Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 1.

by Jackie J

Chapter one

A light knock on the bed chamber door and the neatly dressed maid entered, a tray in hand. A respectful curtsy and a warm smile.

“Your early morning tea, Mistress.”

Jennifer arranged herself on her pillows and returned the smile.

The maid, having placed the tray by the bed, walked across to the windows and drew back the drapes.

“Thank you, Maud, it looks a lovely morning, I will take breakfast on the terrace. And lay out my blue day dress for me.”

The maid stood attentive at the foot of her Mistress's bed.

“Yes, Mistress. Will there be anything else?”

Jennifer took her first sip of the tea.

“No, Maud, that is all. You can go about your duties, girl.”

The maid located her Mistress's blue day dress and hung it in the dressing room along with underwear, hosiery and shoes. The Mistress only required assistance with dressing with more formal attire. Maud could wear any of the clothes hung in the closet, her mistress and herself being of the same size and figure, but she was just the maid, so how could she?

The breakfast was prepared and served to Mistress's instructions with little fuss, and the maid spent her day at her tasks, all detailed on the rota prepared by her Mistress.

After dinner that evening the Mistress of Stag Head Manor summoned her maid from the kitchen and smiled, asking her to take a seat.

“Well, Maud, how was your week? I certainly have no complaints, your service has been impeccable.”

Maud looked at the large clock in the corner of the dining room. It was ten minutes to nine and her working day would not finish until nine. Agreed protocols would need to be maintained.

“Mistress, am I mad, am I? Tell me I am not mad.”

Jennifer took a sip of the wine that she had been served.

“Mad? Have you not enjoyed serving your Mistress this last week?

Maud blushed - of course she had - it had taken months to gain the trust of Jenny, to allow her to be her maid. A little help here, a little help there, prompts, suggestions. She wasn’t sure, a week, a full week, but she had done it. Her maid Jenny had been the perfect Mistress and she, the rich widow, Lady Constance Summerfield, the perfect maid.

“Yes, I have Mistress, but surely it must be a form of madness to do this, to want to do this.”

Jennifer chuckled.

“Perhaps it is I who needs confirmation of my sanity, agreeing to do this, to do this for you. The weeks of training I gave you have certainly been worthwhile. Why, this past week, I doubt many an accomplished maid, would have struggled to perform your duties in a more perfect manner.”

Jennifer noticed the blush on Maud’s face intensify at the praise. Maud, calling her Mistress Maud. Jennifer had become quite accustomed to using the name that her Ladyship had chosen for herself. But that would soon be over, and Jennifer would be Jenny and back into her uniform of service to return to her duties, and her basic accommodation.

Maud glanced back at the clock. Five minutes to nine, five minutes left. Was she really considering it, really? At nine the covenant between her maid and herself would be over. She would return to being Mistress of the manor, a luxurious lifestyle, but mundane, without purpose. She had relished being the maid, being of use, being praised, being controlled.

Being servile to her own maid, and the strange and exquisite feelings and emotions it had raised within Constance had not been considered at the outset.  It was self-compulsion of course, but what if it wasn’t?  As the week progressed, these thoughts had never been far from her mind. What if it had been her maid who had put her to the apron?

Her maid had taught her well, the work was not arduous, by sticking to the routines, the routines that she had been shown and had followed. Constance had indulged her fantasy, but the week had passed so quickly. She had confined herself to the maid’s quarters, worn her maid’s uniform, watched her maid assume her role of mistress, taking her choice from her wardrobe, but a week was not long enough. She craved more, she wanted more, she needed more.

Constance looked across the table at her maid Jenny whilst the clock chimed the hour.

“Mistress, may I speak?”

Jennifer hearing the chimes of the clock smiled.

“It is nine o’clock, our arrangement is over. You cannot call your maid Mistress, not any longer, surely?”

Constance was unsure that her maid would want to continue with the arrangement, but if she didn’t ask now, when would she, when could she? Constance spoke again with a degree of excitement in her voice, emphasising her maids given title.

“MISTRESS, I wish to continue, continue as we are, you have enjoyed being the mistress of the manor, I know you have. And, well, I have enjoyed being your maid. A little longer, perhaps another week, two, longer I don’t know how long. You decide. Please, Mistress.”

Jenny stared at her Mistress; her Mistress sat in one of Jenny’s own maid’s uniforms, sat with a pleading expression on her face. Really? Lady Summerfield, her Mistress, wished to continue being her maid, her maid’s maid? To remain living in the cramped maid’s quarters in preference to the sumptuous facilities of Stag Head Manor. To serve rather than be served? Jennifer could just about understand a week. Yes, a week to purge her mistresses strange and perverse desires to be subjugated, but to continue? 

Jenny considered that her mistress’s week of being aproned had not purged and exercised her desires at all, but in fact had strengthened them, reinforced them. Her Mistress had had a taste of life within her starched bibbed apron and liked it, enjoyed it even. Another week, would that really satisfy these strange cravings? Not only did she want to continue a maid? In her own words, another week, or two or who knows perhaps longer, saying that she, her maid, would be the one to decide? Was she alluding to a degree of compulsion? Is that what she wants, what she craves, what lays behind this absurd mischief? Jenny’s eyes never left her mistress reflecting on the request to continue this bizarre charade. Was she serious, that she, her maid, would be the one to decide how long she remained aproned in her own home, remained her maid’s maid?

It was madness. Jenny’s Mistress, not happy to be maid for a week, wanted more, but how much more? Jenney considered who was the puppet and who the puppeteer? Jenny reconciled that during the previous week she had merely been following her mistress's instructions, doing what she wished. Jenny was supposedly the mistress of Stag Head Manor but ironically being controlled by her maid. For Jenny to really experience the power of being the Mistress and Lady Summerfield to truly feel the powerlessness of her chosen lowly position, that of a true maid, that dynamic would need to change.

Jenny took a deep breath.

“You wish for me to continue being the Mistress of Stag Head Manor, to be your mistress, for you to remain my maid, for as long as I choose, is that right?”

Constance could not backtrack now, perhaps this was the deal breaker, the only condition that would convince her maid to continue. Why else would she raise it? Constance thought of the consequences of such an arrangement, what she was proposing. The more she thought, the more waves of weakening and debilitating servile emotions rippled through her. The same intoxicating feelings she had experienced before contriving the role reversal. When she had been alone in the kitchens, when she first fondled and then swathed herself within Jenny’s confining apron. Tying the tapes of the apron behind her, that was when she knew, when she capitulated to what she had known and resisted for so long, she must be a maid, experience being a maid, to do the bidding of another. 

Whilst unlikely, the very thoughts of her maid actually keeping her for her maid, being kept her maid’s maid, did not detract from her purpose. Such delectable thoughts of self-entrapment opened up a whole new dimension to the arrangement. Her maid would truly be in charge of her. She would remain her maid’s maid for as long as her maid wished, kept aproned to serve her maid in her own home.  Constance squirmed in her seat with such imaginings flooding her mind and looked meekly at her maid. There was a slight breathlessness in her short and succinct response.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Jenny paused, should she go for broke, if her Mistresses desires, having been a week a maid, were as strong as she suspected, that those desires had grown into and become an obsession, then she would feed that obsession. Jennifer thought quickly, had to think quickly to seize the moment. She had it, the perfect scenario it would fit so well. If she was gauging her Mistresses mind correctly, what she was about to propose would have the silly woman in raptures. And if not, if too fanciful, well, she would have to get used to being a maid again.

Jennifer summoned up an authoritative tone, something she had worked to perfect during the previous week, ready to pander to her Mistresses delusions.

“Maud, you have proved yourself to be a most competent maid at Stag Head Manor during the last week, your week of probation. Your Mistress is minded to retain you in her service, for how long I have yet to decide, that of course is my prerogative. Continue with your good service and my maid you will remain. That is what you want, isn’t it Maud? To remain at Stag Head manor, being the  maid, my maid?"

Seeing the profound expression of meekness in her mistress Jenny chose to embellish the continuation of their covenant further.

“Perhaps a contract for you and new uniforms rather than wearing those worn by the previous maid at the manor. Would you like that, Maud? A contract and new uniforms, for the new maid at Stag Head Manor?”

Her maid’s mention of a contract and new uniforms for her, had made Constance squirm with anticipated delight at the inferred permanence of her maid’s words, her mistresses’ words.

Constance was in a semi euphoric trance like state when she stood and curtsied. Something not unnoticed by Jenny.

“Yes, Mistress. I would like that very much.”

Jenny smiled.

“Very well, Maud. Now tidy this dining room, clean the kitchen, and we will speak tomorrow when I have had time to consider details of your appointment.”

Maud curtsied.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Jennifer had been right about the emotions that she could stir in her Mistress, finding it hard to keep a serious expression with the noticeable squirming of Lady Summerfield in her seat, especially when she mentioned a contract.  Maud was away to the kitchens and Jennifer retired to the parlour hardly able to contain her own emotions. 

The past week had been like a dream living the life of a lady, being waited on hand and foot by her fawning maid, her own mistress. She had expected to already be back in her uniform with her mistress reclaiming her status. Jennifer chuckled and giggled to herself: her Mistress had pleaded with her to remain a maid, her maid’s maid? Jennifer sat back in one of the sumptuous leather chairs and smiled considering her Mistresses words: “Perhaps another week, two, longer, you decide.” The mention of a contract was to guild the lilly with no more intention than that, Jennifer knew little of such matters. She had her own contract given to her by Lady Summerfield when she entered her service, but that would be a little elaborate, over the top. Jennifer thought no more of it, she would not mention it again.

Jennifer awoke from her slumber. She was in the Mistress's bed chamber but there was no sign of her maid. It was late, had her Mistress had second thoughts, decided against a continuation of her servitude, remaining her maid’s maid? Maud had never been late once the past week!

A knock on the door and Maud bustled into the room, a tray in hand.

“Sorry I am late, Mistress, I had something to attend to. I will draw back the drapes. Breakfast on the terrace, mistress?

Jennifer yawned and stretched. Should she pinch herself ? Sipping on her tea she smiled at the sun gleaming through the windows revealed by her maid pulling upon the curtains. A new week had dawned, and Jennifer sought to reaffirm her authority.

“Something to attend. You know your duties girl. See that you are never late again. And yes, breakfast on the terrace.”

Maud curtsied.

“Will there be anything else, Mistress?”

Jennifer smiled her concerns of her Mistresses intentions unfounded, her Mistress, her maid, standing every attentive.

“Yes, after breakfast find me in the study. We have your future at Stag Head Manor to discuss.”

Another curtsy.

“Yes, Mistress”

A week the mistress of Stag Head Manor had given Jennifer a taste for the better things in life and her Mistress, Lady Summerfield, had taken to the apron as if born to a subservient existence. This outwardly nonsensical role reversal of mistress and maid was beginning to seem most appropriate. Jennifer had not asked for the situation she found herself in, her Mistress was the one who had instigated everything.

Over many weeks, prior to this strange exchange of roles, Lady Summerfield had offered nonchalantly to help with the laundry, the sweeping, the mopping, the polishing, the removal, and replacement of linen.

Jenny’s Mistress had not seen her, believing she was alone, but Jenny had watched her mistress take hold of one of Jenny’s aprons, caressing it. Then watched bemused by the way she fed herself under the yoke of the bibbed apron and slowly drew the tapes behind her to form such a perfect and practiced bow. It was not long after seeing her mistress don the apron that Jenny’s Mistress suggested, a week a maid. Jenny was reluctant at first but, when it was made clear that she would be Mistress of the manor, with all the privileges that would bring, that reluctance subsided. But now Jenny’s Mistress, not happy to be a maid for a week, she wanted more. Yet how much more, that was in her hands now.

The previous evening, after plucking up the courage to extend her week of being a maid, and her maid agreeing to just that, Constance lay in the bunk of the maid’s quarters. No silky nightdress and peignoir or fine cotton sheets and soft pillows.  A long plain cotton shift to wear the bunk having a heavy cotton under sheet with two coarse woollen blankets.  The deprivations of her accommodation should be an anathema to a right-minded lady of privilege, but not so for Constance. It only served to fuel her illogical aspirations.

Constance’s mind played over and over to what she had agreed. Her maid’s words to her, a contract. What would her maid know of contracts? Constance could not write her own contract, could she?  But she knew someone who could and would. Constance smiled at her thoughts, yes why not, her thoughts so exquisite her mind raced with other similar matters to be put in place without considered thought or fear of consequence. What better way to consummate the new covenant between Jenny and herself? She would do it, all of it, first thing in the morning before her maid, Constance giggled childishly, before her Mistress awoke. And she did. She was up before first light, but it took longer than Constance had thought and was mindful that she would be late with her Mistress's early tea. But it was done now. Putting the numerous letters in the post box for collection Constance felt a delectable shiver of expectancy run through her. Alea iacta est, the die is cast.

Having served Mistress her early morning tea, Maud set about preparing breakfast with thoughts of how her maid, her Mistress, would react to the letter she had left on the side of her tea tray.

Wiping sleep from her eyes Jennifer reached for the tea pot to refill her cup, an envelope falling from behind when she raised the pot?

A letter? For me? The envelope, recognised to be from Lady Summerfield’s distinctive stationary, Jenny carefully opened it. A formal letter from Lady Summerfield, in her own hand, addressed to her, Jennifer Richards, marked Private and Confidential.

Dear Jennifer,

So, kind of you to take up my position of Mistress at Stag Head Manor whilst I am away travelling, I am not sure when I will be returning but I am sure you will manage. There are couple of things you will need to know and help you settle in.

I have written to the bank to organise a generous allowance for your use, they will be sending a letter of authority to you in due course.

A new maid was engaged recently, Maud Williams. She completed her probationary period and I have written to my attorney to prepare and raise a contract for her. This should be with you shortly.

By way of this letter, you have my authority to assume the full responsibilities and privileges afforded to the Mistress of the manor until my return.

Wishing you well with grateful thanks.

Your faithfully,

Constance.

Lady Summerfield.

Jennifer read the brief letter a number of times before folding it back into the envelope. Matters to attend to, indeed she had. She had certainly set the agenda and prepared the ground for Maud to remain the maid at Stag Head Manor for some time. Jennifer giggled at the preposterousness of it all. Williams, Maud Williams, where did she get that name from? What was in her mind to do all this? 

Jennifer reflected further on the intent of the letter.

Lady Summerfield is away travelling, and I am to be Mistress of the manor until she returns. Returns at an unspecified time. Jennifer smiled considering her own thoughts regarding the puppet and puppeteer. The contents of the letter pass the strings of control firmly into her own hands, the intentions of Lady Summerfield could not be clearer. Jennifer considered this letter, detailing what had been contrived, to be the puppeteer’s last act of control. Having chosen to vacate Stag Head Manor to travel, Lady Summerfield was leaving the fate of maid Maud firmly in the hands of her own maid, Stag Head Manor's new mistress.

Dressing, Jennifer considered her options. Jennifer could confront her maid, ask for a full explanation as to why she had done what she had.  In the letter however, Maud was referenced in the third person. The letter was written by Lady Summerfield and plainly seeks to confirm the demarcation between the two personas - a Lady and a maid. Jennifer grinned, the letter was from Lady Summerfield addressed to herself and marked private and confidential. What business was that of her maid? 

 

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