Caption: Permanent Disguise

When war broke out in Europe Lady Elizabeth Grosvenor - and her dutiful maid Julia - were caught vacationing in the Swiss Alps. Going back home seemed almost impossible, but when news came that Elizabeth's father died, leaving his only daughter all of his wealth, she had to act. Crossing the border with Italy illegally seemed like a good idea, but the plan spectacularly backfired after Elizabeth - dressed as a peasant girl - was arrested by the Carabinieri. Julia, with all of her mistress's gowns and jewels, managed to escape capture...

Story: The Demise of Lady Charlotte Rhodes

By Jackie J; edited and expanded by Robyna Choleton (re-published October, 6 2016)

How could Lady Charlotte have known the consequences of that casual subtle touch on her breasts that morning by her maid Miss Jacobs?

Lady Charlotte Rhodes, recently widowed, could have resisted her base instincts and passed off what she now knows to have been a devious plan by Miss Jacobs, for what it first appeared, just an innocent accidental touch as she adjusted the bed linen prior to serving Lady Charlotte her morning tea.

Aroused by her maid’s delicate touch, stroking her fingers across Charlotte’s firming nipple Miss Jacob’s scheme was in motion, and having heard the soft sigh from Charlotte’s lips and seeing the wanting look in her eyes, it was now just a matter of time.

Miss Jacobs always had affections for Henry, Charlotte’s late husband, which were frequently returned before he married Charlotte.  With Henry now departed, following an accident in Kenya, which left the estate to his widow, Miss Jacobs’ dreams of one day making Henry and his wealth her own, were over.

Charlotte was not a bad Mistress of the house and she had no problem retaining Miss Jacobs when she married Henry.  She just had no idea of the history between Miss Jacobs, or Jenny as she was known to Henry, and her new husband.

Story: Departing from Milan. Part 3.

by Monica Graz

“Molegunda Apuya, Molly for short, this is your new identity, girl,” Signorina Bonifacio said as she handed me my new Filipino passport.

I picked it eagerly, slightly curtseying as it was automatic for me now and I started opening it. Of course I instantly looked at the photo. I more or less knew what to expect but what I saw was even beyond that.

A young dark woman with Asian characteristics looked back at me; the skin was Indian dark, the eyes moderately slanted and the hair jet black, straight and long, kept in the back with a simple elastic band. Signora and Signorina Bonifacio wanted my hair to be short and easy to maintain for a domestic, but Conchita convinced them otherwise saying that as a Filipina I should be a devout Catholic and the Catholic Church was discouraging women to have short hair.

I could see the white collar of my blue uniform dress and the frilly edge of my white apron bib. I was obliged to wear a maid’s uniform when the photo was taken. Even in my passport photo I couldn’t escape what I became so rapidly in the past few months.

Story: Departing from Milan. Part 2.

by Monica Graz

I was standing in front of Signora, head slightly bowed, hands crossed in front of my apron. As usual, I was all messy after a whole morning of scrubbing and cleaning, but Signora couldn’t care less. I was there to serve her and strictly follow orders regardless of how demeaning they could be.

- How are you doing with your Filipino education, Molly? - she asked rather casually. - Is your Tagalog improving? Conchita believes that you are an eager pupil though you have so much Western influence in you that becoming an Asian girl requires probably more drastic steps.

I looked at her timidly, not knowing once more how to answer to that, not to mention that my poor Italian was a constant obstacle to fully expressing myself.

Story: Departing from Milan. Part 1.

by Monica Graz

PART 1

I was dressed in a quite simple manner when Conchita took me out to meet her Filipino friends that warm Sunday afternoon. It has been the first time I wasn’t wearing my maid’s uniform since I arrived in Signora’s house two months ago; the first day I had the chance to go out as a ‘normal person’.

Since I had no other clothes except my maid’s uniforms, Conchita gave me an outfit to wear and I was dressed following her instructions. A pair of black cropped trousers, a pink polyester blouse of some sort of cheap glittery material, a pair of canvas shoes, a silver cross around my neck as my single piece of jewelry. I kept my jet black hair in a tight high ponytail and I had very little makeup on simply to emphasize my more oriental looking eyes.

Story: Arriving in Milan. Part 8.

by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte, Parts 3 and 4, 5 and 6 and Part 7 are by Monica Graz)

It was mid morning three weeks later and once more I was mopping the floor, this never ending repetitive job of a maidservant. I was as usually in a disheveled form, wearing my cheap light blue chlorine stained poly cotton dress, my equally stained apron and my rough-looking clogs. I still wasn’t allowed to use rubber gloves and my permanently red hands started developing small calluses. They were the hands of a manual domestic laborer by now.

I stopped once more in front of the hallway mirror and looked at myself. I still couldn’t believe how different I looked. A completely transformed person looked back at me; a Filipino maid looked back at me! I was a transformed person because under Signora’s strict instructions I had a complete makeover. Her idea of turning me into a proper servant in all aspects was to make me resemble a South East Asian woman and completely separate me from my white European origins. My longish hair was dyed raven black, my eyes got a more oriental look with some sort of permanent makeup and my skin became several shades darker with the use of a special solution that wears out very slowly, something like a permanent tan.

In the mean time I was not allowed to speak English any more. I had to communicate with anyone I came in contact with in my poor Italian. As Signora said I needed a limited vocabulary to perform my duties as a servant, there was no need for me to participate in elaborate intellectual conversations. Though I tried to improve my Italian by studying it hard every night, being deprived from my native language was quite a blow. I did start feeling more like an immigrant domestic worker in an alien environment.

Story: Arriving in Milan. Part 7.

by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte, Parts 3 and 4, 5 and 6 are by Monica Graz)


I hurriedly turned back to my cleaning job, wiping the window glass with a special soft tissue to eliminate all marks when I heard Signora’s authoritative voice, “Molly, come here at once, Signorina Connolly has some questions for you.”

“Subito Signora,” I answered with a slightly raised voice as I started descending from my short ladder. I wiped my wet hands to my already badly stained apron and tried to straighten up my uniform dress but I knew I looked quite disheveled after all those hours of constant manual work.

I quickly approached the two ladies sitting comfortably in the plush armchairs and I curtseyed as expected, saying in my pigeon Italian, “Prego Signora.”

“You are allowed to speak in English with Miss Connolly and answer her questions truthfully and to the point girl,” Signora said in her haughty manner.