Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 2.

by Jackie J

Chapter 2

I should have done it myself over the last few days, before Mrs Burtonshaw arrived. It made sense. I could have looked in Miss Renwick’s office and found her daily rota sheets. There had been no urgency to what I did, what I was doing. Now there is. The early start and late finish are no real surprise. Linda worked these hours. Six in the morning through seven in the evening. If I keep on top of the tasks on the rota, which I am determined to do, I will make time for breaks.

What a day. Just Mrs Burtonshaw’s evening meal and then I am done, everything on the rota completed.

I have had to visit the kitchens a number of times to ensure my meal is not ruined but apart from that I am quite impressed with my mistress's maid.  The lunch she prepared was most tasty and she has followed the rota I gave her and everything on the list is ticked off, very impressive.

Making my way to the maid’s quarters I find Milly changing her apron and smile at the various items on top of the drawers and by the sink.

“What is this Milly, why are they here in your room?”

I curtsy. The few times I have forgotten to do that throughout the day when approached by Miss I have been mildly chastised. Quite rightly of course, it is a maid’s place to offer deference after all.

“They are some things I brought down from my room, lotions and the like and the du Maurier scented soaps, I always use them for my complexion.”

This will require my sternest response and I pick up one of the tablets of expensive soap.

“From your room Milly, this is your room. These have been taken from Miss Williams's rooms and you will return them immediately. How dare you take items belonging to the mistress of the household for your own use? Should I ever find anything else belonging to Miss Williams in your room, you will be punished, is that understood, Milly?”

Fussing with my clean apron, in preparation to ready Miss’s evening meal and serve, I look confused at Mrs Burtonshaw and realise, from her expression, she is serious.  My toiletries ? Why wouldn’t I have them with me? My room, Mistresses room?

“But surely…”

My maid looks at me in confusion. I intensify my glare and with my voice raised I interrupt whatever she was thinking to say.

“But, but, but, but nothing Milly, am I not clear? You are the maid at Crestley House, what would a maid be doing with such fine and expensive items? They have obviously been brought to your quarters from the mistresses’ rooms. You will return them immediately and there be an end to it, understood?"

Not used to being interrupted, but then ask myself the question, would a maid be so bold to question the housekeeper. The answer to that is definitely not. Not only that but I wilt under the veiled aggression in her voice and look down at my feet feeling awkward. Of course, a mere maid would not have the use of such luxuries. My response is contrite, and I wobble into a curtsy.

“Yes miss, understood, miss. I will return them to my, sorry I mean Miss Williams's rooms.”

My expression softens slightly. I have not had to chastise as much as encourage my mistress maid during the day regarding various matters. Her deference of course, having to curtsy to me must be quite strange for her, but it is becoming more natural. The attention to her cooking, whilst at other tasks on her rota, but watching her now, wilt in front me like she has, tells me she is primed and willing to offer unquestioning acceptance of my control over her. Remarkable, truly remarkable something to develop and encourage in my would-be maid.

“Very well, Milly. Look at me. I said look at me.  A word of caution: NEVER seek to question me again. Is that understood?”

Slowly lifting my head, I look into her penetrating eyes I have not felt such humbling emotions since my school days and curtsy.

“Yes, Miss.” 

Having cleared everything back to my rooms, I smile at that contradiction closing the bedroom door, no longer my bedroom, Miss Williams's bedroom.

Making final preparations for Miss Burtonshaw’s evening meal I reflect on my first full day of being a maid under the supervision of a housekeeper. I told her everything, having found me aproned when she first arrived, divulging my innermost thoughts to her. She could have scorned and derided my secret passion but, she chose to take me for her maid, all be it only until Linda returns.

Already, after just this one day, not deciding what to do but being told what to do, in such an authoritative manner, has left me wanting more. Given a maid’s name, being spoken down to, offering my deference, Miss Burtonshaw’s implied differentiation of Milly her maid and Miss Williams. A contrived separation I initially found disconcerting but already I am beginning to and wanting to accept and indeed embrace. The encounter in my room, being admonished for the possession of luxuries and then deprived of them, how that made me feel, those genuine penitent emotions that were engendered within me. Yes, I want more, above all else I want more, and whilst it lasts, who better to provide such an exquisite denigration of the mistress of Crestley House than Mrs Burtonshaw. I will put any and all reservations behind me and think of myself to be nothing but a humble maid, maid Milly.   

Entering the dining room, I curtsy and place Miss Burtonshaw’s plate in front of her and stand back.

“This looks very nice, Milly. Don’t just stand there, away to your own meal in the kitchens.”

I watch my maid curtsy and leave the dining room.

The question why a rich and privileged and dare I say attractive young woman would want to do this will certainly haunt me for some time. Once over her initial embarrassment, of me finding her aproned in her own home, she did explain why she was dressed like she was, doing what she was. Even confessing her suppressed desires for such but why, I cannot make sense of it and doubt I ever will. She can cook that’s for sure, the pastry of this pie is delightful. I doubt this Linda girl could do better. Perhaps a few days in real service will exercise her demons and it will be an end of it. I have already decided that I will treat her no different than any other maid in my charge and see where that leads. From what I have seen so far, that is exactly what she wants.

Day two of Mrs Burtonshaw’s regime and I am in the second of the reception rooms busy cleaning the windows ensuring the corners of each are given special attention, just like I have been told to do by Miss. I had not bothered with the mop cap during my previous pretence, but Miss insists that I now wear one, that along with tying my hair up tight in a bun. The result being, along with my shapeless dress and apron, was little resemblance to the Mistress of Crestley House. A maid I am and a maid I resemble: from my capped head down to my shiny heavy shoes. Only those who knew me well, of whom there are few, at first glance and without consideration would recognise me to be other than the household’s maid.

Late in the morning I am outside. It is a lovely warm sunny day and although, with a broom in my hands sweeping the pathways around the house, it is no real hardship, apart from the heavy cumbersome clothing I now wear.

My daydreaming is broken by a loud whistle followed by an unfamiliar coarse male voice from the lane, which is some distance away.

“Good to see you working hard, Linda.”

My heart beats a little faster. I do not turn only raise my arm to acknowledge him, whoever it is. I chuckle that he thinks I am Linda, but why wouldn’t he, who else could it be? My sweeping continues around the perimeter of the building finishing my task by brushing off the rear yards. I am actually sweating, and the palms of my hands are already reddened and sore from the brush handle. Delicate hands not used to such roughening. Thoughts of soothing with balm are dispelled, Milly does not have such cream and lotion’s, does she?

The soda from the laundry in the afternoon does nothing to help my cracked skin from the broken blisters but with work to do I have little time to contemplate my discomfort. I wasn’t overly tired the previous day but now, late afternoon, preparing the vegetables for the evening meal, my enthusiasm is starting to wane. Supper served, the table cleared, plates, pots and cutlery cleaned and returned to the cupboards and drawers I sigh looking at tomorrows rota that Miss has posted in the kitchens. The praise offered for the meal I have served is small consolation for my efforts, and I am ready for my bed. So tired am I that I start to climb the stairs towards my bedroom but, tripping over my apron, reminds me I have forfeited my rights to such opulent accommodations, and troop back to the maid’s quarters, my quarters. My only visits to the upstairs bedrooms will be to clean and prepare them along with turning down Miss Burtonshaw’s bed in the early evening.

An early start to prepare breakfast. Miss likes my cooking, especially my breakfasts. It is nice to start the day with her compliments.

Wiping down paintwork, in preparation for polishing, I hear the knocker on the door. Dropping my rag into the pail, before wiping my hands on my apron, I consider who it could be calling at the manor. I had already received the mail earlier from someone who, to my disguised amusement, did not give me a second look, and have little fear in answering the door.

A mature woman stands on the steps asking to speak with Miss Williams.

I am about to ask why, but consider if it is my place now to be so impertinent. Before I decide, Miss  appears behind me.

“That will be all, Milly. Back to your work.”

A curtsy is expected and given.

“Yes, Miss”

A visitor, and with Milly dismissed back to her chores I ask her business.

“I have just told your maid I wish to speak with Miss Williams. Are you Miss Williams?”

I smile.

“No, but do come in. Miss Williams is not at home but hopefully I can help you.”

A short discussion and I close the door, the visitor having left. Back in the office I ponder what to do. Mrs Redfern, Linda’s Auntie, has told me some very interesting news. Her sister, Linda’s mother, is indeed very poorly, and Linda will not be returning to work for some time having to look after her. Miss Williams had agreed to a few days away from her work, but it is likely to be two weeks or more perhaps a month. Having informed Mrs Redfern that Linda’s position would be kept open for her, and that she was not to worry, in that a temporary maid had been employed at the residence.

Overhearing the conversation between Mrs Burtonshaw and the visitor I do not interrupt, but now the woman has left I am anxious to speak with Mrs Burtonshaw.

I enter the housekeeper’s office and forget to curtsy before speaking.

“Linda is not coming back for two weeks possibly a month. That is ridiculous, we will have to find someone. A maid, a temporary maid.  We cannot manage without a maid for two weeks, let alone a month, you have said as much yourself.”

Back at my desk studying the weekly accounts, Milly bustles into my office looking rather flustered and without offing deference blurts out her thoughts having listened in on my conversation with Mrs Redfern. She is rightly concerned, and she is correct, the household could not manage without a maid for such an extended period. But our thoughts, on how to resolve the situation, are obviously at odds with one another.

I stand and glare at my maid my voice steady and firm, she will, or she won’t but my guess is, handled correctly, she will.

“How dare you burst in here showing no respect? Sit down girl and calm yourself.”

I have forgotten my place, but not without good reason, and I start to apologise sitting in the chair opposite the housekeeper’s desk. I watch Mrs Burtonshaw sit, her eyes angry and staring.

“Sorry Miss, it’s just…”

I do not relinquish my hard stare and cut her off mid-sentence.

“Shut up, how dare you listen in on my conversations? I have slapped maids' backsides for less.”

I watch Milly squirm and look to floor like she does. Was it being cut short with what she was going to say, a realisation that she is a maid and no longer the mistress of Crestley House, or could it be the prospect of having her backside spanked? From everything else she confessed to me about all this perhaps she would relish such humiliation.

"We will have to find a temporary maid. We cannot manage without a maid. There is no we. May I remind you of your position girl? This is no business of yours, is it? Well is it, Milly?”

I cannot look at her, my face is blushed, and my confidence shattered. My impertinence exposed and chastised as if a common maid, the threat of being spanked. Say something, do something, stand up to her, stop this now. I look up meekly at her eyes burning into me. No don’t say it, don’t, but I cannot help myself and mumble through quivering lips.

“No, Miss”

I just stare at her until her head lowers content my maid is back in its box. She looks pathetic, is pathetic, hard to think she is, was the mistress of this manor only days ago with how she looks and acts now. having her wear that mop cap with her lovely hair scrunched into invisibility certainly adds to her servile appearance and demeanour. A willingly worn crown, like it’s apron, proclaiming its accepted subjugation.

“No, that’s correct, no business of yours, of that of a maid at all. Yes, Linda will not be returning as agreed with Miss Williams, and that is correct the manor cannot be without a maid, but that is not a problem as I already have a temporary maid, don’t I? Now back to your work and never disturb me like that again. I have never tolerated insubordination and I won’t start with you, temporary maid or not, do you understand?”

What am I doing, if I don’t say something now, I am giving tacit agreement for this woman to do has she wishes with me? That thought sends a weakening shiver through me, not of fear of consequence as it should, but of expectation and anticipation. Is this not what I really want? My subsequent actions offer just such an explicit surrender of my will. I stand, curtsy, and apologise.

“Yes Miss, I understand, sorry for the intrusion, Miss.”

I watch my maid curtsy, apologise, then turn and leave. I was expecting more resistance than that, some resistance at least. Her intention could not be clearer if written and laid before me. She wasn’t asked to remain my maid; she was told she would remain aproned. She told me much of her motivation when I arrived to find her like I did, but compulsion? That was not mentioned, but from that look of submissive compliance in her eyes before she left... Is that what she is seeking, her domination and subjugation?  I chuckle at the thought; I must supervise my maid more closely and test my suspicions.

Back at my work with the paintwork prepared I set about polishing. With the pleasant aroma of beeswax filling the room, I contemplate what I have just done or more correctly not done. Like all addicts I seek to reconcile my actions to fit my circumstances. I agreed to remain aproned, to be Mrs Burtonshaw’s maid until Linda returned, and that is still the case. Linda’s return is delayed surely better a maid for two weeks than a few days. I smile into my reflection, caught in the highly polished surface. I smile at Milly the maid.