Story: Annabelle's New Role

By Violet Carson

Let me introduce myself, I’m just over a month away from my 28th birthday, my name is Annabelle Jemima Parfitt (known as AJ to my friends) and I’ve been married to the gorgeous Mark for almost three years. We live in a four-bedroom detached house with a large garden and double-car garage in a beautiful English village just outside St. Albans, 30 minutes north of London. Despite the on-going protestations of Mark’s parents (his mother in particular) we have no plans to have any children in the near future.

I was born Annabelle Ophelia Edwards to two frightfully ambitious middle class parents, a bank manager and a school teacher who were simply desperate for me to make the most of life’s opportunities, hence the horrendously pretentious names I was given. They couldn’t afford to send me to a boarding school as much as they would have liked to, but I did go to a very good girl’s school outside Reading where I was brought up. In addition I studied piano to Grade 8 in addition to taking ballet lessons and having tennis coaching. I’m 5ft 7” tall with a slim toned figure, firm pert 34B breasts, long legs and slim athletic waist and have blond expensively highlighted wavy hair tumbles that go just over my shoulders My only obvious physical shortcoming is that unfortunately I’m rather short sighted but from the age of 18 onwards I have worn contact lenses which, if anything, make my eyes slightly larger in appearance and hence to most people, boys in particular more attractive.

I have to admit that all my parents support, hectoring, encouragement and hopes paid off as I was offered a place at one of Oxford University’s oldest colleges to study Classics which I passed with a 2.1 Honours degree.  However, this pales into significance when compared to my mother’s delight at my leaving university with the previously mentioned Mark as my by then long-term boyfriend.

Story: The Demise of Lady Charlotte Rhodes: Revisited.

One of the readers of this blog has provided a major re-write and re-edit of Jackie J's The Demise of Lady Charlotte Rhodes, which has been one of the most-read stories here. I've now replaced the old version with a new one, the original has gone through a professional edit, given an epilogue and is now nearly twice as long. I hope you enjoy the new version as much as I did. You can read it here.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 12.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I could tell that Signora was genuinely surprised when she saw me coming in. “I can’t believe it, Molly, you look so pretty, so real; your friend Linda is so clever. But how you managed to pay for all this; was the money enough?”

“Linda oper to help pay, Ma’am,” I said nearly curtseying but stopping myself the last minute, I wasn’t in my uniform now.

“How kind of her, she is such a good friend. I love your short skirt and blouse outfit, it’s so girly, so Filipina girly. I bet you would be the envy of your village if they could see you now. John Carlo is going to love this.”

I felt uneasy again when she mentioned John Carlo, I wasn’t sure how the whole situation would develop but I had to thank my employer for being also so generous, “Thank you, Ma’am, give me money por buy new clothes, pirst time have new clothes, no uniporm, since work for Signora Matei in Milano, Ma’am.” I said not forgetting my bad English with the heavy sing-song accent.

Story: Maid in China. Part 2.

By Barefoot Servant

With Mrs. Kim’s permission, Rosario retreated to the kitchen to set out lunch for the family and guests. Maddie was, by default, left to hand out presents. She had attended enough of Jenny’s birthday parties—seen Rosario do it often enough—that she was familiar with Jenny’s preferred protocol. Maddie carried one present at a time from the table where they had all been stacked to Jenny, read the tag indicating who it was from, and handed it to Jenny.

Jenny opened the presents at a perfectly humiliating pace, quickly enough to keep Maddie’s servant bells really jingling, slowly enough to savor the moment.

Lunch service, to Maddie’s surprise, provided something of a breather—and a break from the dreadful bells tied around her ankles. Lunch—cheeseburgers with sides like chips and dip, potato salad, baked beans, pasta salad, and, of course, Rosario’s vegetable tray—was served buffet style. The guests assembled their own burgers, and Maddie and Rosario had only stand behind the buffet to dish out the side items. There was hardly any jingling at all.

That all changed, of course, once everyone had been served. Rosario stayed behind the buffet to serve anyone who returned for seconds; and Maddie was again dispatched on drink duty.

Story: Who's the Maid Now?

An old caption of mine, Who's the Maid Now, has inspired one of my favorite Fictionmania writers, Belladonna, to write a full story. It turned out to be one of the best lady-to-maid stories I've read recently. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Who's the Maid Now?

By Belladonna

Victoria Lightfoot turned over in her bed as she saw the morning light piercing through the dark curtains of her room.  She grinned at the feeling of her silk sheets as she pulled them across her smooth skin. Her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them to glance up at the Raphael inspired mosaic she had paid a small fortune to have installed on her bedroom ceiling the year before.

Her eyes tore away from the ostentatious reminder of her roots and privileges. Victoria lived a life she knew others would kill to possess for themselves.

The four-hundred million dollar fortune that her aristocratic parents had bequeathed her had left Victoria without a real worry for a lifetime.  It had all come too fast for her though.

The father she cherished, that had worshiped her as his darling little girl, had passed when she was only seven.  He was much older than her mother, who even Victoria saw as little more than a trophy for her beloved father.  He was someone she could not stop thinking about when she was alone.  

Despite her constant thoughts of him, she struggled to remember what her father looked like.  It was only pictures that triggered her own memories, but she was no longer sure if her memories of how looked were truly her own or based on the images captured.

If he had lived, it would have all been different for her.  She was sure of it.

Story: Miss Elizabeth Fitzroy Jones

By Jackie J

When Elizabeth’s parents died suddenly, whilst not overtly wealthy, they had provided for their only daughter. Placed in the guardianship of an Oxford professor, with the specific instructions that their residual wealth be used for her education, she was also to have an unspoilt adolescence, learning self sufficiency, given she would be alone in an unforgiving world. The professor was true to his promise and, during her formative years, between relentless studying and, much to the delight of the professor’s wife, Elizabeth helped with the upkeep of the household. At the age of twenty one Elizabeth was glad to be free of these shackles and face the world.

Becoming a Barrister is not easy, for a young woman to become a Barrister very difficult, for a young woman in 1919, almost impossible.  The Law, a male domain, the name of Elizabeth Fitzroy Jones stuck in the throat of almost all the judiciary of the land. But she was good, very good in fact exceptional.  Not only did she have the brain, she also had the looks which infuriated the establishment even more.

Having forced her way into law school and graduated at the top of the all male class she had won an intern at Dawson, Roscoe and Mallard, the top law firm in the centre of an increasingly cosmopolitan London.

How was your day, fallen aristocratic lady?

One of my favorite authors, T.H. Enerdly, pointed me to an interesting account that, while not exactly a lady-to-maid story, is nonetheless very interesting. While we wait for updates of Molly, China story, as well as a new piece from Jackie J, here is a short real life downgrade tale of an aristocratic lady that has lost the wealth and the status that used to go with her title:

Bourgeois, as usual. Boring and tiring. Each morning when I wake up to go to work I can’t help cursing my own fate. I still can’t believe it: How did I get to this point? My family dates back to the 13th-century French Angevin kings’ invasion of Sicily but has devoured its entire fortune. I was left with nothing as heredity, just a pair of wooden chairs. The only sign of nobility is the blue blood running in my veins.

Not much, eh? And my aristocratic title? A piece of paper. When I turned 24, my earl dad looked me straight in the eye and told me I had to find a job. I am the first of my lineage to work for a living, and it’s not even great work. I occasionally teach Italian at a local high school. Salary? Not even $1,000 per month..

But what I can’t stand is what I do each day and what my mother, let alone my grandmother or great-grandmother, would have never lowered down to: household chores. Cleaning the house, buying groceries, getting the washing machine going, cooking twice a day, ironing — oh, I hate that! Paying bills and running a household is just not part of my DNA.