into the early hours before carriages were called and having collected their cloaks and coats the majority of those invited spilled out of High Trees to make their way home.  A number of guests were staying over and whilst they continued their conversations in the main lounge Molly was already in the kitchens preparing for their breakfasts, there would be no sleep for the High Trees maid that night.

It was a weary Molly who cleared table in the morning following breakfast the gentlemen having gone shooting with the ladies being gathered in the parlour giggling and laughing reflecting on the previous evening.

Two days following the hunt ball Molly stood by the sinks in the kitchens finishing washing crockery when Lady Parsons entered with a young girl at her side.

Molly instinctively turned from her chores and curtsied.

“Mistress.”

Lady Parsons pointed to the sinks.

“Jenny take over from Molly, Molly come with me your transport is here to take you back to Woodlands. Gather your things from the maid’s quarters and wait by the trade entrance.”

Molly curtsied.

“Yes Miss, thank you Miss.”

At last she was to return to the sanctuary of her own home and quickly packed the uniforms that she had brought with her to High Trees and stood by the rear door. 

Lady Parsons placed a sealed envelope into her hand addressed to her Mistress, Miss Margret Whittingham–Smythe, for when she returned to Woodland Manor.

“Give this to your Mistress Molly you have worked well here and if I had my way you would be staying at High Trees but Miss Whittingham-Smythe is quite adamant about your return.

On the journey back to Woodland Manor Molly stared at the envelope with its impressive wax seal addressed to her, or more correctly to whom she was, or even more correctly to her Mistress, the Lady of the manor, Miss Margret Whittingham–Smythe.

Arriving back at Woodlands, after handing her Mistress the letter from Lady Parsons Molly returned her uniforms to the closets and drawers of her quarters. There was no time to rest Molly’s Mistress summoning her to the study and entering Molly curtsied.

“Mistress.”

Francesca just stared at her returned maid stood meekly before her in her neat uniform adopting the poise of the Penfold maid she was. Why would someone with such wealth drastically change their appearance and sacrifice all they had to become a mere maid in their own beautiful home allowing a stranger to take over her possessions and life? This woman had said nothing when Francesca had taken her name and introduced herself and been accepted to be such in the area? Surely when she was sent to the Penfold Maids School and all that entailed, the indenture she signed without reservation, being sent to work for Lord and Lady Parson’s she must have realised her meticulous planning of self-deprecation, detailed so graphically in her diaries, were moving much further than what she had intended? Perhaps becoming so immersed and engrossed within her obsessive delusions she had not contemplated the potential permanence of her self-imposed incarceration into the life of a maid? Or perhaps she had? Francesca certainly had. 

A smile grew across Francesca’s face she had made her plans following her maid’s absence and the discoveries and revelations made within the trunks hidden away in the attics of Woodland manor. The novel written by Dauphine le Mur was a story, pure fiction, but this was not fiction? 

Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe had, for her own gratification, successfully contrived to entrap herself, willingly securing herself within the temporary invisible shackles of anonymity to accept her subjugation at the hands of a custodian Mistress. The pages of the book that had driven her obsession contained no mention of the brutal treatment at a maid’s school and actually becoming a certified branded maid. The indenture, a figment of Margret’s own imagination intended to protect her now an official document of her ownership. Margret had offered no resistance to either of these degradations or questioned their consequence, on the contrary the fantasy fuelled mind of maid Molly had embraced and slipped herself willingly into both these manacles of servitude. 

The books premise was the subterfuge, concerning the maid’s mistress adopting the maid’s true identity. Indeed, Margret had lived a reclusive life at Woodlands to facilitate such a deception. But surely Margret could not have envisaged just how convincing her carefully chosen custodian, now the widely accepted Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe would be?  But even this increasingly imbedded falsehood only served to fuel Margret’s decent deeper into her submissive acquiescence to the life of a mistress’s maid, Maid Molly.

 “Molly so glad to have you back at Woodlands the letter I have received from Lady Parsons is most complementary.”

Francesca paused wanting to see Molly’s reaction to her next comments.

“Yes, Lady Parsons offering to take up your indenture should I be minded to dispense with your services and take you to be her maid at High Trees, an attractive fee is mentioned, you must have made quite an impression?”

Molly’s eyes widened with an overt expression of apprehension, what? That couldn’t happen could it? The mere thought of being returned to High Trees, her indenture being traded sending a shivering weakness through her. How could she possibly return to her past life then? She would be trapped, forever a maid, maid Molly?

Francesca’s smile broadened.

“Don’t worry Molly your Mistress has no intention of trading you, you are my maid and I intend to keep you here at Woodland Manor. Yes, Molly you are Miss Whittingham-Smythe’s maid and trust me on this I will ensure you always will be.” 

The relief that her Mistress would not be sending her back to High Trees masked her other confirming words of the intended permanence for the Woodlands maid.

“Now back to your work Molly.”

Molly curtsied.

“Yes Mistress.”

The temporary maid at Woodlands had not carried out her duties with the same level of diligence has its Penfold maid and there would be much to do to bring the residence back to its pristine condition.

Molly smiled finding a large amount of dirty clothing that had been hidden away in a basket at the back of the kitchens and began the task of washing the pile of laundry.

Molly’s Mistress was anxious to see a particular dress prepared for her, ironic in that it was also a favourite of Margret herself. The Penfold maid’s uniforms were of a generous cut not baggy, well yes, a little but the broad adjustable belt provided definition. Ready for pressing Molly held up the particular garment and smiled holding it to her. The smile soon faded, she of course had worn foundation garments, all self-respecting ladies did, but no way could she ever squeeze into the waist of the beautiful dress that had once been her favourite. A woman can react it two ways to such a revelation firstly a drastic adjustment to her diet or the easier option of denial. She wasn’t fat she had just added a few pounds; the dress was not hers anyway it was worn by her Mistress. She was just a maid and the uniforms she wore exclusively about the manor to perform her duties fitted very well thank you very much. With a few tut’s Molly continued to work through pressing the clothing she had laundered.

Molly helped her Mistress into the beautiful blue dress she had pressed earlier which fitted like a glove, without any assistance from the cumbersome lacing of a corset. Francesca looked gorgeous; the beautiful dress, her long blonde hair loose on her shoulders, subtle make up highlighting her fine facial features, she was a mirror of her former self and Molly could not resist proclaiming her thoughts.

“You look so very pretty Mistress you remind me so much of Miss Whittingham–Smythe.”

Francesca accepted her maid’s compliment whilst Molly placed and clipped a jewelled necklace around her neck.

“Indeed Molly, what with all the neighbours assuming that is who I actually am it is no wonder that you feel that way.”

Francesca turned looking deep into her maid’s eyes.

“I think that is what you would like isn’t it Molly for me to actually be Miss Whittingham-Smythe for me to remain here at Woodlands, your Mistress?”

Ten Months had passed since Margret had relinquished all responsibility and ownership of her home Woodlands Manor free falling into a life of humble servility. Whilst she had wallowed in and embraced her own subjugation she had watched her chosen custodian, her Mistress, in equal measure, grow into the skin she once inhabited, Margret herself accepting the adoption of her name by her custodian. In two months, Margret’s so carefully and painstakingly constructed Mistress would be leaving. Two years it had taken to find this prefect woman and it was doubtful another such willing individual existed? Molly could not hide her true feelings when she replied gazing back into her Mistresses eyes.

“Yes Mistress.”

The words had involuntarily left her lips before she back tracked.

“I mean, Miss Whittingham-Smythe will return but if she didn’t yes Mistress.”

Francesca smiled more of a smirk and ran her manicured fingers across the somewhat chubby reddened cheeks of her maid and smiled.

“Of course, you would Molly of course you would.”

 Back in the kitchen preparing light refreshments for her Mistress’s guests, that would be arriving later, Molly could not get the image of her Mistress out of her head. Of course, she looked like Miss Whittingham–Smythe; in her detailed profile for the Custodian Mistress of Woodland manor, that she planned to serve she had specified just that. Her build her hair but seeing her Mistress in that dress it really could have actually been her. 

Molly had changed a lot, her hair, her figure for sure, no manicured nails or makeup in fact there was little to compare now. Francesca looking every bit the gracious Mistress of Woodland manor, an image of Miss Whittingham–Smythe herself and Margret no less fulfilling the persona and appearance of a plain Jane dutiful maid, Maid Molly. 

 

Chapter 7

Margret oblivious to her Mistresses knowledge of who she really was continued her duties about her Mistresses household like the dutiful maid she was.

Within two weeks of her return to Woodlands manor maid Molly had restored the residence back to the condition in which she had left it everything in pristine order. 

Time was approaching when her masquerade would be over, or so Margret had planned at the outset of her contrived current situation? When Miss Moray departed, she had thought to travel overseas before returning to reassume her true identity. But that was at the outset. 

Much had transpired since that fateful day she had foolhardily and recklessly curtsied to the stranger she welcomed into her home, a stranger who had, with Margret’s own complicit connivance and acceptance, taken the lady of the manor beyond her wildest imaginings. Not just a Mistresses obedient maid but now a certified Penfold maid. The certification cross referenced to a legal indenture to her Mistress, Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe, a Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe, widely known and accepted within the community. There would be no departure of Miss Moray from Woodlands, there would be no travel overseas and there would definitely be no return to her true identity for maid Molly.

 Michael during a previous discussion confirmed what was to happen at the end of Francesca’s contract. Michael was to make a settlement bonus to the custodian and leave the Woodlands maid to prepare for his clients return. There was no meeting planned with his client he had the retained power of attorney from which he would draw is final fees then return the sealed power of attorney to Miss Whittingham–Smythe and that would be the end of the matter as far as he and his practise were concerned.

Francesca had grown fond of Michael Jones but much fonder of the lifestyle she had enjoyed at Woodlands in the persona of Miss Whittingham-Smythe. From Michael’s explanation he would have no contact with his client beyond making the settlement to the custodian and returning the power of attorney he held. This suiting Francesca’s scheming perfectly. She would not leave Woodlands and of course Michael’s client could never return having never actually left?

The anniversary of Francesca Moray’s arrival at Woodlands passed and Francesca sneered at the bank draft Michael had given her for a relatively meagre amount compared with the wealth of Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe, revealed among the papers within the chests discovered in the attics. A week later a letter arrived containing the sealed power of attorney along with detail of final account from Winston Brown and Watkinson solicitors. Francesca chuckled, her scheme to retain the wealth and privilege of Miss Whittingham-Smythe and the services of Woodland manor’s maid progressing well. 

Margret, aware that the time for her custodian Mistress to have left Woodland manor had passed by some weeks, was becoming a little anxious although not unduly so. Being a maid gave her purpose, structure to her life, what were a few weeks anyway her Mistress would be leaving soon wouldn’t she? Maid Molly became even more diligent and dutiful wanting to make the most of her last days in uniform servicing the needs of her Mistress.

Francesca had expected and anticipated her maid to question the return of her Mistress and her own departure and smiled across her desk when Molly curtsied and raised the subject with her. 

“I am sure your Mistress will return at her leisure Molly but until she does, I shall remain at Woodlands, now why don’t you go and bring me next month’s cleaning rota and provisions listing.”

Molly curtsied.

“Yes Mistress.”

Two months followed with little change at Woodlands Molly continuing to inquire about the return of her Mistress. This was the second inquiry of the week and Francesca stood from her desk a stern expression on her face and her voice slightly raised.

“Molly I do not know, like I have told you previously she will return at her leisure I know of no date set for her return and it is no business of yours when or indeed if she does return.  I will hear no more of this. Now unless you are forgetting, until the situation changes, I am your Mistress, your only Mistress, do I make myself clear?”

Molly Curtsied in compliant deference.

“Yes Mistress.”

Poor Margret what could she say, what could she do? The time of her scheduled return and the departure of her custodian Mistress was long overdue and Michael Jones, her solicitor, he had not visited Woodlands for months? What was happening, what was going on? This was not in her best laid plans?

Her Mistresses entertaining and enjoyment of her adopted lifestyle continued in earnest and maid Molly meekly continued to serve her every need like the good maid she was obeying her Mistress by not raising the subject of the true Miss Whittingham-Smythe’s return to Woodlands again.  

Three months now and still unaware of her Mistresses knowledge of her true identity Margret, in the sanctuary of her maid’s quarters, contemplated how and if she could ever extricate herself from the situation she had so enthusiastically and successfully incarcerated herself within. She even contemplated whether she wanted to? 

How could she now proclaim her true identity after all this time, she had branded maid Molly a lair and fantasist at the outset but perhaps that was going to be the only way? Her solicitor Michael would confirm who she truly was wouldn’t he? Would he, could he? They had never met? He only knew her to be Molly the indentured maid at Woodlands manor? Her history that she had concealed in the attics, yes that would prove who she was she would need to retrieve some key details she had locked in the trunks. Photographs, yes that would do it, Margret glanced at the mirror then stood before it? Really, that was Miss Whittingham-Smythe? Really? Her short black boyish hairstyle, her chubby rosy cheeks, her spread hips from the extra pounds she had put on, her uniform, nothing else in the manor would fit her? The image before her was a faint resemblance but nothing more? 

Molly flopped back on her bed, yes Molly, not Margret, how could she possibly claim now to be anyone other than the maid of Woodland manor? But more importantly who would ever accept she was anyone other than the maid of Woodland manor?

If Margret’s desired cloak of anonymity had set like concrete around her then the willingly constructed facade of maid Molly, that she herself had condoned and meekly accepted being placed piece by piece upon it, was no less secure. 

Molly had been certified to be a Penfold maid, her fingerprints and photograph were endorsed on her certificate, Molly had, for completeness and prevention of ambiguity of identification, been branded with her Penfold Maid School number? Molly had signed her own indenture countersigned by Miss Whittingham-Smythe herself with her solicitor Michael Jones bearing witness?

Margret had so thoroughly, by her own desires, locked herself into the shackles of servitude from which she could see no prospect of release. She was nothing but a mere maid now the maid of woodland manor, her Mistresses maid, Miss Whittingham-Smythe’s maid.

To confirm and compound her hopelessness Margret’s constructed custodian Mistress had grown with increasing confidence and self-assurance into the persona of Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe. She was beautiful, sophisticated her hair, wardrobe, jewellery and poise exuding wealth and confidence. Who in the district and community would ever question or even doubt her claim to that title? Why would they she was everything Margret had been, a mirror of who she once was, and now, to all who knew her, she was Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe.

With her Mistresses bell ringing Molly raised herself from her bed, smoothed down her apron straightened her cap and with feelings of total capitulation to her fate was soon curtsying before her Mistress to continue her duties.

“Mistress.”

More weeks passed and Molly had been troubled for some time with a bad tooth which was becoming painful and her face had become quite swollen. Her Mistress aware of her maid’s discomfort located a doctor who visited Woodlands to treat Molly.

The kindly gentleman was met at the door by Molly who guided him into the drawing room.

Molly curtsied.

“Dr Langton Mistress.”

Miss Whittingham-Smythe stood from her chair.

“Dr Langton thank you for coming so soon my poor maid is in terrible discomfort with her teeth.”

“Molly come here and show the doctor your face.”

Dr Langton was a very good doctor but dentist? A cursory examination and he shook his head.

“Mmmm interesting.”

“Well there is nothing I can do here bring your maid to my surgery on Monday and I will sort this mess out.”

Molly was dismissed to bring tea for the doctor and her Mistress.

“A lovely place you have here Miss Whittingham-Smythe you obviously get good value from your maid.”

Margret smiled.

“Yes, thank you doctor but call me Margret.”

Dr Langton reciprocated, Margret, yes why be so formal Roger, Roger Langton.

“When I received your call, I noted neither yourself nor your maid have been patients previously? I will have to get you listed on my register you never know when you may need a doctor?”

Margret smiled.

“Yes, we must organise that when I bring Molly for her treatment, what do you have in mind for my maid?”

Molly entered with her tray curtsied and served tea before she left and their conversation continued.

Well Margret its nasty it looks like the infection is chronic and should have been treated some time ago the upper gums and roots could be a problem if infected. I often say one out all out when it’s just servants, saves you money in the long run, maids, especially at that age, aren’t too bothered about their looks are they?”

Margret looked a little concerned.

“That sounds rather drastic Rodger it will surely be painful and when would she be fit for work again?”

Rodger smiled.

“Well I will anesthetise her so she will feel little, it will be painful for a while after the extractions and perhaps a couple of days for the effects of the ether to wear off then she will be as right as rain and no more trouble or expense for you with her teeth.”

“Anyway, let me get you both registered on Monday and we will see.”

Dr Langton left with his two pounds fee and Margret called her maid back into the Drawing room.

Molly curtsied.

“Should I Clear the tray Mistress?”

Margret looked at her poor maid’s face.

“Yes, Molly clear away the tray and we will be making a visit to the Doctors on Monday to sort out those teeth of yours.”

Molly looked at her Mistress with a degree of concern she had this problem with her teeth before, perhaps not to the current extent and not has painful, but it had always subsided with just the application of a tincture, herbal tea and laudanum.

Molly curtsied and dared to speak.

“Mistress please no fuss I will be fine I...”

Margret stood with a vexed expression cutting her maid short.

“Nonsense girl look at you, your face is swollen and I know you are in pain you are going to the doctors on Monday and that is an end to it.”

Molly cowered back and curtsied.

“Sorry Miss yes Miss.”

Molly collected the tray and scurried back to the kitchens.

Margret winced looking at her unconscious prostrate maid sprawled back in the doctor’s leather chair a blood-stained bib around her neck her mouth a gape the strong odour of ether in the air.

Dr Langton smiled holding a tray of freshly pulled teeth towards a flinching Margret.

“Well that’s done, a shame really these teeth look in good condition for a maid but she won’t have any more problems with her teeth now. Give her a few days for the swelling to go down, I drained the infection she will be fine.”

Both Margret and Molly had completed registrations with the doctor, Molly having invented the surname of Jones to complete the forms.

A semi-conscious moaning maid Molly was helped into her quarters by Margret on their return to Woodland manor and Margret chuckled looking at a photograph of a smiling Miss Whittingham-Smythe she had removed from one of the trunks in the attics. The unnecessary surgery conducted by Dr Langton and resulting disfiguration had condemned that smile to history and distanced Maid Molly further from the wealthy lady of leisure she once was.

It was a distraught Molly that started to recover from the effects of the anaesthetic and mumbled her distress having staggered to the mirror in pain with the stench of ether still about her, Molly’s words distorted.

“Nlo, nlo, nlo, nlo, pleawse nlo” 

A dribble of blood rolled from the corner of her mouth onto the pillow when she threw herself down onto her bed sobbing.

“Whlot lave thley dlon tlo mle!”

The toothless image in the mirror was that of a woman ten years her senior perhaps more, even before her gums had receded, which they surely would.

Late in the evening Margret entered her maid’s darkened quarters and switched on the light. It was time to end this farce and complete her subjugation of what was the Mistress of Woodland manor. 

Molly turned on the bed her eyes reddened and puffy by tears then pressed her face back down into her pillows.

“Molly, look at me I have something for you.”

“Molly, that’s your name isn’t it, it’s pointless calling you Margret now isn’t it Molly.”

Molly lifted her head from the pillows and stared with wide eyes at her Mistress who had called her by her name holding the book written by Dauphine le Mur? What did she know?

“Yes, Molly I know who you were before you became my maid, the maid of Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe.”

“I have read your diaries so no need for any further pretence, you are my maid because you want to be and I think we can forget about Miss Whittingham-Smythe returning to Woodlands because I am already here am I not.”

 Margret placed a picture of Miss Whittingham-Smythe down on the bed and thrust a mirror in front of her maid.

“Now, Molly who is this?

Molly stared at the picture then up at her Mistress then glanced at the mirror then back to her Mistress and the picture.

“Well Molly, tell me who is this in the picture?”

Molly sobbed her reply the likeness she herself had insisted on for her custodian Mistress clear and stark.

“You Mistress, it’s you.”

“That’s right Molly all this is of your own making, why? I don’t know and I don’t care. I am sorry about the teeth I really am but it’s done now and perhaps it is for the best. There can be no doubt now who you are, what you are, what you wanted to be, a common housemaid. Like in this book, a wealthy lady of leisure reduced by her own design and scheming to be willingly stripped of her rank and privilege to serve a Mistress, to serve me, to serve Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe.”

Molly looked forlornly at the picture then back into the mirror then up at her Mistress who stared authoritatively down at her.

“I will leave you with your book perhaps we should write one about you Molly? I will bring you some soup later and you may have a few days rest until you recover then my indentured maid Molly will continue in her Mistresses service.”

“Well Molly what do you say?”

Molly with all hope of emancipation gone looked wearily at her Mistress. It was true she had wanted this and now, so deep had she buried herself in her delusions, what she wanted was of little consequence. She was a certified Penfold maid indentured to the household of her Mistress, Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe of Woodland manor and that now was her future.

“Yles Mlistless Thlank Ylou”

Margret smirked at her maids lisped and broken words and tossed the book written by Dauphine le Mur down onto the bed. The testament to her own self-inflicted demise.

“Good girl Molly now get some rest.”

Epilogue 

Maid Molly learned to live without her teeth along with her affected diction and indeed flourished in her role of Mistresses maid. There was no longer any need for pretence and all that was the Mistress of Woodland manor gradually evaporated and disappeared without trace into the willing housemaid of her Mistress, maid Molly. 

Miss Margret Whittingham-Smythe also thrived having seamlessly grown into the wealthy lady of leisure she had become.   

Visitors to Woodland manor could never have considered or suspected for a moment that the maid who served them so well was actually once the Mistress of Woodland manor. A mistress, whose reward for her best laid plans, to act out the life of a maid in her own home, was her total subjugation at the hands of her chosen custodian Mistress to be irretrievably guided and locked into a life she had so delusionary sought, that of not enforced, but willing servitude. 

The end 

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