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.

Linda’s mother, who lived in the city, had become sick and she asked to take some leave to attend to her. I did the charitable thing and, without thought of the implications, agreed to her extended absence. With hindsight I should have consulted with my housekeeper first. To say that she was not best pleased would be an understatement. 

During the heated discussion things were said: whilst hurtful, most were true. I had no concept of the work required to keep the manor in good order or the potential for my housekeeper’s high standards to slip during her maid’s absence. She made it quite clear finding a temporary maid at such short notice would be most difficult if not impossible. Being admonished by my housekeeper in the manner she did, listing the duties that would be left unfulfilled, placing the responsibility for the impending issues firmly at my door, left me unable to defend my decision.  No good deed goes unpunished they say, and such would be the case at Crestley House. 

Following her tirade my housekeeper apologised for raising her voice like she had. The reason for her anger, for me interfering with her staff, was explained. The fact had slipped my mind, Miss Renwick herself was due her leave and had arranged for her friend, who was between positions and who she trusted to maintain her high standards, was to cover for her whilst she was away. It was made clear that her friend would most likely refuse the position without a maid under her direction. A dilemma I sought to resolve. My housekeeper would be away for six weeks, and Linda would only be absent for a few days, perhaps a week at most. There was no reason to inform her friend of the maid’s absence, what would a few days matter? I could cope without staff until my housekeeper's friend arrived and Linda had returned. I informed my housekeeper of my solution, and it was agreed that my housekeeper would take her planned leave and ask her friend to delay her arrival for one week.

My housekeeper’s mood changed, and she laughed.

“I thought for a moment then, Madame, that you were going to volunteer to cover for Linda. How ridiculous would that be. Although I am sure my friend would take great pleasure in that, having the mistress of the house for her maid, she would soon have you whipped into shape, quite literally. She has quite a reputation.”

Linda was away to look after her mother and my Housekeeper soon followed to start her leave. A week alone to fend for myself not really a hardship.

Sat in the library I chuckled to myself at my housekeeper's comments about taking on Linda’s role. She could not have known how many times I have watched her maid at work and shared those very thoughts, thoughts very much currently at the front of my mind. The house was empty -  why not, things had to be done, keep things tidy and I wandered through the kitchens to Linda’s room. My body tingling with anticipation I pushed open the door.

Entering Linda’s quarters, an overpowering and unexplainable debilitating weakness possessed me breathing in the aroma of the basic plain quarters that she inhabited. Opening the drawers and closet to view Linda’s attire of service my fingers fondled the coarseness of the fabrics. There was a sensed weightiness to the long shapeless black dresses, the rail of aprons, starched and pristine, underwear, cotton bereft of trim and femininity, thick hosiery and at the base of the closet, shiny sturdy shoes. Could I, should I, would I?

For the next three days I lived out my fantasy, I cleaned and polished, did the laundry, cooked, even slept in the maid’s quarters. The heavy shoes were tight, but the remainder of my ensemble fitted well. Each morning tying the bow of my apron filled me with feelings of deserved subjugation. I was rich and privileged but now the maid in my own home. Those feeling were so intense I sought out the most menial of tasks. Down on my hands and knees, a pail by my side, I scrubbed at the tiles of the kitchen floors before mopping and polishing them to a gleaming sheen.

Why the letter to my housekeeper’s friend had not been delivered, why Linda had chosen not to inform her employer that her mother’s condition had worsened and that she would be absent for more than the few days agreed? Unasked and unanswered questions.  Engrossed in my contrived persona what care a maid for what conspired in the world beyond the confines of its self-imposed servitude.

Forgetful of reality, when the knocker on the door beckoned its attention, I answered its call.

Opening the door, I shuddered at the woman’s introduction my blush instantaneous whilst she looked me up and down.

“Mrs Agnes Burtonshaw to see Miss Williams. She is expecting me. You must be Linda.”

I am momentarily speechless, held in the woman’s gaze. It was my housekeeper's replacement! How to explain what she had happened upon?

Needing no invitation to enter she removes her cloak and hands to me. Without thought I take the cloak and hang it on the stand.

“Well, girl. Your mistress, where is she? Show me, take me to her.”

Guiding Mrs Burtonshaw into the parlour I ask her to sit, my mind racing. How can I possibly explain?

My embarrassment is obvious and my explanation stuttering. Trying to make light of my predicament brings no amusement from my housekeeper’s replacement who just sits stoney-faced listening to my apologetic rambling confession.  At her suggestion to make tea I return from the kitchen to serve. She said little to this point and just listened.

Hiding my amusement, I sip on my tea and look at what I must say is a very neat but anxious maid sat opposite me. What could possibly possess someone, especially someone like a lady of no doubt significant wealth, to mascaraed being a maid? She is adorned in the very uniform of her own maid; she has told me that. A transition from Maid to Lady I could well understand, but a lady to maid? Intriguing.

“Well Miss Williams, fascinating I must say, what you have told me. Perhaps I should apologise for having disturbed your pretence, but of course I will not be doing. You tell me this Linda girl, the maid here at Crestley House is away, a sickness in her family. Interesting. It would have been better for all concerned to have been informed of that before my arrival. Well, I am here now to take over the role of housekeeper, whilst my friend Janice, Miss Renwick, is away. I think a tour of the residence first.”

My embarrassment is waning slightly, this Mrs Burtonshaw doesn’t seem to care much that she found her employer, the lady of the house, dressed like I am. I find the experience of having explained my actions, sharing my thoughts, although to a stranger, in a stuttering manner, quite cathartic.

“Yes of course, a tour of the property, I should change first.”

I watch the mistress of the manor stand and smooth down her apron. Her suggestion to change out of her maids uniform no doubt seeking to normalise the situation, I think not, and slowly stand myself.

“Change, whatever for?  No, there is no need to change to show me around Miss Williams residence, is there?”

There is a hint of menace and an authoritative tone in her words that I find not discomforting. Have I said to much about what drove me to do this, what I have done these last few days, is she indulging me, or just anxious to get her bearings at Crestley House? Miss Williams residence, quite strange hearing that said to me in the third person.

“No, not at all, follow me, Mrs Burtonshaw.”

The study, library, housekeeper’s office, dining room, two reception rooms, kitchens and scullery and maid’s quarters on the ground floor. The broad staircase leading to the first floor. Master bedroom, housekeepers room, guest rooms and bathrooms. Cupboards and closets on the landing. The second floor, seldom used, with spare rooms and leading to the attics.

Mrs Burtonshaw says little whilst I show each room in turn with a brief explanation of their use or the lack of it. She lingers a little in the housekeeper’s room, maid’s quarters and what would be her office but always keen to make progress and we are soon back in the parlour. Being asked to refresh the pot of tea seems normal enough and I clear things away to the kitchen.

I smile at how easy she takes my instruction. It is a lovely residence of that there can be no mistake and obviously well cared for. I chuckle to myself contemplating a continuance of that very same care in the absence of this Linda girl.

The kettle was on the stoves and the tea was soon brewed. Fresh cups and saucers, and with everything on my tray, I return to the parlour and having served, take my seat and smile stealing myself to use Mrs Burtonshaw’s reference to my home.

“What do you think of Miss Williams's residence, Mrs Burtonshaw?”

I say nothing immediately, amused by her picking up my reference to Miss Williams's home, taking a sip of my tea. I have nothing to lose, the maid is away for a few days, indulging this woman’s fantasy, long suppressed she says, can only be beneficial for me. If she chooses not to accept my proposal, so be it, the maid will be returning in a few days anyway.

“A splendid home and one that obviously requires careful and constant attention to keep it so. You have obviously been a busy maid these last few days? I did not ask, but what is your first name?”

I have always taken a pride in my home, and I am pleased to hear that recognised. A busy maid she says, indeed I have been.  My first name? I wonder why she asks that but no matter.

“Millicent, but why do you ask?”

I smile at her slightly embarrassed expression to my flattery, now replaced by a questioning frown when asking her Christian name. 

“Why? Well Millicent is hardly a maid’s name, is it? I presume you wish to continue with this subterfuge, until this Linda girl returns. Of course, you do, why wouldn’t you, from what you have told me, and you need a name. Milly, yes I shall call you Milly, you wear the clothing of a maid and, from what you have told me, covert such an occupation. Now you have a name fitting of your role and standing at Crestley House.”

I gulp on my tea, what is she saying?

“What? You will have me for your maid, take me for your maid? I own Crestley Manor, I am not its maid.”

I smirk.

“Really, you have told me that you have thought of nothing less, have you not sought out your maid’s uniform to wear. All be it alone, but these last days have you have not carried out the duties of a maid, indeed lived the life of a maid, taken to the maid’s quarters that you showed me. The residence needs to be looked after, requires a maid, and I am offering for you to continue, under my supervision of course, until your maid returns.”

I let my proposition settle before continuing, my tone a little sterner looking her directly in the eye.

“Yes, I do propose to have you for my maid Milly. And a good maid you will be, won’t you, Milly?”

Oh, my goodness just say no, call a halt now, this is ridiculous. My mind casts back to what my housekeeper had said to me, which should be a red flag, a warning, but sat in this uniform with my hands resting on my apron it has the opposite effect.

“I thought for a moment then Madame, that you were going to volunteer to cover for Linda, how ridiculous would that be. Although I am sure my friend would take great pleasure in that, having the mistress of the house for her maid, she would soon have you whipped into shape, quite literally, she has quite a reputation.”

I stare back at her blankly, my mind filling with dark imaginings. Would this not be the real experience I have craved and suppressed? A few days under the control of this woman, Linda will be back at the end of the week, why not.

I smirk, sensing that she is going to do it, I suspected she may, a little prompt would seem in order. A little push towards her committal, and at the same time establish some demarcation for her.

“Milly, I noticed that you did not show me the customary deference when I arrived or indeed since. I am sure Miss Williams would not tolerate such disrespect from her maid and neither will I.  However, I will overlook the matter, on this occasion, but don’t ever forget again. And don’t trouble yourself with my name, Miss will be acceptable when you address me, is that understood girl, well I am waiting?”

I wait. Will she, will she, really?

I am trembling, a nervous tension holding me in my seat. I stare at the floor at, the cups sat in their saucers then back at Mrs Burtonshaw half expecting her to laugh, make fun of me for my ridiculousness but she remains stony faced. Deference, she expects me to curtsy, Miss, call her Miss. She called me girl. My hands rub nervously across my apron, weakening emotions fill my senses beyond any of my imaginings, then, in a humble trance like state feel myself slowly raising from my chair. My hands pawing at my skirts I curtsy and lower my gaze.

“Yes, Miss. Understood, Miss.”

I cannot take my eyes off the spectacle. The Mistress of Crestley House, Miss Millicent Williams stood in front of me, to all indication in appearance and manner a maid. I have to bite my lip not to betray my true emotions when she dips a curtsy and softly speaks with her eyes to the floor. Well, I am going to enjoy the next few days, that’s for sure.

I have done it, curtsied to my temporary housekeeper and addressed her 'Miss.' What am I doing? My thoughts do not linger long, and Mrs Burtonshaw stands. 

She is nervous, why wouldn’t she be, time to feed her peculiar delusions, I am curious to know how far this will go, how far she will go.

“Good, I am glad that is all clear, you are the new maid here Milly with no doubt much to learn, fortunately for you I am a good teacher. From what I have seen so far, you have done well looking after Miss Williams home, let’s hope those standards are maintained.”

Pointing to the teacups, I issue my first instructions to my Mistress maid.

“After clearing these things away go and prepare my room, fresh linen of course, I expect my accommodation to be pristine when I inspect it.”

What to do, what can I do? I dip a curtsy and respond like any obedient maid would and should.

“Yes, Miss.”

Milly, as she so obviously wishes to be, leaves the parlour having offered her deference to me once again.  I retake my seat and consider what to make of the nonsense I have stumbled upon at Crestley House. I must take care, in a few days’ time this maid will return to being the mistress of the household. It is she who will be paying me. Being a maid and playing at being a maid are of course worlds apart. A few days aproned will be little hardship for the elegant Miss Millicent, more is the pity that this rich and privileged bitch cannot be given the real experience of servility. Janice could have had no indication of her mistress’s predisposition for servitude, or, I am sure, that Ms Janice Renwick would not be the housekeeper of Crestley House but its mistress.

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