Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 7.

by Jackie J

After dinner the Master and Mistress of Bracken Hall were talking in the parlour and James was anxious to know how preparations for the gala were progressing, it was just over a week away.

Lucinda sighed.

“Well, the Jacksons won’t be with us this year they are travelling, and Patricia is doubtful but everyone else responded, so a full house all the same. I have one fly in the ointment that I am trying to resolve. Madeley still hasn’t found a replacement maid, and the temporary maid from Mayfair, Milly, leaves at the end of the week. I have told Madeley that we can’t be short staffed for the gala weekend, and I am hopeful of keeping this temporary maid here. Milly is good, in fact very good, according to Madeley, what do you think of her?”

James tops up his whiskey from the decanter.

“Can’t say I know the woman, our maids all look the bloody same to me, devoid of personality, yes Sir, no Sir, like penguins in their uniforms about their work. I know Gwyneth and Betty of course but they are different, I rarely see the others.”

Lucinda takes the opportunity to have a dig at her husband about the amount of time he spends away from the hall.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 6.

by Jackie J

Two weeks a maid at Bracken Hall, and I have settled into a maid’s life and the work routines with Jenny. The cleaning is mundane and can be tiring but why wouldn’t it be. The mistress is quite obsessive, regarding the overall cleanliness of the residence: everything must be kept immaculate and pristine.  A misplaced ornament, a smear or trace of dust brings humiliating chastisement. Jenny is resentful of the belittling of her efforts but for me, this reinforcement of my lowly status, serves only to encourage and deepen my desires of humbling servility. I was teased about my refined accent by Jenny and the other maid’s during my first few days, I still am, but much less so.

My concocted back story brought an understanding but little sympathy. A wealthy family left destitute, I had been forced to enter service and become a housemaid. Jenny taking some pleasure that I had been reduced in status and having to now work like her, a common maid. Having proved my worth, with brush, mop, and cloth, and not shirked the hardest or dirtiest of tasks, Jenny accepted “The posh maid” was a good worker. During moments of reflection, to my current circumstance, I do wonder if the privations of a maid that I endure, in contrast to the opulence and lavish lifestyle of my masters, is not softened knowing the comforts of Crestley House await me following my time here. There is a total indifference and unwavering arrogance shown to the staff by all the family, my curtsies of deference, offered should they pass by whilst at work, unacknowledged and ignored as if I am invisible.  I have little doubt however, that should such deference not be shown, I would feel the nondecorative use of the leather strap hanging in the kitchens.

Caption: The Imposter.

Despite having spent the last three years living as the wealthy widow Linda Mallory, Gabi couldn't help but still see a maid in the mirror. That was who she in truth was and it was a self image she had a hard time leaving behind. After all she had never intended on perpetrating a masquerade like this, it just kinda happened.

She had only been in the employ of Mrs. Mallory, who was new to town like herself, for a few months before her employer suddenly disappeared hang gliding. It was sad, she seemed like a decent enough lady, but at the time what really worried Gabi was that she had yet to be paid and was afraid she might never get paid. That was what led Gabi to impersonate her the first time.

Gabi knew it was wrong, but it seemed like a victimless crime. All she meant to do was dress up in some of Mrs. Mallory's designer clothes, style her hair like hers and drive her luxury coupe downtown to the bank. There she would withdraw enough from the lady's account to make up for what she was owed. They were about the same age and build and few people in town knew either of them. Simple enough of a plan really.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

The large envelope nervously opened, and the contents laid out on my desk, I notice the same letterhead used for the confirmation of Mrs Burtonshaw to be my temporary housekeeper, Mayfair Domestic Services, any similarity to that previous correspondence ends there. No detail of Mrs Burtonshaw working for me, but of myself, well Miss Brannigan, working for her. All very formal and detailed.  I sit back and read the main letter.

Dear Miss Brannigan,

Following the completion of your service for Miss Williams, at Crestley House, and your wish to become one of our maids, I write to inform you that your application to join Mayfair Domestic Services was successful and your maid registration is now complete. Your registration certificate is enclosed along with your identification disc which you will wear at all times whilst in service.

Your first assignment is at Bracken Hall, being employed for general maid duties. You will report on the sixth of October to the housekeeper, Mrs Madeley. The address you will find on your letter of introduction, which is enclosed. I need not remind you of the high standards that are expected of you, of all Mayfair domestic servants, of which you are now one. Your contract at Bracken Hall is for one month, and I will expect favourable reports when your time there is concluded. Don’t let me down Milly.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 4.

by Jackie J

Linda is back at Crestley Manor and the household is returning to its normal routines. It was awkward at first, of course it was, not only for me but for Mrs Burtonshaw. What I had done could not be undone, not that I would ever wish it to be. During the first days, after Linda’s return, when Mrs Burtonshaw’s and my own paths crossed, I had to stop myself from lowering a curtsy. Calling her Miss crossed my lips a few times which brought an exchange of knowing smiles between us.

What I have noticed, since Linda’s return, something perhaps I wasn’t aware of previously, is how often I interact directly with Linda and how much of her time I take from her. Bringing tea or refreshments when I desire, the preparation of my clothing, a book from the library or any other such task.  Keeping pace with Mrs Renwick’s daily rota had not been an issue for me and I had wondered, at the time, why Linda often appeared hurried in her work. I of course had not been at the beck and call of a Mistress had I. Reflecting on this aspect of Linda’s work I couldn’t help myself from feeling a little cheated that I had not had a mistress to serve, but then how could I have, I was the mistress. Having been a month a maid I cannot help feeling restless, that I should be doing things, no doubt these feelings will pass but I am doubting my life can ever return to what it was. A ridiculous madness I am sure, but each time I see Linda I am questioning my worthiness of my privilege. Harbouring feelings of resentment towards her, jealous of the simple servility of her existence, an existence I had shared and known, and what should be worrying but isn’t, an existence that I still covet.

Story: Kristina's New Client.

A new submission from Kristina Katyn, the author of  Kristina in Training, Polish Au Pair Takes Control, and Kristina's Secret Cleaning Job. 

Copyright 2021 by Kristina Katyn and Peter242

Kristina is out of practice and the poor quality of her cleaning leads to punishment

Author's note: I wrote this story together with my friend Peter242 as a follow up to our earlier Kristina stories.  He has written other stories too, all as Peter242.  In real life, I have worked as a cleaner and housekeeper for a number of lovely families and hard-working single professional ladies, ranging from doctors and professors to fashion models and teachers.  I came to love cleaning work and I used to think up fantasies to relieve the tedium and physical effort.  You never know what your own cleaning girl may be thinking about!  My cleaning jobs paid my way through college and though now professionally qualified I still clean in my spare time for my ex and a small number of favourite clients, because I came to know them so well, and they like having me clean for them.  This story is based at least in part (!) on my own experiences.  We hope you enjoy it.
 


As Kristina stepped down from the bus and walked along the street, she was just thrilled that she had managed to get back home to the big city after such a long stay away during COVID lockdown.  She really appreciated the fact that her relatives had let her stay with them on their farm in the countryside because there was lots of open space there and wonderful views compared to the restricted views along an identikit street from her own home in London.  She had had to do quite a bit of helping out for them to justify her stay, of course, when not working remotely from her bedroom, but at least now she could get back to what she saw as her long-term calling, which was domestic service. 

Kristina was wearing her cleaning uniform as she did for all her cleaning jobs, mainly black with bits of white here and there and a hem just below the knee, partly disguised by a blue and white shawl, but anyone who saw her walking along knew what she was, which was a low-class cleaner and housemaid.  Kristina never minded that though, as being identified by passers-by as a domestic enhanced her feeling of being a low-status menial worker, which was the feeling that she most craved.  Kristina longed for the permanent simplicity of servitude as a way to escape the responsibility and stress of her intellectually and politically complex in-house legal position, and constantly dreamed about scrubbing kitchen floors and hanging up laundry in the houses of her betters, and of being reduced in status to the lowliest of the low, a domestic cleaner, a cleaning lady, a maid, a servant, a skivvy.

Caption Sunday: Slacker Sarah.

Sometimes you never learn how weird your best friend really is...and how GOOD a friend she can be...

I learned six months ago she’d won the lottery—a BIG win—but the way I learned was not happy for her at all! Nosy, domineering relatives of hers blabbed about her win—on FACEBOOK for Christ’s sake! A week later at 11pm(!) I heard a knock on my door and my friend Sarah came in. She apologized for being so late, and then spent ten minutes sobbing on my shoulder.

When she could talk, but still crying her eyes out, she said she didn’t really need all that money, but that her life was now HELL! All the people she knows—who she has issues with—were camping out, in her face, demanding a piece of her! She OWED this to them, they said; and it took two straight days for her to get to my place without being followed or tracked! She asked me if I could please, PLEASE, drive her to the airport!

After dropping her off, she hugged me for a full minute, me patting her on the shoulder, until she trotted towards the ticket counter...

* * * * *

Those six months later I got a message from a Twitter tag I didn’t recognise. Very briefly (Twitter is ALWAYS brief, but no matter), this tag let me know she was Sarah, and to please look into my primary bank account, and that instructions on how much the I.R.S. was owed was in my email.

The email said she was now a hotel housekeeper—because it was a good way to serve people...while being totally ignored! I smiled and shook my head—I had no IDEA Sarah was this weird!

* * * * *

My bank account today has 3 million dollars more than yesterday...