Story: It Wasn't Right. Epilogue.

by Jackie J

Epilogue

Richard said it wasn’t right, that we did not need a maid, and in truth, we didn’t, with many rooms unused, I have managed adequately after letting my maid Linda go.  Richard was reluctant but I convinced him that, if not for us, then for when and if the Mistress returns, Miss Millicent. We would have to leave Crestley House if she returned, and she would require an established and competent maid wouldn’t she.

A strong marriage holds no secrets, but it was not yet the time and perhaps it never will be, to inform my husband who the maid I have hired actually once was. However, it was worth letting Richard know that should Miss Millicent ever return we would be made to leave the luxury of Crestley House. A magnificent residence that we have come to treat like our own.

Milly arrived much as I believed she would. Settled into the maid’s quarters and dressed, in the new uniform’s that I had organised for her, I am genuinely impressed by her competence and servility. Two months my maid and I have no complaint. Milly pays due deference, the House is kept spotless, the laundry is never an issue, and our meals are prepared to the highest standard. Miss Millicent Williams, the former Mistress of Crestley House she may be, but I must admit, she makes the prefect maid. My late friend Agnes Burtonshaw having trained and conditioned her well for her new role in life.

I have kept the portrait of Miss Millicent Williams, that hangs at the end of the entrance hall. Bejewelled with golden flowing hair over her shoulders, fine features with a flawless complexion and smiling eyes. Not for any reason other than I did admire her before she chose a path to her social downgrade. I may despise Miss Millicent now, for what she dd to herself, but I no less admire the maid she now is.

During the last few months, I have purposely invited people to Crestley House for lunch, or in the evenings for dinner, who would have known Miss Millicent, not overly well admittedly. I doubt anyone knew Miss Millicent that well, apart from those she worked with, before selling the company. However, those invited, I knew to have met and conversed with Miss Millicent.  None have paid my curtsying maid any attention beyond that deserving of any domestic servant. The once Mistress of Crestley House, dowdy, aproned and hidden in clear site, perfect, the maid of Crestley House, Milly Brannigan.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 14.

by Jackie J

Two days since the funeral for Agnes Burtonshaw and the mourners who came and stayed at Sycamores have all departed including my housekeeper, Janice. Having revealed all to my housekeeper, the night of the funeral, she left the following morning without a word. Promising to help me, she was to find away and make the necessary arrangements to get me back to Crestley House. Sweeping out the rear yard of the hostel I smile to myself. “Making necessary arrangements”, no doubt Janice will have made good use of Crestley House in my absence, especially if she thought it doubtful that I would be returning, thinking me married and settled in some foreign land. Arrangements yes, she will no doubt be returning things back to how they were before my return.

Janice made haste back to Crestley House the morning after the funeral what she had found out about her Mistress, Miss Millicent Williams, could change everything. What would she tell Richard, her husband of only three months. Richard Williams had moved to the area taking over as bank manager at the bank used by her mistress, and which Janice, following Miss Millicent’s departure, was obliged to visit. Richard took a shine to Janice having helped her in resolving the anomalies left by the instructions from her travelling mistress. Flattered by the attention, not long into their relationship Janice suggested that Richard leave his cramped rented accommodation and move into Crestley House, which he did. Their love blossomed, and they eventually tied the knot, Crestley House had become the home of Mr and Mrs Williams. How could she explain that her absent mistress had not married and settled overseas but had quite willingly taken the apron to become a common maid, had become a common maid, with a new identity and, with her own collusion, disenfranchised herself from her wealth. By the time Janice was on the last leg of her journey home, she was wishing she had not attended Agnes funeral and never met up with her once Mistress.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 13.

by Jackie J

Having been seen, whilst bedded by Mr Rogerson, in such a wanton fashion, the moral high ground I may have clung to, is gone now for sure. A lady of wealth and position, a lady like Miss Millicent Williams, would never have given herself in such a way, no matter what the circumstances. It is strangely comforting to accept that it was the maid Milly Brannigan who aroused and took Rogerson’s passion.  A moment of weakness? Caught at a low emotional ebb?  So why, for the third night running, am I still sharing his bed. I know it wasn’t right, I know it isn’t right, but it is what it is.

I had never linked my desires for the apron and its associated subjugation and servitude with sex, not until I had laid with Daniel these past days. Daniel is not a handsome man by any means, and his personal hygiene leaves much to be desired. There is no tenderness in his manner or touch, taking me roughly and at his will. Allowing one so uncouth, to take unconditional possession of me and use me in such an intimate way, bringing new emotions and imaginings for my perverse cravings for debasement. Whilst tempting to continue to take his seed within me, I am now mindful to enforce the rhythm method, but always make good by slobbering and sucking him clean until drained and flaccid.

Miss Elizabeth, engaged in getting to grips with the running of Mayfair Domestic Services and preparing for the funeral of Agnes, I am instructed, until matters are settled, to return to being the maid at Sycamores.

The tragedy on the river Thames, which took Agnes to meet her maker, is the subject of a coroner’s inquiry and Agnes’s funeral is delayed.  I have now returned to living in my own room, Daniel, well back to Mr Rogerson now, decided he had enough of his harlot, he had his reputation to think of.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 12.

by Jackie J

Thursday, I call dress down day for Miss Margret. Each Thursday Mistress has business to attend to in the city. Rather plain clothing for a lady of such standing, but the nature of her business requires such, and it is not my place to pry. Having inquired once, and having been severely punished, I know better than to inquire of my Mistresses’ business.

Miss Elizabeth is on time to collect Mistress. Miss Elizabeth, a large and well-spoken lady, now manages Mayfair Domestic Services and from the conversations I have fleetingly overheard, the business is expanding and thriving thanks to the investments made by my Mistress, Miss Margret.

With Mistress and Miss Elizabeth having left Poplars, walking into the kitchen, I contemplate what to prepare for them when they return.  Miss Elizabeth likes my cherry buns, and she did ask for them the previous Thursday. Mistress and Miss Elizabeth are rarely back at Poplars until late afternoon, so I have time to shop and still bake the buns.

The clock in the hall chimes seven, then eight, then nine, Mistress is never this late and I start to worry. A sharp banging of the door knocker makes me jump and I hurry down the hallway to answer the door.

A Tragedy. The ferry from Tower bridge to Greenwich capsized. Five survivors, my Mistress, Miss Margret, Agnes Burtonshaw, not one of them.

Shock, filling my senses at the unthinkable, I stare at a tearful Miss Elizabeth in disbelieve at the news, then collapse in a heap on the hallway tiles.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 11.

by Jackie J

Given no suitable Mistress could be found, that would be willing to take Milly Brannigan to be their trainee personal maid, Mrs Burtonshaw had proposed to fill the void and train Milly personally. There would be no shortage of positions available for Milly Brannigan to be a lady’s maid, once trained, conditioned and mentally prepared for such a position. Mrs Burtonshaw intermating that given the training went well, and she was sure it would, she already had one such position in mind for Milly.

If I wished to proceed and be trained to be a true lady’s maid by Mrs Burtonshaw, meaningful authenticity would be paramount. Mrs Burtonshaw used those words repeatedly when she initially told me of her proposal.  Crestley House was obviously out of the question, being too familiar and distracting. Mrs Burtonshaw’s residence was at best modest, not at all suitable for a Mistress and her personal maid. Also, Mrs Burtonshaw was not wealthy, and a mistress could not be going cap in hand to her personal maid for funds, could she? Mrs Burtonshaw had the answer to resolve all these matters, to create the authentic environment for a mistress and her maid. For the Mistress to have access to the wealth that will reflect her position and for her maid to only have access to what she is given and no more. To experience the true dynamic of being the personal maid of a mistress, a maid must first understand then accept that she is totally dependent on the benevolence of her Mistress. There can be no pretence in this dependency aspect, which will be the cornerstone of the training, how else can meaningful authenticity to be achieved?

Story: The Bridge Player

Inspired by the classic 1960s Bunty cartoon, The Imposter. Please welcome a new blog contributor, George. 

The bridge player

By George (G.T.)

Victoria Perkins lived in a small country mansion with her parents. She came home from a private boarding school just two weeks ago. She had barely seen her parents for years. In addition to them, the house was inhabited by a butler, a cook, a housekeeper, and a maid. With the exception of the young maid, all employees were at least fifty years old.

Someone knocked on her door in the morning. The maid asked permission to come in to put a fire in the fireplace. Victoria didn't want to get out of the good warm bed into the cold room. She watched the maid work. Her black dress reached to her ankles. The sleeve of the dress ended in a tight white cuff at the wrists. She had a tight white neck strap around her neck all the way to her chin. Maid Mary was embroidered on it. A white maid's hat covered her hair. She wore simple little hoop earrings in her ears. Her white apron reached almost to her neck. Two wide shoulder straps go to the apron's back. In the back she tied the apron around her waist with a big bow. Anyway, Mary was like her. The girl's age, stature, face, even eyes were similar to Victoria's. There was only one difference. Mary's hair is straight and Victoria's curly. Victoria knew this from the fact that Mary's cap had once fallen as she scrubbed the stone in the hallway. The housekeeper immediately struck her with a wand from punishment.

Story: Kristina's Holiday Week.

By Kristina Katyn

Author's Note:

 "I wrote this story together with my friend Peter242 as a follow-up to our other Kristina stories.  Peter242 has written other stories too.  For myself, I have worked as a domestic cleaner in real life for a number of families and busy professional ladies.  We hope you enjoy it."

Kristina smiled to herself as she wheeled Mrs B’s suitcase into the house, knowing she was going to be skivvy for the week for both Heather and Mrs B, and she was happy to do so.  It was slightly strange, given that the rather dominant Heather was twenty-four years' old compared to the submissive Kristina’s thirty-four, and Kristina knew that Mrs B was fifty-something.

Heather had instructed Kristina to take the week off work so she could serve both Mrs B and herself for their holiday week, which Kristina was more than happy to do as she was drawn to the domestic servitude lifestyle and much preferred the prospect of that life to her primary job as a well-paid but stressed corporate lawyer.

Mrs B had been for a while Heather's dad’s girlfriend.  They had met four years ago, and well after Heather had bought her own place, but her dad asked Heather to be friendly to her and even call her "Mum".  Heather was happy to do that and even after the relationship ended Heather and Mrs B remained friends and as Heather had got used to calling Mrs B Mum, she continued to do so.  They liked to go away on holiday together and, like now, often stayed in the other’s home for a holiday break.

Story: Leah's First Day.

By popular request, the sequel to Inanimate 77's Bridal Shower is finally here!

by Inanimate77

Leah stood silently for a few minutes as the Uber driver sped away leaving her alone in front of the Davenport Estate.  After her last experience, Leah had sworn that she would never return to this place.  The entire episode felt rather bizarre, and quite honestly, she still had a hard time believing it had happened.  Somehow Leah had found herself mistaken for the help while attending her good friend Charlotte’s bridal shower.

In hindsight, Leah should not have been so concerned about Lady Davenport.  The young professional woman had really wanted to make a good impression on her friend’s old money mother.  Her plan to do so really never had a chance.  Lady Davenport would never accept Leah because of her lineage.  No matter how much education she attained or how much professional success she experienced, Leah would always be seen as lower class.  It was simply the way of things. 

The entire ordeal had almost ended in disaster, but being a true friend Leah acted the humble part of house servant in order to not cause her friend embarrassment.  When Charlotte had found out, she was truly horrified.  Charlotte and Leah had been roommates in college, and unlike her mother, the young heiress did not ascribe to her mother’s views on social class.  She was at school to find educational enlightenment with the hope of making a difference in the world.  Despite being from very different backgrounds, the two girls had become close friends.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 10.

by Jackie J

My duties for the day finished I sit on my bunk and remove my boots with a sigh. Instinctive now, I wipe the boots down and polish them back to a shine. A maid must never be seen with dirty or dull boots. I chuckle to myself at the disciplines, like the cleaning of my boots, that I have adopted over these past months, whilst indulging my fantasy to be a working maid. Pretence at the outset for sure, but now such traits have become second nature, the curtsy, my lowered gaze, speaking only when spoken to, doing what I am told, when I am told, how I am told, without question. After years of making decisions, guiding my own destiny, these past months I have been freed of all such burdens, living a simple, respectful, submissive, almost anonymous existence to which I have become accustomed and accepted. A life, despite the privations that I have experienced, I cannot help myself from still wanting to live.

Stripped and washed I lay on my bunk in thought.

Not for the first time, I consider how fortunate I was to have been found like I was at Crestley House by the temporary housekeeper, Mrs Burtonshaw? Fate, I guess. I paid her well for what she did with me, to me, keeping me aproned like she did, having me for her maid. Then organising for me to become one of her Mayfair maids, finding me a position at Bracken Hall a common maid. giving me a new identity, Milly Brannigan, how well she understood, understands my strange desires. Even earlier today, before she left, although my time a maid almost at an end, putting me in my place.

“Mrs Burtonshaw or Miss to the likes of you Milly Brannigan.”

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 9.

by Jackie J

I don’t sleep well; I don’t sleep well at all.  For a second night I cannot get Lady Carrington, and how she makes me feel, out of my thoughts. I have to force myself to remind myself of who I actually am, who I really am. This isn’t right, I know it isn’t right, I know this must stop, I must get back to Crestley House, get back to my life or I will surely lose my mind?  

Jenny is already awake and getting dressed and soon, so am I. Boots to my feet I stand and tie the tapes of my apron into a neat bow at the base of my back. Whatever my denials and mental torment of the previous night, swathed in my cocoon of servility, my waking thoughts are only those of Milly the maid, Milly Brannigan.  Morning trays are prepared in the kitchens and, Rosy and I deliver morning tea to each of the guests’ rooms. I collect my last tray and standing outside Lady Carrington’s room I knock, enter, and curtsy.

“Your morning tea ladies.”

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 8.

by Jackie J

The letters that Mrs Burtonshaw had her maid Milly write duly arrived at their addresses.

Janice, having spent the past week preparing Crestley House for her Mistresses return, read the letter she had received with mixed emotions.  Disappointed her Mistress would not be returning but pleased that she had met someone. No detail but travelling abroad sounded as if at last it was a relationship that could lead to something permanent. Provision had been made with the bank for her to access additional funds and, with no mention of when her Mistress would return, Janice reconciled that she would just have to wait until she did.

The bank manager, on receiving Miss William letter, instructed his assistant to make the necessary arrangements and prepare a letter of authority for Miss Janice Renwick. Whilst giving her housekeeper access to her main accounts, he trusted that Miss Williams knew what she was doing and, with little concern, he would be retiring at the end of the month anyway, filed away the correspondence. 

Any reservations that I may have held about remaining a maid at Bracken Hall are forgotten settling the arriving guests for the gala weekend into their rooms with Rosy.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 7.

by Jackie J

After dinner the Master and Mistress of Bracken Hall were talking in the parlour and James was anxious to know how preparations for the gala were progressing, it was just over a week away.

Lucinda sighed.

“Well, the Jacksons won’t be with us this year they are travelling, and Patricia is doubtful but everyone else responded, so a full house all the same. I have one fly in the ointment that I am trying to resolve. Madeley still hasn’t found a replacement maid, and the temporary maid from Mayfair, Milly, leaves at the end of the week. I have told Madeley that we can’t be short staffed for the gala weekend, and I am hopeful of keeping this temporary maid here. Milly is good, in fact very good, according to Madeley, what do you think of her?”

James tops up his whiskey from the decanter.

“Can’t say I know the woman, our maids all look the bloody same to me, devoid of personality, yes Sir, no Sir, like penguins in their uniforms about their work. I know Gwyneth and Betty of course but they are different, I rarely see the others.”

Lucinda takes the opportunity to have a dig at her husband about the amount of time he spends away from the hall.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 6.

by Jackie J

Two weeks a maid at Bracken Hall, and I have settled into a maid’s life and the work routines with Jenny. The cleaning is mundane and can be tiring but why wouldn’t it be. The mistress is quite obsessive, regarding the overall cleanliness of the residence: everything must be kept immaculate and pristine.  A misplaced ornament, a smear or trace of dust brings humiliating chastisement. Jenny is resentful of the belittling of her efforts but for me, this reinforcement of my lowly status, serves only to encourage and deepen my desires of humbling servility. I was teased about my refined accent by Jenny and the other maid’s during my first few days, I still am, but much less so.

My concocted back story brought an understanding but little sympathy. A wealthy family left destitute, I had been forced to enter service and become a housemaid. Jenny taking some pleasure that I had been reduced in status and having to now work like her, a common maid. Having proved my worth, with brush, mop, and cloth, and not shirked the hardest or dirtiest of tasks, Jenny accepted “The posh maid” was a good worker. During moments of reflection, to my current circumstance, I do wonder if the privations of a maid that I endure, in contrast to the opulence and lavish lifestyle of my masters, is not softened knowing the comforts of Crestley House await me following my time here. There is a total indifference and unwavering arrogance shown to the staff by all the family, my curtsies of deference, offered should they pass by whilst at work, unacknowledged and ignored as if I am invisible.  I have little doubt however, that should such deference not be shown, I would feel the nondecorative use of the leather strap hanging in the kitchens.

Caption: The Imposter.

Despite having spent the last three years living as the wealthy widow Linda Mallory, Gabi couldn't help but still see a maid in the mirror. That was who she in truth was and it was a self image she had a hard time leaving behind. After all she had never intended on perpetrating a masquerade like this, it just kinda happened.

She had only been in the employ of Mrs. Mallory, who was new to town like herself, for a few months before her employer suddenly disappeared hang gliding. It was sad, she seemed like a decent enough lady, but at the time what really worried Gabi was that she had yet to be paid and was afraid she might never get paid. That was what led Gabi to impersonate her the first time.

Gabi knew it was wrong, but it seemed like a victimless crime. All she meant to do was dress up in some of Mrs. Mallory's designer clothes, style her hair like hers and drive her luxury coupe downtown to the bank. There she would withdraw enough from the lady's account to make up for what she was owed. They were about the same age and build and few people in town knew either of them. Simple enough of a plan really.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

The large envelope nervously opened, and the contents laid out on my desk, I notice the same letterhead used for the confirmation of Mrs Burtonshaw to be my temporary housekeeper, Mayfair Domestic Services, any similarity to that previous correspondence ends there. No detail of Mrs Burtonshaw working for me, but of myself, well Miss Brannigan, working for her. All very formal and detailed.  I sit back and read the main letter.

Dear Miss Brannigan,

Following the completion of your service for Miss Williams, at Crestley House, and your wish to become one of our maids, I write to inform you that your application to join Mayfair Domestic Services was successful and your maid registration is now complete. Your registration certificate is enclosed along with your identification disc which you will wear at all times whilst in service.

Your first assignment is at Bracken Hall, being employed for general maid duties. You will report on the sixth of October to the housekeeper, Mrs Madeley. The address you will find on your letter of introduction, which is enclosed. I need not remind you of the high standards that are expected of you, of all Mayfair domestic servants, of which you are now one. Your contract at Bracken Hall is for one month, and I will expect favourable reports when your time there is concluded. Don’t let me down Milly.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 4.

by Jackie J

Linda is back at Crestley Manor and the household is returning to its normal routines. It was awkward at first, of course it was, not only for me but for Mrs Burtonshaw. What I had done could not be undone, not that I would ever wish it to be. During the first days, after Linda’s return, when Mrs Burtonshaw’s and my own paths crossed, I had to stop myself from lowering a curtsy. Calling her Miss crossed my lips a few times which brought an exchange of knowing smiles between us.

What I have noticed, since Linda’s return, something perhaps I wasn’t aware of previously, is how often I interact directly with Linda and how much of her time I take from her. Bringing tea or refreshments when I desire, the preparation of my clothing, a book from the library or any other such task.  Keeping pace with Mrs Renwick’s daily rota had not been an issue for me and I had wondered, at the time, why Linda often appeared hurried in her work. I of course had not been at the beck and call of a Mistress had I. Reflecting on this aspect of Linda’s work I couldn’t help myself from feeling a little cheated that I had not had a mistress to serve, but then how could I have, I was the mistress. Having been a month a maid I cannot help feeling restless, that I should be doing things, no doubt these feelings will pass but I am doubting my life can ever return to what it was. A ridiculous madness I am sure, but each time I see Linda I am questioning my worthiness of my privilege. Harbouring feelings of resentment towards her, jealous of the simple servility of her existence, an existence I had shared and known, and what should be worrying but isn’t, an existence that I still covet.

Story: Kristina's New Client.

A new submission from Kristina Katyn, the author of  Kristina in Training, Polish Au Pair Takes Control, and Kristina's Secret Cleaning Job. 

Copyright 2021 by Kristina Katyn and Peter242

Kristina is out of practice and the poor quality of her cleaning leads to punishment

Author's note: I wrote this story together with my friend Peter242 as a follow up to our earlier Kristina stories.  He has written other stories too, all as Peter242.  In real life, I have worked as a cleaner and housekeeper for a number of lovely families and hard-working single professional ladies, ranging from doctors and professors to fashion models and teachers.  I came to love cleaning work and I used to think up fantasies to relieve the tedium and physical effort.  You never know what your own cleaning girl may be thinking about!  My cleaning jobs paid my way through college and though now professionally qualified I still clean in my spare time for my ex and a small number of favourite clients, because I came to know them so well, and they like having me clean for them.  This story is based at least in part (!) on my own experiences.  We hope you enjoy it.
 


As Kristina stepped down from the bus and walked along the street, she was just thrilled that she had managed to get back home to the big city after such a long stay away during COVID lockdown.  She really appreciated the fact that her relatives had let her stay with them on their farm in the countryside because there was lots of open space there and wonderful views compared to the restricted views along an identikit street from her own home in London.  She had had to do quite a bit of helping out for them to justify her stay, of course, when not working remotely from her bedroom, but at least now she could get back to what she saw as her long-term calling, which was domestic service. 

Kristina was wearing her cleaning uniform as she did for all her cleaning jobs, mainly black with bits of white here and there and a hem just below the knee, partly disguised by a blue and white shawl, but anyone who saw her walking along knew what she was, which was a low-class cleaner and housemaid.  Kristina never minded that though, as being identified by passers-by as a domestic enhanced her feeling of being a low-status menial worker, which was the feeling that she most craved.  Kristina longed for the permanent simplicity of servitude as a way to escape the responsibility and stress of her intellectually and politically complex in-house legal position, and constantly dreamed about scrubbing kitchen floors and hanging up laundry in the houses of her betters, and of being reduced in status to the lowliest of the low, a domestic cleaner, a cleaning lady, a maid, a servant, a skivvy.

Caption Sunday: Slacker Sarah.

Sometimes you never learn how weird your best friend really is...and how GOOD a friend she can be...

I learned six months ago she’d won the lottery—a BIG win—but the way I learned was not happy for her at all! Nosy, domineering relatives of hers blabbed about her win—on FACEBOOK for Christ’s sake! A week later at 11pm(!) I heard a knock on my door and my friend Sarah came in. She apologized for being so late, and then spent ten minutes sobbing on my shoulder.

When she could talk, but still crying her eyes out, she said she didn’t really need all that money, but that her life was now HELL! All the people she knows—who she has issues with—were camping out, in her face, demanding a piece of her! She OWED this to them, they said; and it took two straight days for her to get to my place without being followed or tracked! She asked me if I could please, PLEASE, drive her to the airport!

After dropping her off, she hugged me for a full minute, me patting her on the shoulder, until she trotted towards the ticket counter...

* * * * *

Those six months later I got a message from a Twitter tag I didn’t recognise. Very briefly (Twitter is ALWAYS brief, but no matter), this tag let me know she was Sarah, and to please look into my primary bank account, and that instructions on how much the I.R.S. was owed was in my email.

The email said she was now a hotel housekeeper—because it was a good way to serve people...while being totally ignored! I smiled and shook my head—I had no IDEA Sarah was this weird!

* * * * *

My bank account today has 3 million dollars more than yesterday...

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 3.

by Jackie J

Chapter 3

Life being Mrs Burtonshaw’s maid is certainly different to being Mistress of the household. I chuckle at the thought, feeding the laundry through the mangle, lucky Miss Williams. Counting the few days I worked alone, before Mrs Burtonshaw’s arrival, it will be three weeks of being aproned tomorrow. It still amuses me thinking of Miss Williams, not of myself but of the privileged Mistress of the household.  A harmless deceitful pretence, and initially a difficult delusion to accept. The deceit is encouraged by Mrs Burtonshaw, often referencing Miss Williams to her maid. Compliments and admonishments in equal measure, Miss Williams would not be happy with this or that. Miss Williams would be most pleased to see you have done this or that. I was fine working alone but with the routines of the rota and Mrs Burtonshaw’s organisation and strict control of me, there is little time to consider other than my life a maid.

Shortly after it was confirmed that Linda’s absence would be extended, and Mrs Burtonshaw noticing the discomfort of Linda’s shoes that I wore, Mrs Burtonshaw acquired a pair of low -heeled boots that I now wear. Heavy yes, but comfortable and practical for a working maid. I have given up on trying to protect my hands and nails, I know they are a mess, but why wouldn’t they be? The chipped nails are now cut short, and the palms of my hands display calloused skin. I used to spend literally hours brushing my hair, now, I am quite practiced at balling my hair atop of my head and with wearing the mop cap during my waking hours, so there is little point in wasting time on that.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 2.

by Jackie J

Chapter 2

I should have done it myself over the last few days, before Mrs Burtonshaw arrived. It made sense. I could have looked in Miss Renwick’s office and found her daily rota sheets. There had been no urgency to what I did, what I was doing. Now there is. The early start and late finish are no real surprise. Linda worked these hours. Six in the morning through seven in the evening. If I keep on top of the tasks on the rota, which I am determined to do, I will make time for breaks.

What a day. Just Mrs Burtonshaw’s evening meal and then I am done, everything on the rota completed.

I have had to visit the kitchens a number of times to ensure my meal is not ruined but apart from that I am quite impressed with my mistress's maid.  The lunch she prepared was most tasty and she has followed the rota I gave her and everything on the list is ticked off, very impressive.

Making my way to the maid’s quarters I find Milly changing her apron and smile at the various items on top of the drawers and by the sink.

“What is this Milly, why are they here in your room?”

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 1.

by Jackie J

Chapter 1

It wasn’t right. At the outset, deep down, I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t resist. Perhaps in truth I should count myself lucky, not everybody can fully explore their fetish, their dark imaginings held within. Most torment themselves suppressing what lies within them. A life of continued denial from the imagined shame of consequence for crossing the Rubicon of desire. How long I suffered like most, but no longer. Mrs Agnes Burtonshaw, of all people, was the one to first discover, encourage, develop then exploit, my hidden desires. Tentatively at first, but, once under her accepted control, with increasing relish and unquestioned authority my willing metamorphosis began.

Wealth is a great benefactor of course but brings with it a boredom that is hard to explain to one less endowed. The mind wanders to wicked imaginings.

My housekeeper, Miss Renwick, and her maid were always busy about the manor whereas I had little to occupy me besides my thoughts. Before the family business was sold, I had the daily routines of that to keep my mind employed, in truth little time for anything else. With those responsibilities no longer an issue, what to do to fill my seemingly endless days? Reading of tittivating adventures of course only served to deepen my hidden inclinations.

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 8.

by Jackie J

Chapter 8

Maud had sat in her room for some time, having been sent there by her mistress. Why she had not been allowed to answer the door had seemed strange, but it was what her Mistress wanted.

When the call bell eventually rang Maud was quick to her feet and passing through the kitchen she noted the signal had come from the parlour. Before going through to her Mistress she filled the kettle and slid it onto the stove in anticipation. Maud’s anticipation was rewarded: her Mistress requested tea for herself and her guest. Lady Summerfield’s sister no less. Why did the lady visitor look familiar? It was strange but she did. The tea served, Maud wondered if she should return to her room or continue with the day’s tasks. The work would not do itself and she returned to her cleaning in the dining room. Disturbed again by the call bell, she was back to the parlour. 

There was a weak smile on Maud’s face when she left her mistress. Lady Summerfield’s sister was to stay over at the manor. Maud had cleaned the guest rooms many times but there had never been a guest staying in any of them. The master guest room was the grandest of them and it was an excited maid that headed up the broad stairs to prepare the room, her mind already contemplating lunch and dinner for two. Maud had last cleaned the larger of the guest rooms a week ago, but another thorough cleaning was in order. Fresh linen and the windows opened to air the room, flowers from the garden the finishing touch. There was heat in the room, but Maud set a fire in the grate. Standing by the door Maud surveyed the room pleased with her work. Back to the dining room, just the polishing to finish off and then she would have lunch to prepare.

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 7.

by Jackie J

Chapter 7

There had developed an unmistakable normality at Stag Head Manor, with its groundsman cum groom and coachman, its maid and mistress. Constance, the once gracious Mistress of the manor had evolved into a perfect maid, mainly by her own delusional imaginings, utterly consumed by and held captive within the dumbed down persona of her own making, that of Maud Williams.

Maud’s weight gain had been subtle but significant over the months, although her figure could be said to be more plump than overweight. Once considered quite statuesque, along with her chubby cheeks, busty chest, an often-slapped, broad worker woman’s backside now protruded below her neatly tied aprons bow. Gone the gracious step of a lady, from the wearing of heavy boots and restrictive garb, and her light educated voice now replaced with her encouraged common speech. There was little that remained of the once sophisticated and elegant Lady Constance Summerfield. In fact, nothing at all!

Whilst the degradation and debasement of the former mistress of Stag Head manor could not have been better triumphed, the transformation of maid to lady, by Miss Jennifer Jenkins, was no less profound. Jenny the maid had blossomed, assuming a deserved superiority over her fawning maid until becoming second nature. Wearing fine clothes and with her developed grace no one would consider the ladylike Miss Jenkins to be other than the Mistress of the manor.

Having taken breakfast and returned to her rooms to dress, Jennifer looked out from an upstairs widow over the lawns towards the gatehouse. Not the best of days, low cloud, and drizzle in the air, not a day to be outdoors. More a day to be spent in the library.

 

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 6.

by Jackie J

Chapter 6

A month had passed since the visit from the customs agents and Jennifer had heard nothing further.

Jennifer smiled cynically at her once mistress down on her hands and knees polishing the upper landings floors. Now convinced of her Mistress’s motivation for their role reversal, Jennifer reconciled that a continuation of the situation was only what her Mistress would want. She wouldn’t want to be discovered, would she? Life of maid, her maid, was much better than the potential confines of a prison cell.

Ever more confident of her position, it was two weeks later that Jennifer took up the invitation of Mrs Geraldine Booth to take afternoon tea at her residence. A number of ladies were present, and Jennifer was not out of place amongst them. The new dress she wore drew many favourable comments. The event was passing well until Geraldine, unknown to Jennifer, the wife of the local magistrate, took Jennifer to one side.

“Is it true then about Constance?”

Jennifer was taken somewhat off guard.

“True? What? What is true?”

Geraldine privy to highly confidential information, released on the pillows of her bed by her husband, smirked.

“You know, why she left the manor in such a hurry… You had a visit did you not, from the customs? I have it on good authority Constance is a wanted woman. Warrants have been issued. Come on Jennifer, you must know! You can tell me. What is going on?”

Jennifer stayed calm. How did Geraldine know all this? Was it common knowledge? Jennifer needed to know just how much she did know.

“Geraldine you obviously know more than me. Yes, the customs officers visited the manor and took away some files. They didn’t tell me anything other than they needed to speak with Constance about some matter or other. Wanted woman, warrants? I was told nothing of this. You must tell me what you know, Geraldine, to be sure I am most confused.”

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

Chapter 5

If the phrase 'be careful what you wish for' was ever more poignant, it was surely the case for Lady Constance Summerfield. The life of a maid that she had coveted and contrived to be her own would appear to have been a most reckless endeavour. The best laid plans of mice and men, or in this case Lady Summerfield, could have not been better illustrated. It could only be those who had known Constance extremely well that would recognise her to be other than the maid she now was. Plain faced, cropped hair, a slightly stooped posture, callused hands, and a servile demeanour all swathed in the apparel of service.

Aproned she had wished to be and aproned she had truly been. Jennifer had little conscience for what she had done, what had become of her once mistress. She wanted to be a maid and a maid she now was. Jennifer of course could have called a halt at any time during the extraordinary and comprehensive transformation from lady to maid, sought help for her Mistress, but why would she? It had gone too far for that now.

Jennifer was well aware that the continued absence of Lady Summerfield would, at some point, be questioned. But by whom? No one had shown any concern whatsoever for the wellbeing and whereabouts of Lady Summerfield.