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.

Being ignored by the Master and Mistress is nothing compared to the arrogant dismissive attitude of the visitors. An attempt to engage is polite conversation with one particular guest being met with a glare of appalled incredulity and curt demeaning words, leaving me red faced and gripped by an awkward timidness beyond anything I have known.  Could I be made to feel more worthless, so beneath them, to be reminded of my place, to be put in my place, to know my place.

That look and the despicable spiteful words should be met with a firm slap to her face not the humble apologetic curtsy of acknowledging respect that I present. How could this ghastly woman possibly know how her aggressive superiority fuelled my darkest desires to know true subjugation and servitude, what a Mistress Lady Carrington would make.

When rooms are allocated for Rosy and myself to serve, I ensure Lady Carrington and her sister’s room is at the top of my list.

I am not disappointed by my choice. Everything I do for them is rewarded with their disparaging belittling comments. The more they demand of me the more willing I find myself to do their bidding, the more accepting of their dominance and control, of wanting to be used by them.

We maids are worked hard by Mrs Madeley serving the many already arrived guests’ dinner on the eve of the ball. Despite being busy at my tasks I cannot get the thoughts of Lady Carrington and her sister out of my mind. My eyes quickly divert my gaze when I see that Lady Carrington is looking at me from the head of the table sat with Master and Mistress. I hear their laughter from where I am stood and sheepishly continue to collect dinner plates and cutlery.

Unbeknown to me Lady Carrington is Mistresses mother and a most generous benefactory of the master’s political career and ambitions, affording her much influence. An influence she is minded to use in the acquisition of a personal maid during her stay.

At parade in the morning all the maids are given their duties in turn leaving me alone with Mrs Madeley.

Having explained that Lady Carrington and her sister are very special and most important guests of the Master and Mistresses, Mrs Madeley tells me that I am to be their personal maid during their stay at Bracken Hall. I am told that they are amused by the way I speak and how I was not always a maid having put myself to the apron due to financial issues. Even though Lady Carrington is not present I feel her presence, like tentacles wrapping around me drawing me into her world. Knowing that she is aware and believing of my fictious past, a fallen Mistress, to provide the opportunity for her and sisters amusement, does not fill me with dread but with exquisite anticipation of my further debasement at her hands.

Whilst at my duties for Lady Carrington and her sister I am taunted and encouraged to reveal more of my demise from lady to maid.  I know it isn’t right, but I cannot help myself from being drawn and made to tell. I mention Crestley House how the new owners put me to the Apron, had me for their maid to pay off debt. How Mrs Burtonshaw was brought in to be housekeeper to supervise me, then that she took me away, to become one of her Mayfair maids. All made credible by my telling it was a truth to them and not that distant from the truth for me. Being put to the apron in what was my own home being highly amusing to them both, especially when I embellish my tale and tell them I was made to wear my previous maid’s uniform by the new owners. Who are the new owners I am asked, Williams, Miss Williams I reply without thought.

Being a maid for Mrs Burtonshaw was what I thought being maid was like, would be. Being placed one of the maids at Bracken Hall is and has been eye opening to the reality of domestic servitude that I have craved, especially when made to remain a maid here. But this, being the personal maid of such a demanding Mistress, from the outset, the way she made me feel when I went above my station, daring to engage her in conversation when she arrived, how she makes me feel now, is something else. It feels so right, so natural to be so willingly subservient, to unconditionally surrender to her will, like a doting pet, and I do.

The morning before the Ball the gentlemen guests are out shooting, and the ladies are seated in the larger of the reception rooms engaged in polite conversation. Whilst the other staff are busy at their duties, I am made to stand beside Lady Carrington, who has much to share to amuse the gathered group.

 Did I really think there would be any confidentiality between Mistress and maid?   Hands across my apron head lowered I listen whilst Lady Carrington relays as fact, what she has gleaned from me.

“This maid was not always a maid, it lived a life not dissimilar to some amongst you, with a fine house with staff and wealth. But debt had her put to the apron in the very home that was once her own. The new owners of the property to whom she was indebted, and I like this so much, saw it to be most fitting for the previous Mistress of the house to wear the very a same uniform of the maid she once employed. That uniform must truly have been a good fit, look at her now, who would know it was ever anything than the maid it is.”

Titters and giggles murmur around the room and Lady Carrington continues.

“I see some of you think I jest but no I do not, listen.”

Lady Carrington turns to me a sneer on her face.

“Speak girl tell them who you work for and those who now own your home.”

I briefly look up then lower my head. This public ridicule of who I was, what I was, and what I am now, serves only to feed my depravity.

“I, I work for Mrs Burtonshaw, I am one of her Mayfair maid’s I am here at Bracken House a temporary maid. Miss Williams is now the owner of Crestley House.”

Lady Carrington chuckles at the stunned silence of acceptance, that my words are not spoken as would be by a common maid.

“There ladies, have you ever heard a maid speak with such eloquence. I have heard, though thought it improbable, that ladies make the best maids, now I see the truth of it, and I want one.”

Lady Carrington looks around the room smiling 

“So, which one of you shall we put to the apron, like this poor wench?”

There is an uncomfortable muted laughter about the room before Mistress stands.

“Mother, enough, enough of this, you have had your fun with the maid you are incorrigible you really are. Ladies the Croquet lawn is prepared please follow me.”

Lady Carrington is not minded for fun and games of that kind, she has her own plaything, her fawning lady maid.

“My daughter, your mistress, tells me that you read well so you will read for me. There is a book in my room, bring it to me.”

I curtsy.

“Yes Miss.”

I pass Jenny, on my way to Lady Carrington’s room, who blocks my way.

“That was very cruel of that woman I don’t care who she is, that was wicked what she just said about you, ridiculing like she did, I heard her from the other room. At least Mistress stepped in stopping her going any further. That must have been awful for you, are you alright.”

I smile knowing Jenny is genuinely concerned, she cannot possibly know or understand my growing addiction and desire for the delectable emotions of impotent vulnerability that welled up within me whilst Lady Carrington publicly mocked my fictitious fall from grace, from Lady to maid.

I wish I could tell Jenny, perhaps one day I will, but not now, not now.

“Jenny, I am fine really, it seems a long time ago, I am a maid now, that is all in the past.”

I retrieve the book from the vanity in Lady Carrington’s room and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, then turn and stand back to face it.

From my short, cropped hair, that is hardly visible beneath my mop cap, my puffy glowing cheeks, apron, and baggy dress down to the boots on my feet I truly am Milly, Milly Brannigan a maid at Bracken Hall. I chuckle and curtsy to my reflection, now the maid to a domineering Mistress, Lady Carrington. Could Mrs Burtonshaw have done more for me, I doubt it. I consider the words of Lady Carrington and imagine a reality to the believable fiction she portrayed of me bringing another curtsy and words of acceptance to that fiction.

“Yes, Mistress I was a lady but now I am just a humble maid as you can see, how may I serve you.”

Broken from my trace like state, I hurry back to the reception room clutching the book. The expression on Lady Carrington’s face tells me I have dallied too long, and her sarcastic chastisement confirms my thoughts.

Following her tirade of admonishment, I sit and read for her. Sherlock Holmes, the Hound of the Baskervilles.  I note a recent publication of which I am not familiar. Reading was always my pleasure, and I am soon engrossed and lost in the story. Within the hour some of the other lady guests return from outdoors and join Lady Carrington to sit and listen to my narration.

I know I have read well, given everyone in the room, including Lady Carrington had sat in silence whilst I did. When told to stop, Lady Carrington said nothing just snatching the book from me with a questioning look I have already come to know. Was she surprised at the depth of my vocabulary my intonation and inflection that had helped bring the words on the pages and the story come alive? No, her thoughts were malevolent, how dare a mere maid have the audacity to speak and read so well.

Late afternoon and I am preparing Lady Carrington and her sister’s gowns for the ball. They are beautiful, the feel and drape of the fabric, the fine stitching and detail, elegant and expensive garments indeed. I have not bathed or dressed anyone before but preparing Lady Carrington and her sister for the ball feels such a natural thing to do. Brushing their lovely long fine hair, lacing their corsets, and buttoning up their magnificent gowns. Kneeling to place delicate shoes to their feet, my sense and feelings of deserved inferiority grow within me. So profound these feelings I am truly believing this to be my place, at the feet of my betters. The scent of expensive perfume fills the room whilst I assist adorning the ladies with their jewellery and they are ready. They stand regal and imperious in front of the large mirror on the wall preening themselves. The contrast, of my dowdy garb and servile demeanour to their opulent dress and assertive, confident attitude, is stark. Surely it would be too great a pretence, not view the scene to be what it was, two privileged ladies and their humble maid.

The ball is an elaborate affair with many wealthy visitors joining the invited guests at Bracken Hall. After tidying Lady Carrington’s room and preparing the beds, for when they retire, I sit in the kitchens with Jenny and the other maids awaiting instructions to serve the supper later in the event. I am distracted, I cannot get the thoughts out of my mind, of how I felt, after attending her dressing then kneeling at the feet of Lady Carrington. It was strange, like my mind had been possessed, I smile to myself, possessed by Milly. I squirm recalling those emotions, emotions stirred within me by a total abandonment of worth, accepting my purpose with no other thoughts only to serve, to serve my betters, to serve Lady Carrington, of knowing my place. It was so real?

Having been staring blankly across the table alone with my thoughts, I see Jenny waving her hand and smiling at me.

“Milly, Milly are you day dreaming, what is it, what are you thinking about.”

I laugh. I have only known Jenny these past weeks, but she is probably the best friend I have had. I would love to tell her who I am, who I really am. I smile at that thought, who I really am, after what happened to me, preparing Lady Carrington and her sister for the ball, there was no Millicent Williams then, only the maid Milly Brannigan.

“It’s nothing Jenny, really nothing I was just anxious that I did nothing wrong for Lady Carrington and her sister. They are very demanding.”

Jenny laughs.

“Demanding she is awful, the way she treats you, like you are her slave, and her sister is the same. You drew the short straw there for sure. Anyway, that witch and her sister will be leaving sometime tomorrow, things will be back to normal, and you can come back working with me downstairs.”

I smile. Normal she says, normal, how can anything be normal ever again for me. I have tasted and felt the true emotions of helpless surrender of will, the epitome of servitude, the true personification of Mistress and maid. Though reckless and perverse the thought, I thirst for more.

“Yes Jenny, back to normal.”

We serve supper and it is late when the last of those not staying at Bracken House have left. The gentlemen guests along with Master are in the billiard room with whiskey and cigars. The ladies who have not retired, are hosted by Mistress in the parlour with sherry.

There will be much to do in the morning clearing up after the gala and whilst most of the staff have finished for the night Rosy and myself await to attend to the guests returning to their rooms.

Most seem happy to attend to their own needs but of course, Lady Carrington and her sister are not amongst them. They are both no less tired than me and, disappointingly, too tired to constantly disparage their maid.

Disrobing them is no less a pleasurable task than dressing them and they chatter incessantly between themselves as if I am not present. Critical of other guests, be it the way they were dressed, their manners or just for being who they were. Her own daughter, Mistress, not beyond their criticism. How could a daughter of mine possibly think it acceptable to invite the Rosewood’s?

Carefully folding away the beautiful gowns they have worn to the ball into the large trunk at the back of the room, Lady Carrington hovers behind me in her elegant lacy nightdress unable to resist the opportunity to revel in my fictitious demise of lady to maid.

“Be careful with those, perhaps you once wore such beautiful gowns yourself, although whoever you once were, I doubt not of such high quality and expense. I cannot begin to imagine how it must feel for you, having worn such fine clothes, to know you will never wear the like ever again, your only concern now of course is which apron to wear.”

Lady Carrington’s sister chuckles in the background, Lady Carrington having provided me with yet another vison of deprivation, for one put to the apron.

having finished packing away the gowns and tidied the underwear into the laundry sack I am ready to leave and stood towards the door with the laundry sack in hand I curtsy.

“Will that be all Miss.”

Lady Carrington climbs into her bed, and having looked around the room, dismisses me.

“Yes, until tomorrow.”