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.”

 I will pay her again, I will pay her well for what she has done, though I am sure she derives pleasure, if not great pleasure from humbling a wealthy mistress, putting an elegant lady to the apron, to become a common maid. I laugh at myself. Elegant lady, not so elegant a lady now? The way I look, plump, rosy cheeks and cropped bob style hair. Nails scrubbed clean of course but short, my fingers looking chubby and the skin on my hands rough and calloused. Outwardly more Milly Brannigan than Miss Millicent Williams that’s for sure. She truly has turned me into a working maid, no one would doubt that. I chuckle again, even myself, at times, for that matter.

It is almost over now, a short time in London to recuperate then back to Crestley House, back to the tedium of Crestley House, a return to being a bored and frustrated wealthy Mistress, my days a maid behind me. I consider how close I am to actually being just a maid. At times, lost in my labours, I know I have had no thoughts of a life beyond the apron. Can I really go back to the mundane life at Crestley House, despite its comforts, would I still not hunger for what I already have? What Milly Brannigan is?

I awake early following a troubled night wrestling with the consequence of my thoughts and imaginings. I know it isn’t right and know all this must end at some time. How would I ask anyway, how could I ask; Agnes has already done so much for me? She brought me this far, would it be asking too much to be taken a little further? I squirm at the prospect of what a little further could bring. I am not ready to return to my past life, a life that seems so distant from where I am. If I don’t ask now, it will be over, and I know that I will always regret that I didn’t.

Nine thirty and Agnes arrives at Sycamores. Mr Rogerson showing her into dining room where I am waiting for her.  Nervous, for what I am about to ask, I Stand, lower my gaze and curtsy. 

“Mrs Burtonshaw.”

Mr Rogerson leaves and I retake my seat, Agnes sitting opposite me smiles placing her satchel on the table.

Do it now I tell myself, ask, why don’t I just speak, what is stopping me?  Come right out with it, ask her, just ask?  I take a deep breath and look up about to speak but I am met by that controlling questioning glare, a look that I have come to know. A look that says, know your place, don’t you dare open that worthless mouth unless you are told to. I hold my tongue and retreat into my submissive posture, the moment lost.

Milly looks a little pensive this morning but offers her deference all the same. I sit and remove the files I will need from my satchel, that is unless I have totally misread Miss Williams unstated intent. I hear Milly’s intake of breath and watch her sit tall in her chair about to break the covenant between maid and superior, about to speak without invitation to do so, how dare she. This will never do, considering what I have planned for her. I glare across the table, then watch her shrink back into her servile persona. I am curious however to know what was so pressing that she would consider such impertinence, but that can wait.

“Good morning, Milly, I have had some thoughts following our discussion yesterday concerning your time at Bracken Hall and in particular your dealings with Lady Carrington and the criticism you received. I have a proposition for Miss Williams, well for Miss Williams maid really, for you Milly. But Miss Williams will have to authorise matters for her maid. Milly Brannigan is no doubt a good and competent maid, a maid of all work, but I do believe that Miss Williams wishes more for her maid, to be more accomplished than just a maid of all work. Indeed, for Milly to be trained to be a Ladies maid.”

I pause looking at the wistful expression on Milly’s face. There is no grimace, indeed, no reaction at all to my continuation of Miss Williams being spoken of in the third person. From my introduction of such a contradiction, Milly continues to be ever more accepting of the distancing of the two persona, Mistress, and maid. I smile and continue.

“When you are trained and capable Milly, I strongly believe that Miss Williams would like Mayfair Domestic Services to secure her maid a position of Ladies maid, to prove her competence. All this before considering a return to Crestley House.  Miss Williams will understand that significant costs will be accrued for such training. With Miss Williams continuing to travel overseas, she will need to agree to whatever I require to ensure her maid Milly is thoroughly trained.”

I sit back and straighten the prepared papers in front of me before seeking a commitment to a continuance and deepening of my control and possession of maid Milly. All at the expense of who this pathetic woman was.

 

“Well Milly, you seem to know Miss Williams mind better than most, am I right to assume that Miss Williams has decided that her maid is not to return to Crestley House, that she is to remain in my service a little longer, for as long as it takes, for her training, until she becomes a proficient lady’s maid?”

Listening to Agnes it is like she has read my mind; she knew from our discussion yesterday how serving Lady Carrington had induced feelings of helpless servility within me, feelings that only such an intermit relationship between Mistress and her personal maid can. What is more, Agnes knows those emotions of true, helpless servility, at the hands of a dominant mistress, are what I crave. 

I cannot help surrendering a soft smile considering that Miss Williams, the wealthy Mistress of Crestley House, will be required to sanction my further training to become a lady’s maid. Some time ago now, when Agnes first mentioned Miss Williams in the third person it was quite unnerving, disturbing even. With continued reference I then found it amusing, now? An easily believable fiction to accept, there is little commonality between Miss Millicent Williams and Milly Brannigan. Agnes now choosing to embellish this separation further, Milly Brannigan now referenced to be the maid of Miss Williams. An interesting concept being my own maid.

Could I have asked for anything more than what Agnes is offering? To train me to be a true lady’s maid, like Gwyneth, and Pauline at Bracken Hall, with a promise of a placement to follow. Intoxicated by my desires and knowing it isn’t right and not concerned or considering where this will lead but yes, Milly will be trained further, and Miss Williams, will agree to whatever Mrs Burtonshaw wants.

I look across the table at Agnes, she no doubt can sense from my expression what she is to hear

“Yes Miss, you are correct in your assumption, Miss Williams does not want the return of her maid to Crestley House, until after she is fully trained and proves herself to be a perfect lady’s maid. Miss Williams will continue to travel overseas until the training of her maid is complete and agrees to whatever you decide in this matter, for her maid.”

I smile, I have read the runes well. Much like I suspected, having listened yesterday to Milly’s experience with Lady Carrington, Miss Williams still craves her debasement like a drug and wants more. Willing to descend even further into a life of servitude, to become a lady’s personal maid, and who am I to stand in the way of that. It would seem that my rewards, for facilitating this crazed woman’s perverse desires, move ever closer. I believed a little, if not a lot of coercion would be required to keep Milly aproned, and in truth it still may, whilst I take over Miss Williams life and of course all she owns.

“Thank you, Milly, you truly do know Miss Williams mind don’t you, then it is settled, let us make a start shall we and formalise your application to train to become a lady’s personal maid.”

I slide the first document across the table.

“Complete and sign this application form Milly for the records.”

I look at the official Mayfair Domestic Services document and complete where required, with some prompting from Mrs Burtonshaw of course. Name of maid, Milly Brannigan, Registration number 015-1905, Agency, Mayfair Domestic Services. Current position, Maids Hostel, last position held, Bracken Hall, previous position held, Crestley House. The skills section is a tick box and only a few are left blank. I check the form with a sense of pride at how far I have come and sign. Mrs Burtonshaw taking the completed form from me.

“Thank you, Milly, now for completeness and for the files, Miss Williams will be required to copy this letter onto her own letterhead, a sheet of which I have here. Miss Williams is of course travelling so with you being familiar with her hand, you must do this for her.”

I take the document from Agnes and look at the wording. A straightforward agreement for Miss Williams to sponsor the training of her maid Milly Brannigan, to become a Lady’s personal maid, by Mayfair Domestic Services, accepting all associated costs. Proof of proficiency to be provided by Mayfair Domestic Services upon completion of the training.

There is something compellingly mischievous about this duplicity and I excitedly copy out the text onto Miss Williams letterhead, did I really think that? Miss Williams letterhead? Nothing to be concerned about, perhaps it is easier to think like that. I chuckle to myself. Miss Williams is a Mistress after all, and I am but a humble maid.

I take the completed letter from Milly and place it, along with the application form, into my satchel and smile. The documents relating to Milly Brannigan’s history of service, of her time a maid, continuing to build.

“Well Milly I have much to do, to organise your training, but first you will require some clothes, you cannot live in that Bracken Hall dress any longer. Go and get your shawl and bonnet we will leave directly.”

Happy that my days a maid are to continue, all made possible by Agnes, and she makes it all so real, like I am just a common maid.  I resolve to pay her well when this training is completed, then, sad as it will be, I must call a halt to all this and return to Crestley House and my life there.

I stand and curtsy

“Yes Miss”

Back to my room I wrap the cheap shawl around my shoulders and tie the ribbons of the shabby bonnet under my chin. Agnes is waiting for me in the hallway, and I curtsy.

“Miss”

I watch Milly walking down the stairs into the hallway. If those who knew Miss Williams could see her now, I doubt they would recognise her or give her the time of day, perfect, just perfect.

“Right Milly let us begin your training, two paces behind me at all times, no more no less, two paces, follow me.”

Did I really expect anything more, remaining one of Mrs Burtonshaw’s maids? All thoughts from the previous day of visiting any high-end stores for clothing and shoes now gone, and I trudge behind my Mistress to the emporiums of her choosing.

The Ladies in the domestic outfitters welcomed the business and I left with parcels in hand, the remainder to be delivered later. I was a little sceptical that the photograph taken of me, dressed in my new maid’s regalia, was a requirement to protect all maids working in London, to prove they are not prostitutes, but of course it actually is. A visit to the police station, to register, and endorse the photographs with a signature, confirmed the purpose and dispelled my concerns, it was for my own safety, wasn’t it?  The police retained two copies signed by Myself, Milly Brannigan and countersigned by Mrs Burtonshaw of Mayfair Domestic Services. Mrs Burtonshaw keeping the remaining copies. 

Back at the hostel I change into the plain cheap dress Mrs Burtonshaw had purchased for me. The underwear, like the dress, plain and cheap, but new and comfortable. The maid’s uniforms are to be delivered later, until then I have just the one black woollen dress to wear.  

I remain a resident at the hostel although my time the maid here is over. Mrs Burtonshaw needs to attend to a number of matters concerning my training and leaves me with three volumes concerning the etiquette of a lady’s maid. “The do’s and don’ts of exemplary service”, “Know your place”, and, “A covenant, Mistress and personal maid”. I have read many publications regarding the work of maids, but I have not seen these three journals previously. Each I read with increasing enthusiasm for what Mrs Burtonshaw plans for me.

Three days I wait until Mrs Burtonshaw returns, when she does, I am well versed in the contents of the journals that she left with me, and I am ready to put what I have read into practice.

I join Mrs Burtonshaw in the lower parlour of the hostel and sit eager to know where I am to be sent for my training and who is the Mistress that I will be serving. My hopes being that it will be someone similar to Lady Carrington, strict and uncaring perhaps in a remote rural location?  My shoulders slump, there is to be no placement, or Mistress for maid Milly. I am told Mrs Burtonshaw had been unable to convince any of her current and past clients to take on a Trainee Lady’s maid, a qualified Lady’s maid yes but a trainee no.

I let the disappointment sink in, Milly appearing suitably deflated by my news. Of course, there never was to be a placement for my golden goose, she will learn to serve only one Mistress, and everything is in place for that.  She will now need to be convinced, convince herself, that what I am about to suggest is the only way forward for her, if she still wishes to be a lady’s maid, an ambition no doubt I have fuelled further by the journals I left with her.

 I speak authoritatively outlining my proposal and what will now be required if Milly is still to be trained to be a Lady’s personal maid. There is a look of concern on Milly’s face, why wouldn’t there be with what I am proposing. She has trusted me this far to facilitate her domestic perversions, I am relying on that same trust and of course, her continued desire to be aproned, that will see her agreeing to my terms.

 I suggest that she considers what I have proposed, and that we will speak again in the morning.

 Mrs Burtonshaw leaves, and, deep in thought, I sit watching the raindrops splashing against the window. The way Agnes explained everything it all seemed to make sense, but could I really agree to what she is asking?  I trust Agnes of course I do, and she said that she would organise everything. I chuckle to myself. Will Miss Williams agree to Mrs Burtonshaw’s proposal, if she wants her maid Milly trained, what choice does she have. Just that thought opens up a perverse logic, a mental conflict. Milly wants to be a Lady’s personal maid, is Miss Williams going to prevent that? I stand abruptly knocking the chair I am sat on backwards to the floor. I am breathing heavily and support myself with both hands on the table then laugh out loud at the preposterousness of my train of thought. Did I really just actually think that? Again, I am the willing victim of the insidious seed of mental separation planted by Agnes and fostered if not nurtured by myself, Mistress Williams, and maid Milly.

Staring blankly at the window considering my sanity I am disturbed and distracted from my thoughts by a familiar voice.

“Milly, Milly.”

I turn to see Mr Rogerson in the doorway.

“A delivery for you Milly a number of parcels, they are in the hallway, you will need to move them.”

Mr Rogerson helps, and the numerous neatly wrapped parcels are placed against the wall in my room. The clothing from the outfitters.

The physical effort a welcome distraction from my deliberations concerning Agnes’s proposal. After my episode downstairs I am now unsure about proceeding with Agnes’s proposition. In fact, I am minded not to. A good Mistress I am sure she will make, but what she is asking, it is surely too much.

Sat on the bed I stare at the packages the contents of each handwritten on them. What a waste, if there is to be no training then the uniforms will not be worn. I will of course compensate Agnes for all this, for everything. 

I smile and stand running my fingers over the package I know contains the favourite of the uniforms purchased for Milly’s placement, my placement. What harm can it do, why not, I might not get another opportunity? I don’t have to wear it, I will just have a look, that’s all.

The temptation too strong I fondle the bow of the string securing the package and giggle releasing the knot. The folds of the brown paper package open like the petals of a flower to reveal the treasure within. It is not the only package I open. Underwear, hosiery, shoes, apron, cap, remnants of packaging now littering the floor.

There could be no complaint of a confident striding gait with the tight inner layer of the hobbling petticoat that I am now wearing. A garment that Agnes chose to cure that trait, a trait that was chastised by Lady Carrington. The satin dress, only to be worn on certain occasions, is of high quality indeed. The same can be said of the lace trimmed apron that I am now tying the tapes of around my waist and into a neat bow, before adding the matching cap. Low heeled shoes, not boots to be worn at such times. I stand in front of the mirror, my hands across my apron, and I see only Milly looking back at me. When I lower a curtsy, I feel the restrictive petticoat gripping at my knees, and I sigh in capitulation to my desires. A lady’s maid yes, a Lady’s maid to be harried, and chastised, verbally abused, and worse for the merest indiscretion. To be owned and used to serve a Lady’s needs no matter how trivial. To experience again those feelings of worthlessness and a willing servility that Lady Carrington instilled within me.  I cannot help myself and lost in my imaginings I try on the more regular uniform dresses and aprons to be used for general maid’s work. All fitting well, even the new boots. 

Before opening the packages and trying on my new uniforms I had decided not to proceed with what Agnes was asking.  Now, quivering with a renewed anticipation, I am more determined than ever to continue with the training despite what Mrs Burtonshaw’s is asking, no matter what the cost.