Story: The Humbling of Isabel Kinley

By Jane H. Aubrey

The doorbell rang. Isabel was upstairs, listening to loud music, listlessly doing her homework. Kate went to answer it; she wore a neat grey sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a calf-length floral skirt, and a smart, freshly ironed hunter-green apron. It was Tom. ‘Good evening, sir,’ she beamed, and he gave her a long kiss before she helped him out of his coat and hung up his scarf. He sat on the sofa in the living room and Kate brought a tray with a glass of red wine, before kneeling down and carefully taking off his shoes, which she would clean and buff later. Then she looked up at him and waited, peacefully. He unzipped his fly and Kate took him in her mouth, keeping her hands neatly folded behind her back as Tom preferred, while he sipped his wine. After she had brought him off, she kneeled back; ‘Thank you, sir. May I do anything else for you?’

‘No, darling. Just get on with dinner.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Kate rose gracefully, went back to chopping vegetables and started frying some chicken breasts. Half an hour later, as she was putting some bread in the oven, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Emma. ‘Good evening, ma’am,’ she curtseyed effortlessly, helping her out of her coat. Emma went to sit on the sofa next to Tom and they kissed. Kate brought another glass of wine and knelt to take off Emma’s shoes and rub her feet. Then Emma hiked up her skirt and peeled her panties and tights down, and Kate performed the same service for her, as Emma lovingly held her head down.

At some point in the last five years or so, Kate’s role had become an intimate one. Tom and Emma were still very much in love, but had sex only rarely, lazily preferring the ministrations of Kate’s tongue, which she offered gladly. Sometimes one of them would get into her bed in the morning and play a little with her, and though she was still kept in chastity, she always enjoyed their touch. Sometimes, when husband and wife did make love, Emma had Kate lick her out afterwards. At first all this had an air of camp play and unreality, but now it felt very much part of the normal fabric of their lives, a natural evolution of their relationship. Kate found that she enjoyed giving head, in the same way she enjoyed doing the dishes or waiting at the dinner table: all were forms of loving service, a losing of self. How beautiful it was for the mouth to be working, serving, and unable to speak.

And the dishes, the dinner service and all the rest had remained a constant in her life. For the first years of Isabel’s life, Kate had been worked ragged looking after the baby, feeding her in the night, taking her out, cleaning up after her and changing her nappies: a 24-hour nurse in addition to all her household chores. She’d had no free time at all to read or watch a film or work outside the home. Emma got to do the fun things, like playing with Izzy and reading to her, without any of the sleeplessness or hardship, and she and Tom always had a free babysitter when they wanted to go out. When Izzy started talking, they taught her to call Kate ‘aunt Kate’ or ‘auntie’, which for a long time she rendered ‘anta’. She was a delightful child, and she was always very attached to Kate and curious about what she was doing. She liked to play at helping her around the house or in the kitchen, and one day she went and stood in Kate’s place during dinner and announced ‘I’m Anta tonight!’ Tom and Emma laughed and let her play at serving, with a ‘Yes, sir!’ and ‘Yes, mum!’, though after fifteen minutes she got bored and sat down to eat her spaghetti hoops. Because she had never known different, she never questioned Kate’s strange place in the household, but took it as completely natural.

When Isabel started school, Kate once again had more time on her hands, and Emma thought it would be a good idea for her to do some work outside the house. The hotel was too far away and most shift work would not suit the school hours, so Emma suggested freelance house cleaning. The money would be cash in hand, and put in a jar in the kitchen for Tom and Emma to pay for the week’s groceries and any other expenses, with Kate keeping a little as pocket-money. She put an ad in the local newsagent’s window and soon had a couple of interested clients. Emma came home the next day with a gift. ‘I got you something to wear for your new job.’ It was a plain, knee-length navy dress of a stiff fabric, with a pleat in the back and contrast trim, the sort of thing a caterer or housekeeper might wear, nothing too fancy but smart and professional. ‘Oh, thank you, ma’am, I’m sure that will make a good impression.’

Within a month or two Kate had accrued enough clients to keep her busy during the week. Mostly they just gave her a set of keys and let her get on with the job. A few clients were more memorable. One woman, for whom she started working at the start of the pandemic, was extremely anxious and obviously germophobic. She ushered Kate round to the back garden and asked if she would mind wearing PPE; her last cleaner had quit at the request. Kate laughed, ‘No, ma’am, I’d be happy to wear whatever would put you at ease.’ The woman handed her a mask, a face-shield and disposable gloves and apron, and asked her to keep out of any room that she was in. She had to religiously disinfect all the surfaces in the house, and carry deliveries around back to open and bag up the packages. ‘You are such a treasure,’ exclaimed the woman at the end of Kate’s first shift. ‘Thank you so much for tolerating my eccentricities. I hope you’ll come back next week.’ And she did.

Another client, Mrs Marsham, lived in a large house on an expensive street. She was a demure, poised, handsome lady in her fifties, French by birth, and she was immediately taken with Kate’s polite demeanour and smart appearance. One day, as Kate was cleaning the kitchen, she explained that she’d grown up in a wealthy family with servants, but that she’d had to give this up when she married a Brit and moved to London. She knew how to treat staff: she demanded the highest standards, but always showed respect, kindness and gratitude. Rude or lazy workers could be dealt with, but nothing was worse to her than people who belittled their employees. And she still pined for the elegance and formality of her younger days, which was why she was so delighted by Kate’s manners. ‘But would you mind terribly addressing me as ‘madame’ rather than ‘ma’am’?’ ‘Not at all… madame,’ Kate smiled. ‘And, oh I hate to ask, but since you clearly take a lot of pride in your appearance, might you wear a white blouse and a black skirt next time, like my old housekeeper?’ Kate was, of course, happy to do so. After all, this was one client with whom she really clicked, and who appreciated Kate’s service as more than just a job to be done. She started working for the Marshams twice a week, and occasionally she stayed later to cook and serve dinner when they had guests, which was the only time she saw the husband and their young daughter.

Kate also started volunteering again, not at a care home but at a homeless shelter; most of the work was kitchen prep, cooking, serving and washing dishes, but she also washed and folded the guests’ laundry, made the beds and cleaned the toilets. A lot of people came to volunteer at the shelter, and most only did it once or twice, but there were enough regulars that Kate began to build up a circle of acquaintances outside the family unit, and she always looked forward to seeing them on a Sunday evening.

The years passed, and in her teens Isabel grew somber and sad for reasons neither she nor her family understood. Emma, who had been so adept at imposing authority over Kate, was extremely reluctant to do so over Isabel, unconsciously afraid of breaking the maternal bond and pushing her daughter towards Kate. It was around this time that Kate started serving her masters in a sexual capacity, and perhaps this helped to compensate for any unspoken anxieties between the three of them about Isabel. But the result of her mother’s laxity was that Isabel grew extremely spoiled, which Tom saw but couldn’t do much about. She was a pretty teenager, and therefore popular at the local private school that she attended, but she had no aptitude at all for studying and her grades were poor. Because Kate did all the chores, Isabel never learned to do anything for herself, and couldn’t cook or clean, leaving her dirty clothes around the bedroom and expecting to find them washed and hung up neatly the next day. By the time she was seventeen, her childhood attachment to Kate had waned; in fact, she had come to look down on her ageing ‘aunt’, seeing in her a sad spectre of weakness and sexless domestic drudgery, a life unfulfilled. Isabel was determined not to end up like her. And the furthest possible thing away from that tragedy was to become an influencer like her social media idols. She had the looks for it, and she had started a video channel with makeup and clothing tips, as well as, of course, a photography account to chart the tinselled banalities of her existence. Both were reasonably well followed. She’d been offered a place to study Media at a London ex-polytechnic, for which her mediocre projected exam results were good enough.

She knew deep down, however, that a career in social media was unlikely, and the thought of higher education, or, worse, of the workplace, filled her with dread. Her school friends were a haven, especially the boys that fancied her—one of whom, Ben, she fancied back—and the slightly less attractive girls who looked up to her. Her main rival was a beauty named Freddie, who had long glamorous hair and wore her uniform skirt too short. All the girls were talking about a group trip to Paris that Freddie was planning for her friends at the end of the summer. No one quite knew who would be invited, and Freddie liked to insinuate to her classmates that they would be on the guest list if they played their cards right. One day, after Izzy let her copy her homework, Freddie told her, ‘I like you. You’re definitely coming.’ Isabel ran home after school to ask her mother if she could go, and Emma said, ‘Oh what fun. Yes, we can afford it. But you have to do well on your exams.’

Isabel’s growing contempt for Kate came to a head at her eighteenth birthday party. She received her parents’ presents in the morning, the star attraction of which was a course of driving lessons, with the possibility—‘It’s not a promise,’ insisted her mother—of a car when she passed her test. It was a huge gift and Isabel was beside herself with delight, spending most of the day on the phone or messaging online with her friends.

In the evening, she went out with ten of her close friends, including Ben, for pizza and a film. Her parents had booked a one-night getaway in the country to give Isabel and her friends some space to themselves; Kate remained on hand to help out and clean. ‘I need you to be Izzy’s servant tonight, not her aunt,’ Emma told her; ‘obey her as you would us.’ There was no space for discussion; Kate simply smiled and said, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and got on with scrubbing the bathtub. What none of the adults counted on was the party bringing back copious amounts of booze, which Isabel was newly able to purchase with her passport. Within a couple of hours they were quite drunk and raucous, and moved from the bedroom to the sitting room. Ben, who had been a bit distant with Izzy all night, discovered Emma’s handbell and asked Izzy what it was for. ‘Oh, that’s for Kate, ring it if you want something.’

He did. Kate came up from her room in the basement. ‘Did someone ring?’ The teenagers started tittering. Ben said boldly, ‘Can you get me a coke?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Kate went to fetch it and then went back downstairs. There was a stunned silence around the room. ‘You actually have a maid?’ asked one girl incredulously. ‘Even we don’t have that.’ Izzy didn’t know how to explain, so she just said, ‘Yeah. It’s cool.’ They took turns ringing the bell and Kate fetched things obediently for them. It was when she politely asked Isabel if they could keep the noise down a bit that things kicked off.

‘Why should we?’

Kate didn’t know what to say. ‘Well… it would just be nice.’

‘It’s not your place to tell me. Get back to work, you fucking loser.’ Her friends looked at each other, shocked by this eruption of spite.

‘I’m not a loser,’ said Kate with dignity.

‘You’re just a maid, and you’re not even good enough to get paid for it, either.’

‘Don’t speak to me like that, Isabel.’ Kate was having a hard time keeping her temper.

‘I’ll speak to you however I want, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I know you’ve got to do whatever I say tonight, so go and stand with your nose in the corner over there.’ Isabel remembered having once seen, when she was supposed to be in bed, her mother punish Kate in this way, and it had stuck in her mind, making her feel funny. Now there were audible gasps. Kate was dumbfounded, looking around at the assembled teenagers, all eyes on her. But she knew what Emma had told her. ‘Yes miss,’ she said, and obeyed. Izzy felt very satisfied with herself, and knew that her friends would be impressed at her authority. They were, indeed, astonished; none of them had ever seen anything so extraordinary in their lives. But their opinion on the incident was another matter, and one to which Isabel was not privy. She kept Kate there until they left an hour or so later, and then came up to her and said, ‘Turn around.’ Kate obeyed. ‘Have you learned your lesson?’

‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Isabel.’

‘It’s not your place to complain when I give you an order. Got it?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘God, you’re a disgrace. Go to bed.’ As Kate slunk past her towards the stairs, she added, ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Kate stopped, unsure what was meant.

‘A curtsey? I am an adult now after all.’ A feeling of furious power was coursing through her veins—along with the alcohol—and she was revelling in it. Kate bobbed a dignified curtsey. ‘Dismissed!’ Isabel cried triumphantly, and went upstairs.

The next day, Emma demanded a full report from Kate. When she heard what had happened she exploded with rage. ‘Did I do something wrong, ma’am?’ ‘No Kate, you did exactly the right thing, thank you. But Izzy is going to regret this.’ She was right.

Emma and Tom went to Isabel’s bedroom and laid down the law. ‘I instructed Kate to serve you last night but that doesn’t give you the right to behave in that way. The arrogance! It’s utterly outrageous. We’re extremely disappointed in you.’ She would get no driving lessons, and certainly no car, until she had apologised to Kate and made amends. And they would not pay for her trip to Paris. ‘If you want to go you’ll have to make some money in the summer. Get a job.’

‘That’s so unfair! Where am I supposed to get a job?’

‘You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.’

At dinner, Isabel told Kate she was sorry, but she did not feel it and did not mean it; her body language gave that away. The Easter holidays were almost on them, and Emma suggested applying to some office temping agencies. But they turned out not to have any work, and in any event they needed rather better computing skills than she had. She couldn’t even touch-type. Then Emma said she might intern at the hotel over the holidays, like Kate all those years ago, and out of desperation Isabel agreed. On the first Monday off school, she fell asleep on the bus to work and didn’t manage to turn up at the hotel until ten. The head housekeeper, who was rather cross at this point, tried to start her on a cleaning shift but Izzy threw a fit and refused, looking with disgust down the corridors of ugly immigrants in their dowdy uniforms. She demanded to work on reception, but was told they didn’t put new trainees on the front desk. Then she asked to work in the office, and the housekeeper tried to find something for her to do, but she wound up checking her social media and didn’t come back after lunch. When Emma got home she was livid. ‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!’ she screamed at her daughter. Izzy just sulked. At this point it was too late to find any full-time work before school started again. She’d have to look for something in the summer holidays. But first she had to study for her exams.

‘In the meantime,’ said her mother, ‘you’d better start helping Kate around the house.’

(2)

Kate’s own life was just about to take a new turn. A new shift leader, Philip, had just taken over the Sunday sessions at the shelter. He was an older man, about Kate’s age, and rather more gruff than his predecessor, treating the activity less like a fun game among friends and more like a proper job. At the start of each shift he convened a meeting with his team, thanking them for volunteering but reminding them that they were there to work, and work hard, for the guests, he noted, were in increasingly desperate circumstances. ‘I’m not saying you can’t have a laugh’—he pronounced it ‘laff’—‘but keep your mind on the job. OK, team?’ Nor was he afraid to tell someone off for leaving a kitchen knife in a soapy sink, or for failing to wipe down the serving counter, or for not folding the guests’ laundry adequately. Few relished the new, serious atmosphere, and several volunteers quit, preferring the amiability of their previous leader. But Kate was not among them. She preferred his approach and admired the sobriety with which he tackled management. She also appreciated his hands-on leadership, always rolling up his sleeves to stir a pot, ladle out gnocchi, sweep the floor or clean the loo; he was the first to arrive and the last to leave, and worked harder than any of them. His predecessor had told Kate off for addressing him as ‘sir’, but when she asked Philip if he would mind, he welcomed it. ‘It’s a bit formal,’ he admitted, ‘but I do value the mark of respect, thank you.’

The evening after he started at the shelter, Kate thought a lot about him. He was rather handsome, in a quiet, mature way, not at all like the waves of pretty, bright-eyed youths who floated in and out of the team, fancying themselves in a pinny, eager for the feeling of making a difference but ill-prepared for hard work. He had an air about him. Lots of men were domineering bullies, but she couldn’t recall meeting a man so naturally and graciously dominant, so comfortable with his own authority. Certainly not Tom. It was, truth be told, an extremely attractive quality. She had already looked forward to her shifts at the shelter, but now her anticipation took on a new tenor and excitement.

Over the next few weeks, Kate and Philip continued to click at work, a rhythm of command and happy compliance. The younger volunteers found themselves nonplussed at the pair’s old-fashioned interactions, above all her audible ‘yes, sirs’ when given orders. But the regulars had to admit that their bond helped run a tight ship; there was little of the previous confusion about who had been in charge of what job, and meals were now always served on time, old pots always washed and ready to use again, and the floors always clean and dry.

One day, Philip was handing a stack of dirty crockery to Kate, and as their hands touched, he gave hers a little squeeze through her gloves. She blushed and started scrubbing the plates, but when he turned back to look at her in the doorway, she looked up at him and smiled.

The following Saturday, she got a text message as she was putting away the family’s groceries. When she did the shopping, Emma had her write out the itemised receipts by hand into a little book, with a note on any missing or changed items, a running total and a signature at the end of each day. It was a little personal touch that she always enjoyed. The message was from Philip—he had all the volunteers’ numbers to arrange their shifts—asking her if she would like to have dinner after work the following evening. When she’d finished with the receipts she went up to Emma’s study, knocked and curtseyed. ‘Ma’am, may I go out with one of my friends at the shelter after my shift tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I don’t see why not. Is she nice?’

Kate was momentarily puzzled. ‘Oh, it’s a he, ma’am! And yes, he is. Very nice.’

‘Oh, “very” nice; I see. When will you be back?’

‘Whenever you tell me to be.’

‘Good answer, dear. Home by ten, then, that gives you a couple of hours with your very nice friend. And make sure your chores don’t start slipping.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Do you need anything?’

‘No, you’re dismissed.’ Kate curtseyed again and went to text Philip before starting on the ironing, her heart gently fluttering in anticipation. When they met the next evening, their greeting was unusually warm, and they exchanged meaningful glances throughout the shift. At eight they finished up and handed over to the night team. ‘Where shall we go, sir?’ asked Kate. Philip looked at her and chuckled. ‘Not much is open this time on a Sunday, but I know a place. And no need to call me ‘sir’ off duty, that’s taking it too far.’

‘I suppose it is, sorry.’ He took her to a little pub with excellent tapas. When he went to the bar for a pint, he asked her what she’d have, but she hadn’t asked Emma permission to drink, so she settled for sparkling water. It wasn’t long before they were deep in conversation. She learned that Philip was ex-army, and that he was widowed, having moved down to London from Yorkshire when his wife died. He was now in management in the NHS. Kate had to be more evasive and diffident when he asked her about her life, though she tried not to lie. At twenty to ten she apologised and said she had to be back at home as she had an early start in the morning. As he was paying the bill, Philip told her, ‘I like working with you, Kate. You take a real joy in it. You’re proper.’ She blushed, and thanked him for a lovely dinner, and for his leadership. At the door, he asked, ‘Can I see you again next week?’ She nodded. He made her feel quiet, and she liked that. He leant down and kissed her on the lips. Then he kissed her again, and she opened her mouth and kissed him back.

When she got back home the sink was full of dirty dishes. She smiled and rolled her eyes, put an apron on and started the washing up. A few minutes later, she heard Emma’s footsteps, and as she’d been trained to do when one of her masters entered the room, she stopped what she was doing and stood to attention, ready to serve if wanted. ‘How was your evening?’ Emma was in her pyjamas. ‘It was wonderful, ma’am!’ Kate grinned. ‘We had a delicious meal and great conversation. I think he wants to invite me over next time.’

‘I see. And you want to kiss him?’

‘Er, I already did. He kissed me when we parted.’

‘Excuse me? I didn’t give you permission for that.’

Kate blushed. She knew she was in the wrong. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am.’

‘How dare you? How fucking dare you?’ Kate said nothing. ‘You know I don’t like to punish you. But if this isn’t a thrashing offence I don’t know what is. Finish the dishes and then go to your room. You’ll wait in the corner with your hands on your head until I arrive.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ She did as she was told. Emma came downstairs forty minutes later to find Kate in position.

‘What am I about to punish you for?’

‘Disobedience, ma’am.’

‘Grotesque disobedience. And betrayal. I let you go to dinner, not to a sexy date. Did you think this was an appropriate thing to do?’ barked Emma.

‘No, ma’am. I’m so sorry.’

 ‘You will be. Turn around.’ Kate obeyed. Emma had got dressed again, in a rather severe black velvet dress, and was holding a bath brush. ‘Take your skirt and knickers off and bend over the desk.’ Emma inspected her pretty white bottom, Kate nose down on the wood, her hands back on her head. ‘Stand on your tiptoes.’ She obediently raised her bottom for correction, wobbling a bit in her nervousness. An almighty crack came over her backside, and it took all her concentration not to move her hands; her heels touched the floor. ‘Count.’ ‘One, ma’am.’ ‘Back on your tiptoes. We will only proceed while you are up.’ She lifted, and Emma struck the other cheek. ‘Two, ma’am.’ It continued like this: Emma thrashed her, Kate counted, and then went back up on her toes, having to humbly offer herself again, her ankle muscles in tension, ready, waiting. By the fiftieth stroke she was sobbing, struggling to lift her heels off the floor. By the eightieth she was at peace again, calm and quiet, springing up eagerly each time, grateful.

‘That’s enough. Get up. Back in the corner.’

Kate resumed her place, her rosy bottom on full display. After twenty minutes Emma called her over to the bed. Kate kneeled and kissed her feet. ‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.’ Emma stroked her hair, kissed on the forehead, and hugged her. ‘I forgive you, my dear.’ Kate looked up at her. ‘Thank you for troubling to correct me, ma’am.’

‘You’re welcome. What you did was reprehensible. But if you want to kiss Philip in future, you have my blessing. There’s no reason we should have you all to ourselves. If you want to date him, you may. In fact, you may be physically intimate with him.’

‘Really, ma’am? Will you remove my belt?’

‘Oh, good heavens no! The belt stays on. With that in mind you may do as you please. But we’d like to meet him. Invite him over for dinner. You’ll have to tell him, of course.’

Next Sunday, when it was pouring with rain, Kate was notably agitated at the shelter, and afterwards when she went out with Philip. He asked if he’d done something wrong, but she assured him he hadn’t. After dinner he asked her to come back to his place, with his typical gentle confidence. ‘Just a moment,’ she said, and went outside to phone Emma, huddling under the awning in front. When she returned, she simply said, ‘I can come.’

‘Who were you phoning? You said you were single, right?’

‘Oh! Yes, I am. I was just checking in with my mum, she’s been a bit unwell.’

Philip’s place wasn’t far away, though they had to walk through a park to get there, and their shoes got covered in mud. His flat was small compared to the Kinley house, but comfortable and tastefully furnished. He showed her round, and when they got to the bedroom she sat on the bed and stared at him. He sat beside her, and she got down on her knees, as she did for Tom, and took out his penis. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, love?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ She was obviously a sexual submissive. Good. He could give her what she wanted. ‘All right,’ he said assertively. She brought him off, and he bent over and kissed her. ‘Come here,’ he whispered, and she sat beside him again as he began to fumble for her skirt. ‘No,’ she said, ‘please don’t.’ ‘But Kate, I want you to be happy too.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ What did she mean? She drew her knees up in front of her and hid her head in her arms. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, alarmed; ‘Are you married? Please, tell me, I won’t judge you, I promise. No matter what it is. So long as you’re not a Tory.’

Kate laughed, despite herself. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. He looked so kindly. She opened her mouth, paused for a moment, and told him everything. Everything—the engagement, the affair, the ménage à trois, her descent into submission, her surrogacy, their daughter, her own chastity. When she finished, Philip sat in silence, marvelling. A few minutes later, she said, ‘You must think I’m deranged. I should leave.’ She stood up, but he softly grasped her wrist and pulled her to him. ‘You are so precious. I’m not going to let you go.’ For a long time she sat on the bed in silence as he held her. Then she kissed him. ‘You can ask me anything you want.’

‘All right. You spend all week cooking and cleaning for Mr and Mrs. You go and clean other people’s houses and give the money to Mr and Mrs, who don’t need it. Then you spend your day off cooking and cleaning for the homeless. When do you get what you want?’

Kate was about to say, ‘When I’m with you.’ But that would have been false and sentimental. Instead she said, ‘Always. I love my life.’

‘But you could make a living doing what you do.’

‘I have everything I want. Why must everything be so transactional now? I’ll do this for you, but only if you do something for me later. The beauty in my life is giving without receiving. Giving because I want to give. Because I like to make people happy.’

‘Do you feel like you deserve this, in some way? For being bad, I mean.’

‘I did at first. But now I deserve it because it brings me joy.’ They continued to talk, kiss and cuddle, long into the night, and she brought him off again, with her hand. Philip rather enjoyed her lack of expectation for him to reciprocate: it was subversive. He asked to see her belt, and she showed him. Eventually she fell asleep in his arms. In the morning she went back home, but not before inviting him for dinner. He said he’d be thrilled. When he went to get dressed for work, he discovered that she had cleaned his shoes.

*

Kate had just finished welcoming her masters home when the phone rang. It was Irène Marsham, who wanted to know if she could waitress at her daughter’s eighteenth birthday party in three weeks, the first Saturday of the summer holidays. It was to be a fancy, black-tie affair, and they’d hired caterers for the food but not serving staff; the next-door neighbour’s girl was keen for some pocket-money and had agreed to help out, but they needed another. Kate, after checking with Emma, was happy to do it. But her mind was rather focused on getting the dinner on in preparation for Philip’s visit that evening.

Philip turned up with wine and flowers. They kissed in the doorway—he remarked with surprise on how minty her breath was—and she showed him into the sitting room, curtseyed, and returned to cooking. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Kinley,’ he said, as if they were her parents. ‘Tom and Emma, please,’ said Tom. ‘Please, take a seat,’ said Emma. ‘Let’s get to know each other a little.’

When Kate came in to announce that the meal was ready, Emma said, ‘Kate, I think it would be appropriate for you to join us for dinner tonight, so please set the table for five.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind, thank you, ma’am.’

The meal was a success; Philip disclosed his love of nineteenth-century novels, and Kate, thanks to Emma’s reading programme over the years, was able to converse knowledgeably about Dickens, Brontē and Flaubert. As they finished their risotto and gulped down their wine, they got into a heated debate about the best Karamazov brother, Philip and Emma going for Alyosha, Tom and Kate for Vanya. (Isabel, who had no opinion on the matter, excused herself from the table.) As Kate got up to serve the crumble she’d made, Emma took her aside and said, ‘No pudding for you this evening, dear. In fact, I want you to wait at your place so we can talk to Philip without your contributions.’ Kate went and stood by the serving table as usual, back straight, hands folded, chin up, eyes lowered, feet together, not fidgeting, perfectly still and at peace. Indeed, she felt a deep bliss that Philip could finally see the real her in action. As for Philip, while he genially answered his hosts’ questions, he hardly took his eyes off her: the perfect picture of demure obedience, neat, controlled and at ease. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. At that moment he wanted to spend his days with her, not because he expected such service for himself, but because he loved the strength and poise that her service fully revealed.

When they’d finished pudding, Emma rose and ordered Kate to clean up. ‘May I give her a hand?’ asked Philip. ‘What a nice idea,’ Emma replied. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, won’t you dear?’ Kate smiled as she started stacking the bowls, ‘Yes, sir, thank you.’ Philip opened his mouth to say something. Then he realised that it was her place, here, to speak that way, and that she knew and loved her place. What might her place be with him?

In the kitchen, drying the washed plates, he told her he loved her. ’I love you too. I hope you can be a part of my life, but I don’t know if Mr and Mrs Kinley will allow it. Let’s see how it goes.’ She squeezed him and gave him a kiss on the neck. ‘Now, why don’t you go join them and I’ll bring you something to drink?’

Kate finished wiping down the counters and took out the recycling. Then she came to the sitting room, curtseyed, and asked, as she did every night, if she could serve drinks.

‘Kate my darling, come kneel down here,’ said Tom. She did as she was told, and he stroked her hair affectionately. ‘We’ve been talking about our situation, the three of us. You’ve been the best thing in our lives for what, twenty-odd years now. You’re not a slave, and you deserve pleasure now and then. You deserve your own partner. Though we hope you will not abandon us.’ Kate shook her head vehemently. ‘So we’ve decided that every other Sunday, we’ll unlock your belt in the afternoon and let you keep it off till Monday. You may enjoy the evening with Philip and come back here to serve breakfast in the morning; I’ll lock you back up before I go to work, or Emma will. How does that sound?’

‘Thank you, sir. That’s very generous of you.’

‘Good girl.’ He kissed her on the top of her head, and she shivered all over. Perhaps this was the start of a lifelong relationship.

(3)

The morning of the Marshams’ party, something happened that changed Isabel’s life profoundly. Irène rang to say that the neighbour’s girl had come down with a nasty flu and couldn’t work that evening: might Kate know anyone else who could help out? Kate asked if she could call back in a few minutes. She went straight to the sitting room where Emma and Isabel were reading magazines, and relayed the news. Emma did not hesitate: ‘Oh darling, what a wonderful opportunity for you!’ Job-hunting had so far produced little success.

Isabel huffed. ‘Serve drinks at some party? I’d rather slit my wrists.’

‘Oh come on,’ Kate said, ‘It’s not hard work, it’ll be fun, there will be people your own age. Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy.’

‘With a tray of glasses in my hands? You must be fucking joking!’

Emma was not amused. ‘Stop that at once! I won’t have you speaking to Kate that way. I’ve had enough of your tantrums—and I’ve had enough of your refusal to do anything for yourself. If you want to go with your friends, you will work tonight.’

‘Mum! Come on, please! Don’t make me do that; it’s so embarrassing.’

‘I’m not changing my mind. Why should you be embarrassed to work? Grow up. Do you want to go on your trip or not?’

Isabel pouted for a few seconds. ‘Ugh, fine. I just hand out drinks, yes?’

Kate said, ‘You help serve drinks, then you help serve dinner, then you help clean up. You have to be polite and cheerful. If someone asks you to do something, you do it. That’s it.’

‘Can I wear these clothes?’

‘No. Blouse and skirt. You can wear your school clothes.’

‘I guess it could have been worse.’

Kate was used to this reluctance, and expected little more, but she remembered her own pride and insecurity when Emma came into her life. As for Emma, she grudgingly accepted Isabel’s grudging acceptance and dismissed Kate to ring Mrs Marsham back. ‘Excellent!’ was the lady’s reply; ‘I’ll see you both at five o’clock.’ And that would have been it, if Mrs Marsham hadn’t rung again at three. ‘Oh my dear Kate, could I ask you a terrible favour?’

‘Yes, madame, of course.’

‘You know it will be black tie tonight and the birthday girl thought you two should be in black as well; I hadn’t thought of it. You don’t have any black shirts do you?’

‘Er… no, I don’t think we do. But… we do have a couple of black serving dresses in the attic, from a wedding party. I think I can find the matching aprons too. Would that be all right instead?’

‘Oh, that sounds even better! What a stroke of luck. Could you bring those to put on? I hope you wouldn’t mind. And sorry again for the late notice.’

‘No, madame, of course not; I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’

Kate dreaded telling Isabel the news, feeling it would be a humiliation too far. Her fears proved well-founded: when she went to Izzy’s bedroom with the frumpy two-piece she had fished out of the attic, Izzy hit the roof. ‘You want me to wear a fucking Victorian maid’s outfit? Thanks, but I’m not into cosplay just at the moment. That is absolutely not going to happen!’ Kate did not lose her temper, or try to explain that it was by no means a ‘Victorian maid’s outfit’. Instead she went to convey the situation to Emma, who stormed straight into Isabel’s bedroom. ‘I’ve had it with you,’ she thundered. ‘You are not getting your driving lessons. You are not going to Paris. And you’re grounded until further notice. I’m this close to confiscating your phone, you spend all day on that thing. Why should I keep supporting you when you make no effort to help yourself?’

‘Mum, have you seen what Kate wants me to wear?’

‘Yes I have. What’s the problem with it? It’s perfectly presentable. It’s what waitresses at formal events wear all the time, and it’s what Kate wore for our wedding party.’

‘But mum please. It’s so embarrassing. I’m not a servant.’

‘You’re being extremely childish. It’s just a uniform. You wear it for one evening around a bunch of strangers in dinner jackets and fancy dresses, they won’t think anything of it. What exactly are you afraid of?’

‘I… I just don’t want anyone to think…’ She was at a loss for words, and sat sullenly staring at the end of the bed. ‘Well,’ said Emma, ‘it’s your choice. Go with Kate and do the job you agreed to, or kiss all your summer plans goodbye. But you’re going to need to decide right now, so that Kate can let Mrs Whatever know.’ Isabel slumped back on the bed theatrically.

A little over an hour later, the two women left the house with their uniforms in carrier bags. It was a beautiful, bright, warm afternoon. As they walked to the bus stop, Kate said, ‘Remember, Isabel, I’ll be telling your mum how you get on. Best behaviour, OK?’ Izzy grunted noncommittally. ‘The family is a bit old-fashioned. The mother is French and comes from money, we call her ‘madame’. Call the father ‘sir’, like your teachers at school. I don’t think the daughter cares.’

‘They sound quite stuck-up.’

‘Well, you can think what you like, and perhaps they are. But they are paying us, and we need to be polite and keep our thoughts to ourselves. Irène, the mother, is a bit formal but she’s a lovely woman really. I don’t want any grunting or muttering. When they give you a job, do it with a smile. I’ll be watching you. I want to be proud of you.’

It was Mrs Marsham who let them in; ‘This is my niece, Isabel,’ said Kate. ‘Hello,’ Izzy said shyly, finding the lady rather grand and forbidding. ‘Nice to meet you, Isabel. Thank you for coming at such short notice. Have you done this before?’

‘No.’ Kate looked at her meaningfully. ‘Er, no, madame,’ Isabel added.

‘Oh but she is very polite!’ the mother exclaimed encouragingly. ‘Well, you have nothing to worry about. Your aunt will show you what to do. But first you’d better get changed.’

Kate went into the bathroom first and changed quickly. Then it was Isabel’s turn. She had butterflies in her stomach. Putting the dress on, she looked at herself a while in the mirror, deep in thought. ‘Come on!’ called Kate from outside. Seeing herself for the first time in uniform, in a stranger’s home, she wondered if mum had been right and she had been acting a bit childish after all. There was no reason she shouldn’t do this. She stood up straight, with her hands together, like Kate did every evening. She smiled. She had nothing to be ashamed of; she would serve with pride, like Kate said. She could do this. When she emerged, Kate was surprised to see her beaming; she tied Izzy’s apron on and they turned around just in time to see Mr Marsham appear from the next room. ‘Good afternoon, ladies! You look very smart.’ ‘Good afternoon, sir!’ chimed Izzy, standing to attention. Kate was taken aback. Mr Marsham smiled. ‘Ah,’ he said as he excused himself, ‘the birthday girl’s coming downstairs now, you can introduce yourselves before you get to work.’

Izzy turned, and froze in horror. It was Freddie, in a beautiful pale blue dress. It was her birthday. Izzy hadn’t been invited. And—oh no—that meant the other guests would be their school friends. She would be serving them. How could she get out of this?

Frédérique, astonished, paused on the lowest step. Then she burst out laughing. ‘Oh Izzy,’ she crowed, ‘I just love the outfit! Just the thing for being our maid tonight.’

Izzy stood dumbfounded. Kate, too, began to realise what had happened, and was torn with emotion; she wanted to leap to Izzy’s defence and tell this bitch where to go. But then, she thought, it wasn’t her place; they were there to work. In an effort to break the tension she simply said, ‘Happy birthday, Miss Marsham, it will be our pleasure to serve you tonight.’

Frédérique had a devious look. ‘Is that right, Izzy? Will it be your pleasure?’

Kate submissively looked down at the floor and bit her lip. Izzy wanted the ground to swallow her up. But she found herself mumbling as she glanced away, ‘Yes, Freddie.’

Frédérique advanced a few steps and spoke in a low voice, ‘Oh, but I’m not Freddie to you tonight, am I? I think your aunt has the right idea.’

Isabel looked into her eyes, and this time spoke more clearly. ‘Yes… Miss Marsham.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Frédérique’s mother, steaming into the hall at that moment. ‘We don’t bully the help, Freddie. Start behaving.’ To Izzy she said, ‘I’m sorry for my daughter’s rudeness. Nonetheless, we can’t have any silliness between you two girls tonight. You have work to do Isabel, and I expect professionalism. Follow your aunt’s lead. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, madame,’ said Isabel in relief and gratitude at the intervention. She was not used to being given such direct orders.

The catering had not arrived yet, but they started tidying and putting things out in the garden. As they worked, Kate said, ‘The guests aren’t here but this will be a fancy party and I should tell you some etiquette for when they are. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and when you do speak, or even when you are just serving, always remember to smile; when you’re asked a question, answer promptly and politely, and don’t chatter. When you’re told to do something, do it quickly but take care over it and don’t rush. If you pass someone in the hallway, stand aside and let them go first. These are all just little things, but they add up to a good attitude. Do you have all that?’

‘I don’t know if I can do this. You saw how Freddie treated me. I want to run home.’

‘Yes, it was hard to watch. But we can’t let the Marshams down now. You can do this. Just forget about Isabel Kinley tonight. You can worry about what your friends will think tomorrow. Tonight, let it go. Stiff upper lip, OK?’ Isabel nodded quietly. ‘I’ll try.’

The caterers soon came with the food, a mix of canapés, which Kate and Emma spent time arranging neatly on platters, and dinners that needed some final preparation when people were ready to eat. As they were working, Mr Marsham came in to ask for some ice for his drink. Kate went to look and there was none in the freezer. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘you’d better pop out to the shop for some.’ He took a ten-pound note out of his wallet. ‘Yes, sir, of course,’ said Kate. ‘Izzy, could you do it? The guests will be here any minute and I’ve got to finish getting the canapés ready.’

‘Er, all right. I’ll go get changed.’

‘We don’t have time, Izzy, just take your apron off and go.’ Izzy looked at Mr Marsham, and, not wanting to seem childish, felt unable to argue. Still, the thought of going to the supermarket in her uniform was rather nerve-wracking, and she hadn’t even brought a jacket as it was so warm out. But she gritted her teeth and out she went for the ice, only getting a few looks from passersby.

When the guests started arriving, Isabel was grateful that Kate took charge of letting them in and taking their bags. She was waiting nervously in the kitchen, wondering how she could avoid showing her face, when Freddie walked in. ‘We’re not paying you to hide in the kitchen, Izzy. My friends are here, get a tray and start handing out wine and juice.’ Swallowing her pride, Isabel did as she was told, walking out into the small throng of her friends and acquaintances with a laden tray. There were gasps and giggles all around her. ‘Izzy, did you come in fancy dress?’ ‘Did you lose a bet with Freddie?’ ‘Will you be posting about this on Instagram?’ ‘Did you get that outfit for your birthday?’ ‘No wonder Freddie didn’t invite her.’ ‘Or maybe she did?’ ‘With a brain like hers I’m not surprised. I bet she’s not even going to uni.’ She was the talk of the party, and remained so as more guests arrived. Blushing furiously, Isabel had to keep repeating silently to herself, ‘Let it go, stiff upper lip.’ But she remembered what Kate had said, and kept her mouth shut. Luckily there were also some adult guests, friends of the family, whom she didn’t know, and who were perfectly courteous to her. Mr Marsham asked how she was getting on. ‘I think I’m doing OK, sir. Let me know if you need anything.’

At seven o’clock she went back to the kitchen, where Kate was finishing the starters, and stood about anxiously, fidgeting with her uniform. ‘What should I do?’ she asked.

‘We’ll both take the food through in a minute. You serve one side of the table, I’ll serve the other. I’ll have to keep an eye on the mains, so when we’ve served the food, you stay in the dining room and wait to see if anyone needs something. You’ve seen me do it at home, it’s easy. Just remember your place and stay polite to the guests, even if they’re rude to you. I’ve set the places but you can go and light the candles now.’

It turned out to be fine. They served starters, mains and desserts, and even brought cheese out at the end. The food seemed delicious and everyone was chatting happily in the candlelight. Her schoolmates stopped talking about her and forgot she was there. Only Frédérique made a point of ordering Izzy about through dinner. After dinner the guests mingled a bit more, getting slowly tipsy, chatting, playing games and kissing. Kate and Isabel cleared the table and started on the kitchen. Then they had a bite to eat themselves.

Towards the end of the evening, Isabel went round the rooms collecting rubbish and dirty plates and glasses. Frédérique was in a corner cuddling and kissing Ben, and called Izzy over as she passed. ‘So we hope you’ll still be coming to Paris with us,’ she said. ‘Really? Yes, I hope I can come!’ said Izzy hopefully. ‘Good, because we’ll need a maid. You’ll be perfect.’ They burst into drunken laughter; ‘Can you imagine!’ cried Ben, holding out an empty glass. Izzy silently placed it on her tray and was about to leave, when Frédérique called ‘Wait!’ She turned round to hear the sound of a camera shutter. It was Freddie’s phone, pointed straight at her. ‘Isabel Kinley, who always thinks she’s so special—look what she’s reduced to. And I didn’t even have to invite you! This is going straight on the group chat.’ And the phone made the swooping noise of a picture being uploaded: a picture of Isabel in a serving uniform, holding a silver tray of glasses and stray trash, about to cry. She opened her mouth to protest but Mr Marsham appeared in the doorway and said, ‘Come on young lady, stop chatting with your friends, there’s work to do—go help your aunt with the dishes.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She went to the kitchen, put on the gloves Kate offered her and plunged her hands into the soapy water; it was just then that she finally let out the emotion she’d kept bottled up all night, and sobbed into the sink. The public wound to her ego hurt bitterly, but was also a strange relief, as she felt years of unthinking conceitedness and arrogance flooding out of her. Kate put her arms around her. ‘I know this has been hard for you Izzy, I’m really sorry, I had no idea. But I want you to know something.’

‘What is it, auntie?’ Isabel hadn’t called her that in years.

‘I’ve never been so proud of you in my life.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘It took a lot of guts to do what you did tonight, and your service has been impeccable. I’ll give you a glowing report to your mum, I’m sure she’ll let you go to Paris.’

Izzy laughed ruefully. ‘I’m not going to Paris. Not after tonight. Now all our friends have seen me like this. Not gonna live this one down.’

‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry to hear that. But we’ll find something else nice for you.’

‘I don’t want any of it any more. I don’t want to be famous on the internet. In fact I’m going to delete all my social media. I’ve been wasting my time. They all think I’m stuck up.’

All the washing up was finally done. Kate mopped the kitchen floor and wiped down all the counters, and showed Isabel how to clean the dining room table and put everything away neatly. Izzy looked around and marvelled at how spotless they’d gotten everything. It was the first evening of hard work she’d done in her life—her armpits were damp with sweat, her hair had unravelled and her feet were sore—but it felt good. ‘You get used to it,’ Kate smiled at Izzy.

‘Can we go home now?’

‘No. Now we report to Mr and Mrs Marsham in the sitting room for any last orders.’

‘But haven’t we done all the cleaning up, like you said?’

‘We have, but when you serve others properly, you go by what they need. You start when they tell you to start, and you don’t leave until they give you permission.’

‘But I’m wiped, and I’ve done what they paid me for. I just want to go to bed.’

‘It’s about what they want, not what you want. That’s the essence of service.’

Izzy sighed. ‘Why do you do it? Why demean yourself?’

‘It isn’t demeaning. You would only think that if you saw yourself as somehow better than others. It’s liberating. You don’t have to be yourself when you’re on duty. You don’t have to worry about anything. You just do what you’re told. And it’s such a great feeling to be competent at what you’re doing, and valued for it by others.’

Isabel nodded thoughtfully. ‘I like the sound of that. Maybe I could go into hospitality like mum.’

‘Excellent idea. You must start volunteering with me, and I’m sure Kate will let you have another crack at the hotel.’ They dried their hands and filed demurely out of the kitchen to the sitting room, where all three Marshams were conversing. Ben had apparently left. Deep in talk, the family left them standing there neatly for a couple of minutes. Then Irène looked up. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said. ‘Wonderful work, so attentive and helpful, both of you. I think the party was a smashing success, wasn’t it, chérie?’

‘Yes mum. Izzy, you’ve found your calling.’ Why did these words not feel as wounding as Freddie meant them to be? Was she right?

‘I agree’, said Mrs Marsham. ‘I like your attitude. In fact, Isabel, I want to make you an offer. Kate comes to clean for us twice a week, but we need someone at weekends and she can’t do it. I’d like you to come and work here on Saturdays. Come in the morning, serve the family breakfast, then cleaning, laundry, ironing, maybe run some errands. We’ll pay you well, say, a hundred for the day. What do you say?’

Izzy thought about having to put up with Frédérique. But Freddie had already done her worst. Her own social standing could sink no lower, and she wasn’t afraid any more. Why not give it a shot? It might be a good point of entry into a career. If it was horrible she could stop. She smiled. ‘Yes, OK, but… I don’t have much experience with cleaning or ironing.’

‘Not a problem, you just come with Kate during the week and she’ll teach you. You can wear your school clothes.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said Izzy and with a sigh reached behind her and started untying her apron. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Mrs Marsham sharply.

‘Oh, I thought we were finished. It’s getting late.’

‘Izzy, what did I tell you?’ said Kate, tying Izzy’s apron back on; ‘I’m sorry, madame, how can we serve you?’

‘I’d like some coffee. Decaf at this time of night of course. Then you take the rubbish outside and take the bins down to the kerb. Oh but first, give the front garden a good sweep, and check the toilets again. Izzy, since your manners need a little practice, why don’t you take care of all that and let your aunt have a sit down?’

Isabel was used to being told off by her parents, and by teachers at school. But she had never experienced this tone of cool, authoritative rebuke, which, despite being phrased as a question, demanded obedience. It was magnetic. She might have expected to resent it, but instead she felt abashed and eager to please, and so she simply replied, ‘Yes, madame.’ This moment, and Kate’s earlier comments about service, would long remain burned in her memory. Frédérique added, ‘Oh and bring me some water and an aspirin. There’s some in the cabinet under the sink.’ ‘Yes, Miss Marsham.’ Kate went and sat down on an armchair. Izzy, in a strange new mood, did exactly as she was told, bringing a tray of coffee, water and aspirin; then she went to the kitchen, fetched a broom from the cupboard and swept up the detritus in the garden as best she could in the dark. Then she neatly tied up the rubbish and food waste and took it to the bins outside. She also cleaned out the inside of the kitchen bin and caddy; even though she hadn’t been asked to, she’d seen Kate do it at home and thought it a good idea. Finally she checked the ground floor toilet and wiped down the seat and rim. When she returned to the sitting room, the Marshams’ cups were empty, so she took them away, washed and dried them, and put them away. With all this done, she returned again and stood at attention one more time, feeling quite proud of herself. Freddie had gone to bed, and Kate had changed into her regular clothes.

‘Is everything done, Isabel?’ asked Mrs Marsham.

‘Yes, madame. Is there anything more you’d like me to do?’ As exhausted as she was, she also had a strong desire to impress this woman.

‘No, my dear. It really is very late and we’re all going to bed. Again, very good work today. I wish Freddie were as mature as you.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ It had been a long time since anyone had praised her so fulsomely, and she glowed inside at having done a good job and pleased her employer.

Mrs Marsham stood up and fished in her purse. ‘Here’s a little extra for you tonight. And I’ve ordered you both a cab. Now, go take your uniform off. I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

On the ride home, Izzy deleted all her social media accounts. ‘I’m just so proud of you,’ said Kate; ‘I never thought you would agree to work for them again. The daughter is a brat, but Mrs Marsham isn’t so bad, is she?’ ‘It’s strange,’ said Izzy; ‘she is demanding, but she somehow made me feel that if I just did what she said, everything would be all right. I’ve never felt like that before.’ Once they were home, Kate was about to flop into bed, but Isabel stopped her. Since her encounter with Freddie, remorse had been washing over her, a desire for atonement, but only now could she summon the courage to tell Kate. ‘Auntie, I’m so, so sorry for my behaviour at my party. It was unforgiveable.’

Kate hugged her. ‘Well, I forgive you anyway.’

‘I was just wondering if you could… I just feel so…’

 ‘What?’

Isabel couldn’t bring herself to say it, and just stood there dumbly, looking at the floor. Kate remembered her own feelings two decades before, and knew what Izzy needed now, whether she could admit it or not. The public humiliation tonight had not been enough; she needed absolution from Kate herself. She took her hand; ‘Come on,’ she said, and led her downstairs to the bathroom in the basement. Isabel had no idea what Kate would do; the uncertainty, the lack of control, felt good and right. Standing by the sink, Kate put her hand on Isabel’s shoulder and looked sternly into her eyes. ‘You were thoughtless, you were rude, you were spiteful.’ Isabel’s eyes grew warm and wet, and she looked away; Kate gently guided her face back to hers. ‘I was,’ Isabel said; ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You were a brat. You were childish, insecure and conceited.’ Isabel nodded, weeping. ‘What you said and did was appalling, and now you’re ashamed of yourself.’ ‘Yes, auntie.’

‘Well, we’ll start by washing your words away.’ She took a fresh bar of soap from under the sink and began rinsing it under the tap. ‘What are you doing?’ Isabel asked in alarm. Kate simply replied, ‘Open your mouth and stick your tongue out,’ and rubbed the moist soap along Isabel’s tongue and lips and teeth and gums, then pushed it against her palate and throat, making Izzy gag, then rinsed the soap and repeated the motion. It tasted acrid, disgusting, vomit-inducing, delicious. It tasted like honesty and humility and accountability and forgiveness. She was being punished like the spoiled brat that she had been, and she deserved it. Rather than pulling away, she licked the bar greedily, coughing and gagging, her lips stinging, and the suds dribbled down her chin.

‘Good girl,’ said Kate, and stroked her hair. ‘Now bite down firmly.’ Isabel obeyed, sinking in her teeth to the gums. ‘Hold it in your mouth. I’m going to bed. But you’re going to replace your bad words with good ones. Go up to the dining room, fetch the pad of paper from the front hallway, and a pencil, and write, “I am now a responsible adult and I will never, ever behave with disrespect to Kate or anyone else.” Got that?’

Isabel nodded. Kate repeated the sentence. ‘Then write it 99 more times. I want it neat. If you make a mistake, cross out the whole line and start it again. I’ll make you do the whole thing again tomorrow if I’m not satisfied. When you’re finished, slide it under my door; I expect to see it when I get up in the morning. Then take the soap out and leave it on the sink down here. Then you can rinse your mouth out and go to bed.’

Isabel nodded forlornly. Kate put her arms around her. ‘This is just between us. I won’t tell your mum. And remember, I love you.’ Isabel tried to say, ‘I love you too’ but it was unintelligible. Kate smiled; ‘Goodnight.’ Isabel went upstairs and obediently wrote out her lines at the kitchen table, struggling to keep down her nausea and praying her parents wouldn’t come down for a glass of water. It came to 108 lines, with the mistakes, and took her an hour. When she had finished, she simply wrote, ‘Thank you.’

Epilogue.

Isabel woke up late the next morning to find the pages of lines under her door. At the end Kate had written, ‘Well done. All past now.’ Despite brushing her teeth last night, she could still feel the chastening tang of soap in her throat. When she went downstairs, Kate was putting their uniforms in the washing machine with the rest of the laundry. Emma was in a very good mood. ‘Darling, I’ve just had the loveliest report on you. I can hardly believe my ears. You’re going to go back and clean for them on weekends?’

Izzy suddenly coloured; it was as if a secret she had with Kate and the Marshams had been found out. All her defences went up: the beautiful but delicate nightflower of her service closed up again in the light. ‘Er, yeah, so?’

‘So—that’s great. And Kate says you want to try at the hotel again? I was sceptical but she assures me you’ve turned over a new leaf.’

She had, though she could only half admit it to her parents. Over the next few weeks, as she started her new jobs, Isabel lived a sort of double life: at home, a surly, bored, unhelpful teenager, still too embarrassed to acknowledge that she enjoyed her work. At work, she found herself embracing all the opposite qualities: she was cheerful, kind, confident, punctual, polite, docile, eager and quick to learn. In other words, she was a person she looked forward to being whenever she was at home. Most of all, for the first time in her life, she was actually becoming good at something, and valued for it; having once tasted the satisfaction of being useful and pleasing to others, she was hooked. That ’becoming’ was, admittedly, gradual; it couldn’t be denied that at first Isabel simply wasn’t very good at domestic tasks, and tended to rush them, as Mrs Marsham realised the morning after the party when she inspected the ground floor toilet and front garden. But patience would come, and with it self-discipline, competence, and deep respect for the work.

During the week, Isabel apprenticed at the hotel, where, like Kate before her, she learned valuable skills and got used to the rhythm of a full working day. The housekeeper, cold at first, became friendlier after Izzy profusely apologised, and soon they were on excellent terms. She made a very pretty chambermaid, and got excellent tips from the male guests, but she also discovered a deep satisfaction in returning a room to its pristine state. One day her mother passed a room as she was cleaning it. ‘Mrs Macaulay says you’re doing a terrific job,’ she said; ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Isabel glowed inside. ‘Thanks, mum.’

On Sunday evenings she wanted to volunteer with Kate, and gave Philip a ring to discuss it. ‘Unfortunately our team is rather full at the moment,’ he said. It was true: the flighty drop-outs at the shelter had allowed a team of committed regulars to coalesce. ‘But Kate tells me you’re a well-behaved young miss and keen to work, is that right?’

‘Er, yep,’ said Isabel with a nervous laugh.

‘Well, can I suggest you volunteer instead at my hospital instead? The wards always need support. Come in next week and we’ll talk about it.’

Isabel went in and met the hospital housekeeper. They needed someone to make tea and coffee, prepare trays of food, help serve the meals on the wards, tidy up, assist with supplies and offer companionship to the patients. She thought she could do it, and they took her on. ‘Remember,’ said Kate told her before her first shift, ‘when you go out on that ward, you aren’t Isabel Kinley. Nobody cares about your concerns and worries, and nor should you. You’re simply there to serve the patients.’ And Isabel loved it.

But it was her Saturday job at the Marshams that she enjoyed the most. After two weeks shadowing Kate, she felt comfortable on her own; it helped that Kate was such a generous and patient teacher. Here, unlike at home, Isabel took great care with her appearance, wearing her hair up, her black shoes shined, her blouse and skirt ironed, and—her own idea—a dove-grey apron that she found in the Marshams’ kitchen and had to practise tying in an even bow behind her back. It made her feel like Kate. Irène was delighted with this voluntary addition to her new cleaner’s ensemble, but had to tell her off the first time for not tucking the neck strap under the collar of her blouse: ‘Attention to detail, my girl!’ She was scheduled to finish at the Marshams’ at four each week, but, mindful of her faux pas after the party, she made it a point of pride at the end of every shift to ask the family if there were any extra chores, and to do them gladly if given. Mrs Marsham regularly checked her work, and was candid in her criticisms, but she always gave her assessments in private at the end of the day, so as not to embarrass her in front of the family or guests. At first Isabel was shocked at how much she had missed over the day: dust behind a table lamp, streaks on a bathroom mirror, creases on ironed sheets, unstrained tea leaves in the pot, stains on the kitchen floor, waste items in the recycling bin, eggshell in the omelettes, streaks under the rim of the toilet—it went on and on. 'You really need to start doing better,' Irène admonished her after her second shift; 'take more pride in your work.' Isabel nodded thoughtfully, still getting used to the new feeling of responsibility, of actually having to answer for herself. 'I'm really sorry, madame. I will do better. I promise.' 

She began to take notes at the weekly review, and always thanked Mrs Marsham for her time. She was learning, slowly, that domestic service was not an easy job for idiots, but skilled labour that required care to do well. Her craving for her employer’s approval only increased, and she worked hard to improve, even as Irène raised her standards to reflect the girl’s growing experience. Sometimes Isabel would even ask politely if she could stay later, unpaid, to redo imperfect work, patiently re-scrubbing a floor or re-ironing a difficult pleated skirt until it was satisfactory. Mrs Marsham, impressed at such maturity and initiative, soon took to calling her la bonne parfaite. If Emma could have seen her, she might have been struck by the resemblance in spirit to a younger Kate—and she would have shook her head in disbelief.

Over the course of the summer, Isabel’s relations with Frédérique changed dramatically; she forgot entirely about their friendship, and came to think of her instead as a demanding superior, ‘Miss Marsham’. Irène had made it clear from the start that, whatever unpleasantness had happened before, Isabel was to follow any orders given by her old friend, and graciously at that. Frédérique, for her part, quickly tired of bullying Isabel and began to accept her as a servant; she spoke curtly and thought nothing of telling her to fix her a snack or run an errand, but it was without any mockery or malice. At the end of the summer, Freddie took her friends, Ben included, to Paris, and soon after that, went off to Oxford to study History. Isabel had decided that university was not for her, and her apprenticeship at the hotel had come to an end. One Saturday, as she was shining the taps in the master bedroom’s en suite, Irène came in and asked her to report to the study.

She had a proposition for Isabel. ‘Mr Marsham and I have been thinking about replacing our dailies with a full-time housekeeper, to live in. I want you to consider taking the position. You can have Freddie’s old room. Your duties would be full care of the house, of course, breakfast and dinner service, parties, but also some secretarial work for my husband, organisation, and so on. A full salary. I understand you volunteer at the hospital on Sundays, and you may still do that. In fact, I insist on it. What do you say, Isabel?’

She did not have to think about it. ‘I would be honoured, madame. When can I start?’