Story: The Intoxication of Servitude. Chapters 1-4.

by Jackie J

Chapter 1

Jennifer had been friends with Elizabeth for many years. It was a good relationship which worked well Jennifer being quite dominant and Elizabeth passive if not considered a closet submissive. Jennifer did not bully Elizabeth but did take advantage of her which in truth Elizabeth quite enjoyed.  In her working environment Elizabeth had to present the façade of a strong persona but coveted those in more subordinate roles. Some of those with strong personalities, who worked for her, contriving to exploit what they saw to be her weakness, having their boss do work for them. Something that had not gone unnoticed by one of the directors.

Jennifer’s relationship with Elizabeth was platonic although she had longed for it to be more and had hoped that one day it would be. Jennifer was very protective of her friend and often made a joke of what a good wife Elizabeth would make. Things had changed for Elizabeth recently and now an even bigger change for the two friends was about to take place.

Are you really going to Elizabeth, it is a big step, I hope you know what you are doing? From what you have told me it is all a little vague. 

Why wouldn’t she? Restructuring had seen her career at Browning and Lords disappear. The total collapse of the banking sector, brought on by the digital age, left few senior posts requiring her skill set available, even advertised, and Elizabeth’s network had gone silent on her. Ten years after leaving high school to join the bank, working her way up the promotional ladder at Browning and Lords all for nothing, the basic redundancy just about covering her debts. The company car and apartment lost, twenty-eight with no prospects and sofa surfing was definitely not for her, all her qualifications internal, not having taken a place at university, not helping her job search. Six months had passed since she lost her position, and she was becoming desperate. It was one of her old boss’s, a director at Browning and Lords, Madeline Chaney, who had sown the seed. Strange that the woman even cared, given Elizabeth had rejected her advances on numerous occasions. A large and successful hotel group, it would be different but, too good and opportunity to pass up on. She would need to become familiar with the ethos of the business, that had been made clear at the first interview, but she had been assured the position of financial controller would be hers once she understood and accepted the culture at Weirstone Park. Elizabeth clinging to the hope that her extensive experience in banking and accountancy would get her career back on track.

A theme hotel, very much in keeping with the Victorian era, and from what she could find on the web very exclusive. So exclusive in fact, just to see beyond the first page of their website a password would be mailed, not emailed, but posted. Elizabeth had questioned this at the second interview, but Madame Chang’s explanation was most plausible. To maintain the exclusivity, only guests that meet certain criteria are invited to stay at Weirstone Park. The prospective clientele must be recommended, interviewed, and vetted, no different than the staff employed at the hotel. Elizabeth had been recommended by Madeline Chaney who believed that Elizabeth Connor possessed all the qualities required to join the staff and fill the vacancy at Weirstone Park.  Elizabeth had believed those qualities to be work related not that she was female, unattached with few friends, tall and attractive, financially embarrassed, desperate for employment and most importantly, according to Madeline Chaney, a latent submissive with much potential.

The job description of Financial Controller was clear, but it had been explained that she would be required to successfully complete a phase of induction and familiarisation before starting her job role, this would cover other functions within the hotel to learn the Weirstone Park way of doing things, which she would find quite different. But Madame Chang was confident that Elizabeth would learn quickly.

Weirstone Park was remotely located and contact with the outside world would be limited. Madame Chang had smiled when Elizabeth confirmed that she had no ties to speak of and that would not be a problem. Elizabeth even joking that if she disappeared no one would notice.

Elizabeth’s appointment was confirmed by a brief letter indicating that she would be collected by chauffer the following week and all her employment details would be completed when she arrived at Weirstone Park. Smart business suits packed and wearing her very best Dior it was early morning and she waited.

Jennifer forced a smile, she would miss Elizabeth, but her friend was so excited, she had watched Elizabeth struggle in recent months, a lack of money, a loss of confidence, but now she was on the up again. Out of sweat- pants and T shirts, her hair and makeup perfect and wearing her smart business suit, the Elizabeth she had come to know and indeed love. Different to the bank but she would be working again.

Jennifer waved, with a tear in her eye, when Elizabeth stooped into the impressive limousine that collected her. It was only when then car had disappeared out of sight that Jennifer realised Elizabeth had not given her a contact address, the address of the hotel. Still, Elizabeth would contact her, mobile, text, email, face book, it was not a problem.

The chauffeured limousine was quite an experience but more so the private jet, the final leg of her journey by helicopter completed her millionaire lifestyle experience. Sat in the rear of the Helicopter It was cloudy for most of the time they were airborne, and they touched down in swirling mist. Where had they landed? Did it really matter? Elizabeth had arrived and if this was a taste of what was to come, she was looking forward to being gainfully employed again.

The short distance from the helipad to the main entrance of the impressive building, which came into view as the mist cleared, was by caddy car. Stepping from the car Elizabeth gazed up in wonder at the large hotel, Gothic would be the best way for it to be described, like a huge country mansion, a magnificent edifice, a testament to a bygone age.

Madame Chang smiled at the new arrival from the top of the stone steps leading to the main entrance.

Elizabeth’s stilettos were awkward on the steps, but she coped, it had been some time since she had been dressed for business.

Madame Chang beckoned Elizabeth inside.

“Welcome Miss Conner, I do hope the flight was not too disturbing for you, it can be quite bumpy at times. Follow me.”

Madame Chang was obviously of Asian heritage, but her accent was cut- glass English, the very definition of received pronunciation. The way she spoke, her whole demeanour unconsciously demanding respect and deference.

The inside of the building no less ornate than the exterior. Clip clopping down the hallway Elizabeth noticed how everything gleamed, even the floor tiles which reflected the red soles of her Louboutin heels, the building screaming wealth and class. Pity those who were charged with keeping such a beautiful place in such obviously pristine condition, were the thoughts in Elizabeth’s mind.

The reception area at the end of the wide hallway, with the exception of expensive ornaments, was discrete in comparison. No parade of time zone clocks, the fashion of international hotels. No sweeping desks with flickering computer screens, just a solitary desk below a stunning chandelier. A sturdy desk from which a young woman stood, curtsied, and smiled. It was a theme hotel Elizabeth had been told that and the front of house was like stepping back in time into the Victorian era. The receptionists narrow waisted long flowing skirt matched with a pure white high-necked pin tucked silk blouse added to the grandeur and ambiance of the whole place. Obviously corseted there was a contradictory severity to the women, with her hair pinned into a bun, softened only by her sweet greeting smile.

Elizabeth was not allowed to linger in the opulence of the reception being directed though a large double doorway into much less salubrious if not austere area of accommodation by Madame Chang.

Oak panels lined the walls of the dimly lit corridor that retained an unfamiliar musty odour, it really was like stepping back in time.

Taken into a modest office space Elizabeth sat on the chair offered. A chair strategically lower than the one that Madame Chang made herself comfortable in behind her desk. The office reminded Elizabeth of the headmistresses’ study at the exclusive and traditional girl’s school she had been awarded a scholarship to attend. memories of being summoned to Miss Cronshaw’s study, and the punishments she had received there, raising forbidden thoughts and an imperceivable squirm in her chair.

Elizabeth feeling a little nervous broke an awkward silence watching Madame Chang opening an embossed leather folder on the desk.

“Very impressive Madame Chang, the hotel, from what little I have seen.”

Madame Chang smiled assessing the smartly dressed young woman sat opposite. Dark blue tailored Dior suit, matching powder blue pen collared blouse. Hair nails and makeup perfect, such lovely long hair draped on her shoulders. Minimal but expensive jewellery and the high fashion heels advertising a desire for the better things in life. The girl had certainly dressed to impress.

“Thank you, themed as you are aware, the Victorian era as you have been informed. Authenticity is paramount, down to the very last exacting detail, it is what we pride ourselves on, what we provide and what our clientele demand.”

Madame Chang scanned the opening pages in the file.

“Well, it is nice to have you here Miss Conner and we can begin your induction.”

Elizabeth sat forward in her chair.

“You say here Madame Chang, where exactly are we, where is Weirstone Park?”

There was a sternness in Madam Chang’s eyes when she replied.

“That is of little concern, you are here and that is all that matters, very few know the location of Weirstone Park which is a closely guarded secret. Very much on a need- to- know basis and, to be quite frank with you, at this time, you do not need to know.”

Madame Chang sensed some distress in Elizabeth’s expression and offered a weak smile.

“You can relax, commercial confidentiality Miss Conner, commercial and client confidentiality, nothing more sinister than that. There is no address for our hotel, Weirstone Park after all is not a place, it is a time. What I can tell you is that it is 1830, so where are we? The 1800’s.  Trust me, following your induction and familiarisation program and becoming established in your role here, you will fully realise and understand the need for such secrecy. Until then I ask that you accept that our anonymity is fundamental, the cornerstone of our success. Our clientele guards their privacy no less than we ourselves, there are no prying eyes when those prying eyes do not know where to pry?”

 There was a credibility in Madam Chang’s words, did it really matter where Weirstone Park actually was? there was a coded logic to what she had been told, what Elizabeth did not know she could not share.  Elizabeth smiled. 

“I think I understand, Weirstone Park is a time not a place, I will try and keep that in mind, a good explanation Madame Chang.”

Madame Chang returned Elizabeth’s smile.

“So let us proceed, would you like some tea Miss Conner, I can have some brought through for us if you wish.”

Elizabeth was beginning to relax a little, she had taken refreshments during the journey, but a cup of tea would be most welcome.

“Yes, that would be very nice thank you.”

Madame Chang stood and pulled a cord by the wall. within moments the door opened and in stepped a maid. Elizabeth could not help but stare. It was like something from a book, a film, a period drama. With a rustle of splayed skirts, the girl curtsied and stood attentive and expressionless.

“Mistress?”

Madame Chang raised her gaze to the maid.

“It’s you eighteen, I thought twelve was on duty, never mind, tea for two.” 

Yes, Mistress was the maid’s response who lowered another respectfully curtsy and left.

Elizabeth considered that although servile the maid obviously was, of that there could be no doubt,  her pristine period uniform and demeanour gave the maid a strange dignity, a proclamation and celebration of accepted servitude. But why referred to as a number not a name, how strange.

Madame Chang turned the pages of the folder.

“This is your folder Miss Conner that has been prepared, it contains your contract, terms of employment and will be a record of your service with us. Your accommodation, meals, indeed all your requirements are provided for. Given you will have no need of personal finance at Weirstone Park, your full salary is held on deposit, and we already have your bank details for transfers. You will be pleased to know that we are fortunate here in that there is no tax liability and postponed payments will no doubt accumulate into a tidy sum. You will note from the contract your full salary we agreed will commence once your induction and familiarisation are concluded. As was explained during the final interview, it is mandatory that all staff are aware of how Weirstone Park functions and experience of Victorian values and protocols is essential. This is gained working within the body of the hotel. Being involved in various roles your salary will vary commensurate with the particular area in which you are involved. Miss Lambeth will be taking charge of you and sign off your records of progression.  Miss Lambeth holds the title head of household, and you will be meeting her shortly.

A knock on the door, which then opened, drew Elizabeth’s attention. The maid had retuned and carried in a sliver tray and curtsied before placing the tray on the desk then stepping back.

“Your tea Mistress.”

There followed an immaculate demonstration of pouring tea. Precise movements of unhurried practiced technique that presented such a simple act, that was like theatre. Elizabeth had heard of but never actually seen a tea leaf strainer, she felt like applauding the girl, the tea glistening in the delicate ornate China cups. Elizabeth more familiar with a tea bag dropped into a mug. The maid gathered her tray, curtsied, and left the room.

Elizabeth stared at an unmoved Madame Chang.

“Remarkable, Madame Chang, remarkable, she called you Mistress and the maid a number not a name?

Madame Chang smiled.

“Authenticity, Miss Conner, every aspect of what we do here, slavishly adhering to the traditions and practices of the early 1800’s. Yes, I am Mistress here at Weirstone Park and the numbers? Names can be so confusing with many maids, numbers work fine, shall we continue?”

Madame Chang removed a number of documents from the folder placing the first one in front of Elizabeth.

“You will need to sign these documents. This first one is a confidentiality agreement.” 

Elizabeth scanned the text. There where precise paragraphs but in essence the signatory, at no time present or future, would disclose any and all information relating to Weirstone Park to any third party. There was a novelty in using the straight nibbed pen, dipping its tip into a pot of ink. The ink well ornate made of cut glass with a silver cap, the shaft of the pen also ornate with a lacquered design.

The second document to sign, Elizabeth’s contract of employment. Elizabeth had discussed the main contents previously during her final interview, salary, which was significant, Job title, financial controller, core hours, holiday entitlement, sickness benefit, benefits summarised to be “all found” covering accommodation, meals and expenses and the security of a three-year renewable contractual period. The above subject to satisfactory completion of a probationary period covering induction and familiarisation in all aspects and acceptance of Weirstone Park’s practices and procedures.

Elizabeth’s signature applied and blotted by Madam Chang a third document was explained.

  An acceptance of authenticity to all aspects of activity at Weirstone Park. Elizabeth would not question but accept all and every condition relating to the rigidly applied criteria of authenticity to the period in which Weirstone Park operated within. This to ensure clientele enjoyed the unfettered privileges commensurate to their assumed status and rank of that period during their stay. This statement of acceptance applying during Induction, familiarisation, and the subsequent employment in the role in which she was to be engaged. Conditions of this time, being very much in contrast to modern practises, in the endeavours of authenticity, are accepted to take precedence at all times in all matters.

Elizabeth read through the “Acceptance of Authenticity Statement” a number of times, before adding her signature and handing the document back to Madame Chang.

“Authenticity, the bedrock of Weirstone Park Madame Chang, I am sure I will learn all about that during my induction and familiarisation.”

Madame Chang smiled closing the folder.

“Indeed, indeed you will Miss Conner I have no doubt of that. Time to introduce you to Miss Lambeth, I know she is quite anxious to meet you. Miss Lambeth is very well read regarding the 1800’s an expert in fact, a stickler for detail. Not everyone can adapt easily to the bygone age in which we find ourselves at Weirstone Park, but I am confident that you will. Miss Lambeth, with her depth of knowledge of the period, will soon have you educated and embracing what is required for your Victorian life here at Weirstone Park.”

Following Madame Chang deeper into the confines of the Hotel along dimly lit flagged passageways they descended down steep stone steps to a lower level. Miss Lambeth waiting to greet them.

Madame Chang made the introductions passing Elizabeth’s folder to Miss Lambert. 

“This is Elizabeth Conner Miss Lambeth, the new recruit that you have been expecting. All her paperwork is in order so I will leave her induction and familiarisation in your capable hands. Miss Conner is anxious to experience and embrace our authenticity and I am sure you will not let her down in that regard. “

Madame Chang smirked and turned to face Elizabeth.

“I doubt I will see much of you until your time with Miss Lambeth is over, but I look forward to seeing you when it is, I really do.”

Madam Chang turned on her heels and disappeared up the steps down which they had arrived.

Miss Lambeth, like the maid she had seen earlier, was a vision of something from a period drama, her scraped back raven hair, her overall bearing, the way she was dressed. A long-sleeved black dress with generous skirt buttoned from the high collar down to her ankles, lace trimmed petticoats slating at the hem over highly polished heeled boots.

Head of household, her expression no less severe than her attire, Miss Lambeth was certainly an Intimidating figure.

“You are about to return to the 1800’s Miss Conner and will have been told it is essential, for authenticity, for you to fully embrace and accept life, your new life here.  Forget the future from which you have come, and you will settle well at Weirstone Park. It will seem strange and very demanding at first, but I can assure you, as each day of your familiarisation passes that future you have known will become ever more distant.”

“So, we shall begin?” 

Elizabeth forced a smile, she wanted this job, and had already reconciled that she would have to accept living in Victorian times, how bad could that be?

“Yes, I am in your hands Miss Lambeth.”

 

Chapter 2

Miss Lambeth unlocked a stout wooden door and ushered Elizabeth through before locking the door behind them. 

“Behind that door through which we have just passed is the future, a future that is no longer of your concern. It will take some time for you to acclimatise to your new world, to assimilate all things Victorian, but you will and that starts now.”

Standing back from Elizabeth Miss Lambeth looked the new recruit up and down.

“Well young lady there is no Dior or Louboutin in this world so strip off your clothing, I will find you something more appropriate. Everything off, put your things in that basket, jewellery as well.”

Elizabeth stood shocked at the abruptness of what the woman had said to her but before she could say anything Miss Lambeth had left through a side door.

Elizabeth looked around at the blank stone walls, the dim gas lighting, the flagged floor, and the wicker basket in the corner. Strip, everything in the basket? The dismissive way the woman, Miss Lambeth, had spoken to her? True, she would be the first Victorian to dress in Dior and fashion heels, it was all about Authenticity, she had been told that, more than once, it was what the whole place was about. Jacket, skirt, and blouse neatly folded, heels removed the stocking would have to go to, and her garter belt. Stood in her slip panties and bra Elizabeth awaited the return of Miss Lambeth. With Elizabeth’s feet feeling the cold from the flagged floor and starting to shiver a little Miss Lambeth pushed her way back through the door into the room.

“I said strip, get that fancy underwear off toss it in the basket with the rest of your things and put this on.”

Forsaking her modesty Elizabeth did like she was told and took the garment offered by Miss Lambeth.  Not a dress from the period that perhaps Elizabeth had been expecting? A thin drab grey, cotton, kaftan type smock which Elizabeth pulled over her head. Working her arms into the sleeves Elizabeth tried to shake out the creases without success. 

With Elizabeth standing bare footed, Miss Lambeth now stood a good four to five inches taller than an increasingly apprehensive Elizabeth. Wearing nothing but the musty cotton smock in front of the immaculately dressed Head of household who looked down on her, the intimidatory effect could not be deflected and rippled a feeling of submissive weakness through Elizabeth the likes of which she had not felt for many years. Her eyes raised slowly up to the smiling face of Miss Lambeth. 

Probably only moments but it seemed like an age. Miss Lambeth stared at the meek looking recruit stripped of its vernier of status, Elizabeth being unable to hold her questioning gaze.

Miss Lambeth took hold of Elizabeth’s hands and smirked.

“Beautiful, what lovely nails, unfortunately something from the future, your own?”

Elizabeth nervously cleared her throat.

“Yes, yes my own nails.”

Releasing her firm grip, Elizabeth’s hands fell by her sides and Miss Lambeth ran her fingers through Elizabeth's hair. 

“My goodness I cannot take you through to Miss Hawthorn looking like this, like a Jezebel of Babel, painted face and nails and that hair, she would have a hissy fit for sure.”

“Miss Hawthorn is Housekeeper by title at Weirstone. Actually, she was one of the founders of Weirstone Park, she became so engrossed in this Victorian project it absorbed her totally. The other owners were amused at first but then took advantage, they took her money, split her shares, and put her to work, just a maid originally but now, Housekeeper. Why do I tell you this? Well Miss Hawthorn has no reality other than Victorian life. The last time, the only time, she was confronted by the modern world she fitted and took months to recover. I doubt you would want such on your conscience, would you? Come let us get you prepared shall we.” 

Gripping Elizabeth’s hand, like one would a child, Miss Lambeth pulled Elizabeth through two sets of doors into a small room and sat her on a stool.

“I was told of your arrival, so I have what is required prepared for you.”

Pulling a low trestle table in front of Elizabeth Miss Lambeth placed clippers, solvent, and an emery board down on top.

“Nails first I will go to find what else we will need, get those nice and short all the varnish removed.”

Miss Lambeth looked down at Elizabeth’s toes that had obviously benefited from a recent pedicure,

“And those, varnish off”

Elizabeth stared at her beautiful nails they had cost a pretty penny but obviously not in keeping with Victorian values. Elizabeth giggled to herself, a Jezebel of Babel, she had never been called that before.

The strong solvent removed the varnish with ease and Elizabeth reluctantly clipped her nails short then smoothed the cut edges with the emery board. They looked healthy, shaped, but very plain. No soft cotton wool balls used for removing her makeup, when Miss Lambeth had finished thoroughly removing every trace of cosmetics, she felt she had her face scrubbed with a brush, so coarse the towelling wipe,

Feeling her hair pulled tight from behind Elizabeth squealed. Her hair released or so she thought, she tipped forward on the stool only to be pulled back again in similar fashion. The realisation of what Miss Lambeth was doing, had done, brought horror to her face and tears forming in her eyes.

“No! No! Stop, Stop! No! Please no! no!” 

It was done, running her fingers through her cropped hair Elizabeth softly sobbed but did not resist being taken to a stone trough sink at the rear of the room, her head bent forward and to the rattle of a cranked hand pump, her hair rinsed through. Elizabeth just stood in shocked disbelief, whilst Miss Lambeth roughly towel dried her cropped cut. 

Elizabeth’s hair brushed out Miss Lambeth held up a mirror and a sniffling Elizabeth, stared in disbelief at what Miss Lambeth had done.

“Why, why, my lovely hair, what have you done to me?”

It was not just her hair; the rough removal of her makeup had left her plain faced with blotchy reddened skin. With her teary eyes and running nose from her sniffles, she looked, but more importantly felt so common.

Miss Lambeth jerked Elizabeth from her self-pity, grabbing her arms and staring at her sternly.

“I explained about Miss Hawthorn, if she saw you like you were, what could happen? Your hair will grow back and your nails. Like I told you, Miss Hawthorn lives in a Victorian reality, you now look like the replacement Scullery maid she is expecting. She cannot know you are just here for induction and familiarisation, and you must say nothing about that, you are just a replacement maid off the streets as far as she is concerned and tone down your accent.”

The words did not resonate at first but when they did Elizabeth tried to forlornly pull away from Miss Lambeth’s solid grip.

“What? A scullery maid, am I not supposed to be becoming familiar with the unique way the hotel operates in creating authentic Victorian times and learning about the different areas of the hotel. Look at me, what you have done to me, the state I am in, my hair, my face, this smock? I look like a…..? “

Elizabeth could not bring herself to say the words, she had been prepared perfectly for what Miss Lambeth was proposing and Miss Lambeth released her grip and spoke with authority.

“That is correct, there is no better way to observe and fully understand what, and how things are done. Like all new employees you will start at the bottom and be put to work a scullery maid by Miss Hawthorn. There are many romantic myths associated with the time we, you, now live in, and these must be dispelled for you to fully embrace the authenticity demanded at Weirstone Park. it is all part of your familiarisation. You have signed the Acceptance of Authenticity Statement have you not?

Elizabeth stared at Miss Lambeth, she was serious, that was clear, she was to be put to work a maid, Elizabeth seeing nothing romantic about that.  She had signed the agreement and if this is what new employees had to go through? What choice did she have? It all sounded like consensual servitude and that is exactly what it was as Elizabeth would soon discover.

“Yes, I signed the agreement, but I did not know, I would be signing up to be a maid. Madam Chang explained that authenticity is everything at Weirstone so if this is what is required, to gain an understanding of that, I guess I have no choice in the matter. “  

Miss Lambeth smiled.

“Good, now pull yourself together and I will take you through to the kitchens to meet Miss Hawthorn, one last thing, your name, Lizzy is probably better, or would you prefer Liz?

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, Elizabeth, probably was a little pretentious for a Scullery maid and how she looked and spoke somewhat flippantly.

“Lizzy is fine, why not.”

Elizabeth felt defiled, wretched. Her face scrubbed, hair shorn, bare footed wearing a rag of a smock now she was to take the name Lizzy.

A bedraggled Lizzy slouched behind the erect striding Miss Lambeth following her into the kitchens, bubbling pans filling the room with steam. A large fat lady by the stoves pointed to a door at the far side of the kitchen. 

Inside, what was Miss Hawthorns office, it was a sheepish Lizzy that stood in silence listening to the head of household’s introduction of her to the housekeeper. Elizabeth had understood the need for authenticity for the clientele, but this level of realism was surely extreme. Miss Lambeth had already told her that Miss Hawthorns obsessiveness had driven her beyond madness to believe she actually was living in the 1800’s.

“This is Lizzy the new maid I promised you Miss Hawthorn.”

Miss Hawthorn squeezed Elizabeth’s arms and frowned inspecting at her soft hands.

“Where did you find this creature.”

If Miss Lambeth’s fiction, of how Elizabeth had arrived at Weirstone Park, was made up on the spot it was most impressive and convincing. A credible explanation for her delicate build, soft skin, and refinement but the caveat regarding her behaviour and intermated low morals? Was that really necessary?

“Dismissed from one of the big houses, a little too free with her affections for the Mistresses liking. It was an attendant maid, light duties above stairs, left on the streets of the village she begged for a position here. Some airs and graces that it must have picked up, along with its promiscuity, I suspect this little madame got above its station, if the truth be told.”

It was not a glare it was more an expression of assumed superiority and authority a look that demanded obedience and Lizzy stood meekly listening to the housekeeper telling her what was to be her first experience of Victorian life.

She was to be put to work with Bessie the cook, fetching, carrying, and cleaning along with working in the laundry.

It required a prompt from Miss Lambeth, of course it did, but from that first acknowledgement of her lowly status Lizzy’s fate was sealed.

“Well girl, thank Miss Hawthorn for accepting you and remember a good scullery maid says little, listens a lot and does what it is told, when it is told. Well girl don’t just stand there, a curtsy for Miss Hawthorn.”

Elizabeth looked at Miss Lambeth with unheeded pleading eyes, this was all too real, frighteningly so, Elizabeth was to be left under the control of this mad woman.  The look of demanding expectancy on the Head of household and housekeepers faces drained any resisting resolve.

Elizabeth’s curtsy was awkward and a little clumsy and her words little more than a mumble.

“Thank you, Miss Hawthorn”

Miss Hawthorn, less than impressed with the new sculleries act of deference stood close and twisted the new maid’s ear.

“You are not flaunting yourself in that fancy house now girl, you will curtsy properly when you address me, and it is MISS, never Miss Hawthorn you impertinent little slut.”

No words just a squeal, Elizabeth was in shock she cannot do this, this cannot be happening.

Keeping hold of the maids ear she pulled a squirming, squealing Elizabeth out into the kitchens avoiding the boiling pan’s and tossed her down on the floor at the feet of a surprised cook.

“Your scullery maid Bessie, names Lizzy, best tell her the way things are here or she will be back out on the streets where she came from.”

Lifted to her feet a strong arm was soon wrapped around her, her head held against the cooks heavy heaving bosom, it was a welcome comfort in the harshness of where she found herself, she had to get back to Madame Chang this was ridiculous. Only hours ago, she had arrived in luxury, dressed, and presented immaculately to take up a position of financial controller. A theme hotel yes, boasting unparalleled levels of authenticity to the Victorian era.  She had been told the value and necessity of experiencing the full essence of what Victorian life was like, agreed to a program of familiarisation working alongside the hotel staff. But this? The callous brutality of that women.

In the secure embrace of Bessie Lizzy was shuffled from the kitchens down a narrow passage towards a series of doors. Bessie offering softly spoken words of comfort but also advice.

“You got on the wrong side of Miss, that’s for sure Lizzy, you don’t want to cross her, she can make your life a misery, you stick close to me, I will look after you, keep you out of mischief.”

One of the doors was creaked open two bunks across opposite walls and Lizzy was eased down onto one of them. 

It was all too much for Elizabeth who burst into floods of tears, sobbing uncontrollably. The tiredness of her travel, the elation on her arrival, her enticement and complicity in her own debasement, stripped, shorn, and scrubbed of all elegance of the businesswoman she was on her arrival.  Now feeling imprisoned in the bowels of the hotel, left in a draconian regime of the age, overseen by a woman of vicious intent, and put to work a scullery maid in a Victorian kitchen. Thanks to the head of household, also carrying a contrived and convincing reputation for low morals, Miss Lambeth may as well have described her a harlot.

Bessie stroked her hand comfortingly and softly over the new maid like one would a pet. The poor girl was distraught, but then all the new girls struggled at first until they became conditioned. Lizzy will be the same, Miss will soon have her broken and settled. Bessie knew she would not have the new girl’s help for long, six months was the longest she could remember, and that girl was particularly difficult who never made the rank of housemaid, but all the others had. Miss was a maid down, following Kath leaving, so Lizzy should progress quickly. Miss had her ways and once Lizzy is ready to be put into full uniform and trained, Miss will ensure she becomes a perfect housemaid, just like the rest of her girls.

Chapter 3

The sobbing stopped and Elizabeth’s self-pity and feeling of helplessness turned to a resolve to confront Miss Lambeth, head of household, and demand to speak with Madame Chang. Familiarisation, Authenticity was one thing, but this was ridiculous? It was like she had been cast into some dark Charles Dickens novel, and not the heroine but a bloody maid? Turning from the pillow, wet from her tears, and rolling onto her side Elizabeth watched the large women, who had picked her up from the floor, messing in a closet in the corner of the room.

The woman, the cook, Bessie, who to Elizabeth’s astonishment was the woman she now worked for, turned from the closet with a beaming smile holding unfamiliar cotton garments in her hands.

“For you Lizzy, underwear, get that smock off and come and get yourself dressed. I have a dress, apron, and cap here for you as well.”

Stood from the bunk Elizabeth was still staring at the underwear given to her by Bessie when the door burst open. A stern-faced Miss Hawthorn entering.  Bessie’s curtsy was instantaneous, and her words humble and respectful.

“Miss, we will be back in the kitchens right away just finding Lizzy something to wear?”

Miss Hawthorn glared at Elizabeth bringing an irresistible unconscious act of deference, her curtsy more pronounced than her last effort. Elizabeth through imaginings and deeds had previously relished put to menial tasks from her position of privilege enjoying her submissive pretence, but there was no pretence here this was all too real.

“It seems this new maid of yours Bessie was a little too free with her favours in her last employ, there will no such debauchery for this one here at Weirstone. Like the others she will wear this until I decide differently.”

Miss Hawthorn tossed a jumble of leather straps and buckles onto the bunk and smirked.

Elizabeth looked at what Miss Hawthorn had brought for her to wear. Was it a harness, was she going to be harnessed like a horse? The penny dropped like a stone. No, it cannot be, surely not, it was a chastity device?

Her reddened eyes wide Elizabeth backed up nervously to the rear wall.

“I will not wear that I won’t I demand to see Miss Lambeth, Madame Chang, I need to speak with them now, now, you hear me, now.”

Miss Hawthorn stepped forward and without warning the slap across Elizabeth’s face was quickly followed by a second, no less fierce and stunning.

“How dare you girl, demand, demand, Miss Lambeth, head of household, that she would want to see the likes of you, speak with you? You are mine now girl, mine, and you will know your place, get this rag off and into your belt.”

There was hesitation and Miss Hawthorn grabbed the thin smock Elizabeth was wearing and ripped it open and off her shoulders and screamed.

“Get it off.”

Elizabeth was in shock and fearful, drawing her arms from the sleeves and the remnants of the smock fell around her feet. Naked and trembling Elizabeth’s ear was grabbed once again, and she was pulled back into the middle of the room tripping from the torn smock.

“Lift your foot girl, now the other, the cold steel lining the inside of the gusset pressed tight between Elizabeth’s splayed legs making her gasp. Miss Hawthorn wrenched the leather straps tight then worked the broad waist band though a series of buckles. The sealing of Elizabeth’s chastity confirmed with the sharp click of the asp closing into the chunky lock.

Elizabeth, so horrified by the humiliating and degrading medieval experience, she could not speak and just stared blankly at the smirking housekeeper listening to her chilling words.

“That will remind you what a worthless slut you are, and you can forget about seeing or speaking to the head of household or anyone else for that matter. You are in my world now and mark my words well, any more outbursts like that and it will be more than a slap for you girl, do you understand? Well girl, do you understand?”

Elizabeth slightly stooped from the tightness of the belt her arms across her breasts cowered looking into the piercing eyes of Miss Howarth.

“Yes Miss, yes Miss.”

Miss Hawthorn opened the door to leave.

“Very well I will have my eye on you girl.”

“Get it dressed Bessie and the pair of you out in the kitchens, supper is to be prepared for service, I am assembling the maids.”

Elizabeth tugged on the strapping of the belt, but it was firm and only added to the discomfort.

Bessie had seen this with all the new girls who arrived, even after being conditioned and trained, all the maids wore them, and offered some words of comfort to a distraught Lizzy.

“Lizzy there is nothing you can do about that Miss holds the key and without the key you won’t get the thing off. There are wires in the strapping, so you cannot even cut it off. Let us get you dressed and can get you to work before Miss comes back, it won’t be just a slap if she does, she warned you.”

Lizzy was in a trance like state of disbelief what was happening to her? She had been put into chastity, slapped, and slapped hard, she had curtsied to that mad woman, called her Miss.

Bessie worked a befuddled Lizzy into her clothing. Lizzy just stared blankly at Bessie whilst her ensemble was finalised. The yolk of a long-bibbed apron was pulled over her head and the tapes tied into neat bow in the small of her back. Lizzies floppy mop cap in place the new scullery maid at Weirstone Park was ready for work.  If Lizzy felt wretched before she now felt trapped and hopeless. The clothing she had been put into hanging heavy on her, sturdy boots to her feet and trussed and locked into the insidious device. What was this place, what was she doing here, how could she get back to madame Chang and escape this nightmare?

Early rising and late to find her way back to her bunk in the quarters she shared with Bessie Lizzy was constantly tired. The food was plain and rough not like the fine Faye she helped prepare for the pristine robotic like maids to serve up in the main residence. Lizzy’s world was strictly below stairs and endless days were spent preparing vegetables, cleaning stoves, scrubbing, and mopping the floors or working on the washboards with the never-ending supply of laundry. Over the weeks, how many weeks, Lizzy had lost track, routines were established, routines that were becoming ingrained within Lizzy’s very being. One of those routines was morning parade for the maids. The beautiful maids in their pristine uniforms, yes Lizzy was becoming increasingly jealous of them from her lowly rank, all stood in their numbered squares. Miss Hawthorn strutting along the line inspecting them, stern words should there be a hair out of place. The maids stood serene in line, all but identical, the same height all with the same hair colour and style, so alike, stood erect in their uniforms, aproned with pretty lace tiaras in their hair, they could all be sisters, like clones. It was obvious now why the maids were numbered to tell them apart. 

Lizzy had seen nothing of the head of household and, having been caught trying to find her way into the upper floors of the hotel, the humiliating bare bottomed strappings and spankings she had received, during the first weeks in service, taught her the folly of seeking such an audience.

Four months or was it five, Lizzy had been kept and worked like a slave in the kitchens of Weirstone Park. Intentionally kept physically and mentally drained she was losing hope, even thoughts of a life beyond the rigours of her servile subjugated existence. That was not all that Elizabeth Conner was losing, so intense and pervasive her indoctrination into Victorian life she was losing her grip on reality, or more correctly the reality she once knew. This was her reality now and with each day that passed becoming increasingly accepting of where she was, when she was and who she was. She was Lizzy a scullery maid put to work in the kitchens of a country mansion in the eighteen thirties. These thoughts being constantly reinforced imbedded and consolidated by the clothing, the décor, the hardship, the basic facilities of the age and constant verbal references to the Victorian life she now lived. Even the crumpled well-read newspapers that appeared from time-to-time, reprints of actual editions of the day, further befuddling her fragile mind. Elizabeth Conner was becoming intoxicated by her servitude, conditioned to her servitude, accepting of her servitude.

Her curtsies now meaningfully presented, the chastity belt she wore, an accepted encumbrance.

Bessie had intimated on a number of occasions that the way out of the kitchens, for a scullery maid like Lizzy, was to become one of Miss Hawthorn’s housemaids. Lizzy had already mentally placed the maids on a pedestal, it was a route to a better life, to become a housemaid.

 Each day Lizzy watched the maid’s parade for Miss Hawthorn with increasing envy. Bessie had fostered an ambition within Lizzy to aspire to such a rank, an ambition adopted by Lizzy with an increasing desire, something well noted by her tormentors.

Miss Lambeth had been regularly updated by her housekeeper on Elizabeth’s conditioning and indoctrination, the girl was now ready to progress, and Miss Hawthorn would make the arrangements.

Miss Hawthorn found Lizzy busy in the laundry who instinctively curtsied when she entered.

“Leave that for now, come with me girl.”

Lizzy followed the housekeeper towards her office with increasing feelings of dread, what had she done, was she to punished, again?

Miss Hawthorn stopped where the maids lined up for parade and pointed to the square that was always empty, number ten.

“How would you like to stand in that square Lizzy become number ten, one of my maids.” 

Lizzy stared down at the numbered square, she would get to wear one of the pretty uniforms, like the ones she had washed, pressed, and fondled admiringly, the lace trimmed aprons and head pieces she had starched, the heeled boots she had polished and shined to a glistening gloss, and the fine cotton underwear. No more wearing her ragged clothes and being worked to a shadow a mere scullery maid.

Lizzy looked up at Miss

“Me Miss.”

Miss Hawthorn offered a weak smile. Over the months she had seen the haughty slut broken into a servile skivvy and the nervous unsure, submissive, look in her eyes she had seen before. This girl was certainly ready and will make a good housemaid.

“Yes, Lizzy you, number ten.”

Would Miss Elizabeth Conner, a successful professional woman with years of experience in the world of banking aspire to the rank of housemaid in draconian Victorian times? Of course not, but a scullery maid, worked hard from dawn until dusk, each day, and every day?

Lizzy curtsied her deference to the housekeeper of Weirstone Park.

“Yes Miss, thank you Miss.”

Miss Hawthorn pointed back to the doorway of the steam filled laundry.

“Back to your work girl there will be much training required before you become number ten.”

Bessie knew the day would come, four to five months was about right, the new girl had conditioned well, Bessie having been pivotal in that regard. It was an elaborate process but tried and tested at Weirstone. Well educated Ladies, harbouring supressed submissive tendencies, always made the best maids. Miss Elizabeth Conner, like those before her, given the right environment and encouragement had become intoxicated by her servitude and been readied to willingly become just such a maid.

 

Chapter 4

The constant threat of being returned to her wretched existence of a scullery maid ensured Lizzy’s intense training was enthusiastically absorbed. So much to learn and painfully reinforced should she falter. Cleaning, polishing, scrubbing, and mopping her first three months a housemaid only slightly less arduous than her previous existence at Weirstone. There was little memory in number ten that the tiles she scrubbed mopped and raised to a gleaming shine she once confidently strode across in her designer heels. Stripping linen from the rooms bagging for the laundry, sweeping, beating rugs, polishing, polishing, polishing.

What was her role? Housemaid, what was her duty? To serve and obey without question. Who was she? Number ten, she was number ten, number ten, number ten. She stood in the square each morning number ten, she slept in a bunk marked number ten, only ever referred to as number ten. She was number ten.

Three months and the day had eventually come, she was to be presented with her embroidered apron proudly displaying her name, number ten. Her hair had already been trimmed to a neat bob and dyed black like all the other maids. Lizzy stood with her back ramrod straight from the straining corset and Miss Hawthorn pinned her lace tiara in place. She was a housemaid, number ten. Her gaze lowered, and a curtsy laid with a precision that would not be out of place in the military, number ten stepped back into line with the other maids to join their collective anonymity. The same height, the same hairstyle and colour, a clone of those she had admired from the squalor of her time a scullery maid in the kitchens.

Ten was partnered with seven and put to work on the third floor, they were responsible for maintaining the hallways, landings, and rooms in pristine condition. Changing the linen each morning and replacing fresh flowers into the many vases. Their imbedded deference of lowered gaze and precise graceful curtsy offered to each and every guest they encountered. Not a word was to be spoken whilst on duty, six in the morning until eight in the evening. When the main mundane tasks of the day were completed, they stood immaculate and attentive facing each other at opposite ends of the long hallway available for any request that was made of them.

Whilst the living accommodation for the maids was still sparse, in comparison to where she had been kept previously it offered significant comfort, the food was also of a much better quality. Ten shared a room with her fellow maid seven. It was rare that ten and seven did not return to their room tired from their duties’ and ready for their beds, but they did have the time to speak with each other. Seven did not know who long she had been at Weirstone Park but had little recollection of being anywhere else. Like ten she had been a scullery maid before becoming a housemaid and, in common with ten she was not going to do anything, anything at all, that would risk being sent back to the rank of scullery. Seven, Margret Longford, that was, had in fact, although with no recollection, been a senior administrator at the legal firm Fitzgibbon’s before being tempted to join the staff at Weirstone Park, now like ten just one of Miss Hawthorns willing numbered housemaids. 

Weeks and months passed consolidating and reinforcing the ingrained reality into which ten had been taken. There was nothing, not a hint not a trace at Weirstone Park of the future from where she had travelled from. Any thoughts of such had long faded having been ridiculed to be fanciful imaginings when shared. There was a perverse logic to the ridicule given all around her, her very existence, contradicted such thoughts. Six months a housemaid and ten shared sevens unquestioned acceptance of her life at Weirstone Park, with little recollection of anything else.

The first time ten served table she was nervous of course, but excited at being allowed the privilege to serve in the main dining room. She had scrubbed, mopped, cleaned, and polished in the magnificent room during her training but seeing the tables decorated and prepared, fresh flowers with the cutlery and glassware glinting and gleaming under the huge chandeliers it was a sight to behold. Stood in line at the far end of the room ten watched the bejewelled lady guests in their beautiful gowns take their seats at the tables aided by the suave gentlemen accompanying them. 

How could one not be humble and servile in the presence of such beautiful and entitled people?

Amongst the heady scents of expensive perfumes, refined chatter, and the rattle of jewellery, cutlery, and crockery ten, along with the other maids, worked anonymously around the tables delivering course after course of fine delicacies.

Unseen on the upper balcony above the dining room Madam Chang and Miss Lambeth looked down watching number ten at work with the other maids.

“Well Miss Lambeth another success, Madeline Chaney was obviously correct about this one, so rewarding to see a latent submissive fulfil its potential. Once entrapped into consensual subjugation by their gullibility, it still fascinates me how professional young women, like number ten, with the right encouragement, through Miss Hawthorns regime, actually desire and accept their new role in life, mere maids to serve and obey.”

Miss Lambeth chuckled

“Yes, indeed, and a new recruit joining us shortly I understand. You will be pleased to know that this evening number ten has been selected for its first guest experience it will be interesting to see how it gets on, I will let you know.”

Having watched the maids at work with somewhat predatory eyes Yvonne leaned against her husband excited anticipation in her voice,

“Well John which, who is ours, they all look the same to me.”

 John put down his glass and removed a key from his pocket then stared across the dining room.

“There walking towards our table, holding the wine, number ten. the number is on its apron”

Yvonne kissed her husband’s cheek and squeezed his hand.

“Wave her over, have her refill my glass, let me have a look at her up close.”

Summoned, ten stood by the guests and curtsied, instruction given, another curtsy, and ten moved forwards to refill the lady’s glass.

Yvonne reached across purposely spilling the wine then stood quickly slapping ten, not hard but meaningfully across her cheek meaningfully enough to get the reaction and expression she sought.

“You clumsy girl, making me do that, what have you got to say for yourself, well I am waiting.”

Ten risked eye contact and did not see anger in the lady’s eyes it was something else, not a smile, it was a look of desire? Ten’s eyes widened and looked questioningly then quickly lowered her gaze becoming flushed and apologetically curtsied.

“Sorry Miss, it was my fault I am sorry.”

Yvonne retook her seat and laid a serviette over the spillage pointing to her glass to be refilled.

Ten scurried back to her position rubbing her cheek. She was surprised nothing further was said about the spilling of the drink and her service of the guests continued.

Yvonne chuckled.

“I think ten is going to be just perfect my love, just perfect, I do love this place.”

The meal concluded and only a few of the guest remained at their tables and ten joined the other maids to be dismissed by Miss.

A tap on the shoulder was the signal and the maids left one by one leaving six maids, ten amongst them. Each of the remaining maids being given a key with numbered room fob attached.

“You girls have been chosen and will go and entertain our guests, personal services, ten this is your first time don’t let me down.”

Ten took her key and followed the other maids out of the dining room a little unsure of what would be required, personal services, probably helping the lady undress, hang the guest’s clothes, provide some refreshments? Perhaps prepare a bath, she had done that previously and bathed a lady guest.

Ten politely knocked on the room door before inserting the key and entering the room. The lady was sat with her back to the door at a table by the window, the gentleman, stood in the middle of the room, smiled when ten entered and curtsied.

The lady stood and turned to face ten, it was the lady who had spilled her wine and slapped her then gave her that strange look and ten felt a little queasy watching the lady slowly approach her.

The Lady’s fine fingers smoothed down ten’s cheeks Yvonne anxious to commence the contrived scenario that had been on her mind all day.

“Don’t look so worried girl, you should be pleased to have been chosen.”

Yvonne turned to her Husband.

“John go and take a cigar will you.”

With John out of the room Yvonne turned to ten.

“Take your clothes off everything.”

Yvonne took the seat by the window and watched ten strip. She was not surprised to see the chastity belt the maid wore, it was a fascination of Yvonne’s. Ten needed helping with her corset and Yvonne becoming increasingly aroused told her leave it.

“Now you can undress me girl and be careful this dress was most expensive.”

Ten had undressed and dressed guests before the only oddity being that apart from her corset and belt, she was naked herself. Guests would normally sweep a robe around them when disrobed but the lady just stood staring at ten naked but for her corset. The door opened and john retrieving the key he had been given strode to ten and unlocked the chastity belt, tugged the waist band free of the buckles, and it fell to the floor at ten’s feet. The belt had only been removed once a week for thorough cleaning or at the time of month and ten gave a little sigh of relief.

The lady walked to a large wardrobe and opening the doors pointed inside.

 “Pick something, something pretty a full outfit shoes, everything and don’t dawdle, go and dress in the ante room, through that door.”

Ten was confused but she was conditioned to do as she was told without exception or question and followed the lady’s instructions.

The fine silk underwear made her shiver and squirm with pleasure feeling so soft against her body. Hearing the familiar sound of open palm slapping against skin accompanied by squeals from the adjoining room made her shiver again not from pleasure but trepidation and quickly dressed. Opening the door back into the main room she stood frozen at what greeted her. The lady held over the knee of the gentleman her bottom already well reddened further slaps followed. What to do, help her, stop him? The gentleman stood rolling the lady from his knee to the floor. What followed was confusing and strangely arousing.

The Lady crawled across the floor towards a stunned ten and placed her lips on the shoes ten wore then looked up with pleading eyes.

“Mistress, please not the belt Mistress not the chastity belt.”

Ten looked at the gentleman with a puzzled expression then down at the lady who had reached for the belt from the floor offering up to her.

“I must be punished Mistress.”

Ten looked again at the gentleman who offered non-verbal encouragement. This was the woman who had slapped her now simpering at her feet wanting to be put into and locked in the chastity device. Strange as it was, why not?

Ten took the harness and listened to the groans of the lady whilst her practised hands tugged the straps tight and clicked closed the asp of the lock.

Much to the shock of ten the gentleman grabbed the lady roughly and pointed to ten’s uniform laid over a chair.

“Dress girl, ten should not be naked in her mistress’s presence.”

 If it was funny ten would have giggled but it wasn’t funny, not at all.

The gentleman placed his arms around tens waist and pulled her close.

“I do not know why you put up with this worthless maid, I really don’t”

Held in the grip of the gentleman she watched the lady dress in her uniform aproning herself. Pinning up her hair and clipping tens lace tiara in place she stepping into ten’s heeled boots.

The lady’s curtsy was remarkably servile and ten wondered what would come next.

The gentleman opened a case that was by the table and ten stood open mouthed whilst he gaged his wife, then tied her hands behind her and pulled her into the bedroom and tossed her over the bed. Lifting the lady’s skirts he pulled down her drawers and thrust a riding crop into ten’s hand.

“Six of the best, this worthless cow deserves no better.”

Ten gulped rather her than me and slashed the crop across the lady’s bare backside bringing a muffled squeal through the firmly tied gag. Ten was becoming aroused by the erotic connotation and lent into the lips that were already at her neck. Seeing the lady squirming moaning bound gaged and helpless had ten wet and she swooned onto the bed to be ravished by the gentleman whilst his wife squirmed and wriggled in frustration by their side. So long without sex, being held and touched, ten revelled in her pounding. the grunts and groans of the trussed up belted maid wiggling beside them driving her to a gasping orgasm.  Laid back on the pillows and breathing heavy ten watched the gentleman wrench the gag from his wife mouth before pulling her by her hair and thrusting her face between tens thighs. Ten’s eyes rolled feeling a darting tongue splash on her clitoris then sweep into her sloppy walls. Eyes closed ten laid back in ecstasy delicate probing fingers replacing the thrashing tongue. Yvonne was now free key in hand and sloppy wet within the belt she still wore. Easing her legs from the belt Yvonne slithered atop of ten, fingers restlessly toying in her welcoming warmth. Lips pressed together which parted and tongues entwined.

John poured himself a drink and sat watching his aproned wife’s onslaught of the groaning maid, a maid wearing his wife’s clothing. Ten had never laid with a woman but manoeuvred into position, consumed by the scent of Yvonne’s sex, she gulped and gasped licking and lapping feeding in and on the soaked flesh of the guest’s intimacy.

Belted, back in her room and laid on her bunk, number ten stared up at the ceiling. She had willingly been ravished and used like a toy for the guest’s sex game and their pleasure and this would be her life now. Number ten’s first night of serving table would not be forgotten and was not the last. Not chosen every time but frequently enough, number ten spent time providing guests with “Personal Services” many times after dinner had been served. Convinced beyond all doubt of the Victorian reality in which she lived, no longer Miss Conner, Elizabeth, or Lizzy she was number ten, just a maid, and knew her place. One of such low rank could never question the demands of the Mistress of Weirstone Parks privileged guests, however debasing, and degrading they may be. 

Head of household’s words were sharp and clear, there was no hesitation when summoned.

A curtsy and ten stood obediently awaiting instruction.

“Stand by the door, wait to be called.”

The flap above the door fluttered and the symbol below changed from red to green. Ten preened herself, entered and curtsied before her mistress.

 Mistress was sat at her desk a smartly dressed young lady sat opposite. The lady’s clothes looked familiar but so strange, ten could see her knees? how strange.

Madame Chang smiled at ten.

“Tea for two ten”

Ten lowered her gaze and curtsied

“Yes, Mistress”

 Ten, returning to serve Mistress and her visitor, knocked on the door before entering. Ten curtsied before placing her silver tray on the desk and stepping back.

“Your tea Mistress.”

There followed an immaculate demonstration of pouring tea. Precise movements of unhurried practiced technique that presented such a simple act, that was like theatre.

 

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