Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 9.

by Jackie J

I don’t sleep well; I don’t sleep well at all.  For a second night I cannot get Lady Carrington, and how she makes me feel, out of my thoughts. I have to force myself to remind myself of who I actually am, who I really am. This isn’t right, I know it isn’t right, I know this must stop, I must get back to Crestley House, get back to my life or I will surely lose my mind?  

Jenny is already awake and getting dressed and soon, so am I. Boots to my feet I stand and tie the tapes of my apron into a neat bow at the base of my back. Whatever my denials and mental torment of the previous night, swathed in my cocoon of servility, my waking thoughts are only those of Milly the maid, Milly Brannigan.  Morning trays are prepared in the kitchens and, Rosy and I deliver morning tea to each of the guests’ rooms. I collect my last tray and standing outside Lady Carrington’s room I knock, enter, and curtsy.

“Your morning tea ladies.”

Lady Carrington is dressed and sat at the vanity; her sister is stood by the closet in her underwear selecting her dress for the day. Lady Carrington turns to look at me and smirks, no doubt knowing, despite the late night, I have already been at work for some time.

“Put the tray on the table girl then you can start packing our things”

Whilst I gather the ladies’ belongings into the two trunks, at the back of the room, they sit at the table sipping their tea and chatting.  They are not looking forward to the journey back to Pike Towers, I assume, rightly, that Pike Towers is where they live. Apart from the clothes they wear, everything else is packed neatly away. There is some laundry that I need to collect and pack, which I will do whilst Lady Carrington and her sister take breakfast.

The laundry collected, the two travel trunks are packed neatly and with the latches on the lids closed they are ready for their departure.

 When Lady Carrington and her sister return to their room I curtsy when they enter

“I have packed everything Miss, is there anything else you require?”

Lady Carrington just stares at me for what seems an age before she speaks in her condescending superior tone.

“How dare you girl, presuming to speak before being spoken to, and lower your gaze girl, show your respect. A good maid you undoubtably are but your voice annoys me girl, you speak above your station, and your gait, the way you stride in your walk with your head aloft, you forget your place. No doubt a throwback from before you were put to the apron. The housekeeper here and my daughter tolerates it but mark my words, my housekeeper would have you cured of such arrogant insolence if you were one of my maids. Now go and organise for these trunks to be taken down to hallway.”

I curtsy and leave, her words of admonishment ringing in my ears. She has done it to me again, arousing those irrepressible feelings that grip me, possess me, hold me spellbound in unashamed servility, an unequivocable acceptance of my inferiority in her presence. In those precious, delectable moments, which pass to swiftly, there is no thought of Miss Williams or Crestley House, only those of the common maid Milly Brannigan. 

Becoming increasingly harder, to clear such debilitating thoughts and feelings from my mind, I head down the main staircase to arrange for Lady Carrington and her sister’s luggage to be collected from their rooms.

 I do speak differently to the other maids but never considered my deportment and indeed my voice would be seen to be insolent, disrespectful?  But that is Lady Carrington’s perception of me. A good maid, but my manner and the way I speak, above my station. My thoughts are drawn to how my perceived insolent traits would be cured at the hands of Lady Carrington and her housekeeper. With a nervous shiver, thoughts quickly put from my mind.

With all the guests having departed, including Lady Carrington and her sister, who, disappointingly, never gave me a second look, I am back to my routines with Jenny. Two weeks pass and I remain haunted by the thoughts of my experiences with Lady Carrington. Fleeting though those moments of my mental capitulation to that woman’s superiority were, and with it the sense of abandonment of my own self-worth, they should serve to be a warning to where my desires to wear the apron could lead.  Of course, they don’t, my mind blinded by those exquisite, relished moments of squirming servitude, when I truly felt the reality of my darkest imaginings. Aproned and held beyond emancipation in the service of a demanding Mistress.

A new maid joined the staff at Bracken Hall following the Gala. She is quite young but industrious and is becoming familiar with the work.  Another pair of hands quite welcome for Jenny and myself.

Whilst at work polishing the main dining table Mrs Madeley tells me that she received a letter for me and that I should collect it at the end of the day.

The letter is from Mrs Burtonshaw concerning the conclusion of my time a maid at Brackley Hall. Enclosed with the letter is a rail ticket to extend my travel to meet Mrs Burtonshaw in London. I will need to collect my travel trunk, that she collected from the station, but of course there is no mention of that.  No doubt aware the letter could be read by Mrs Madeley, before I received it, there is nothing within the letter to expose my subterfuge, in fact it reinforces it.  I am to go to the address given and report to the housekeeper. It makes sense, a Mayfair maid would expect to be given a new assignment, wouldn’t she?  

I will be leaving Bracken Hall at the weekend and Jenny laughs at me trying to force myself into the dress that I arrived in. Two months of cook’s meals have certainly piled on the pounds. Accommodated, and masked most recently by the larger uniform I have been given to wear. Mrs Madeley provides a solution, I am given one of the two maids dresses I have been wearing. Thankfully I will not be returning immediately to my home and Mrs Burtonshaw will have my travel trunk containing a selection of clothes that I can wear. That thought, of resolving my dilemma, is soon dispelled, if the dress I wore when I arrived at Bracken Hall is too small, then so will the rest of my wardrobe?

Thanked by Mrs Madeley for my service I feel awful not being able to tell Jenny the truth about me. Her tears and embrace do not help. I resolve to write to her and explain, I owe her that at least. Perhaps she will understand my form of madness, that brought me to Bracken Hall to be a maid.

After a full day travelling, tired and hungry, I arrive at Kings Cross station in London and eventually find the address, written within the letter I received from Agnes. I am most surprised to find that Agnes lives in such an impressive residence. High walls surround the property and I stand outside the gates having rung the bell hanging beside them.

A tall gentleman approaches carrying a lamp and shines it on me before asking my business.

“Mrs Burtonshaw told me to come here, the Sycamores, Welbeck Road?”

The gate opens.

“You must be Milly, you are rather late, come with me.”

The gate behind me closed and locked I follow the man to a side entrance and then inside. Stood in the hallway the gentleman looks me up and down and smiles. Opening a drawer below a cupboard stood against the wall he removes a key and hands it to me.

“Mayfair maid’s second floor you are in room sixteen. Breakfast at six don’t be late.”

Unsure just where I am or what this place is I am tired and the thought of freshening up and climbing into a bed is very welcoming, but I ask the obvious question.

“I realise it is late but Is Mrs Burtonshaw here, I was to meet with her.”

The gentleman laughs.

“Mrs Burtonshaw, at the maid’s hostel, what are you thinking girl? Now, away with you, up to your room.”

At least I know where I am now, a maid’s hostel. I sigh and having climbed the stairs I find room sixteen and unlocking the door I enter. The room is small, sparse but clean, I wash and strip before collapsing into the bed. I have no timepiece, but I am awake and having dressed descend the stairs. Following the smell of cooking into a dining hall. I sit on one of the long wooden benches with, I count twelve, other women of various ages all dressed very much the same in black dresses, so I am not too much out of place.  I am ravenous and help myself to two bowls of porridge followed by ham and eggs with toast and a mug of tea. I sit whilst women come and go until I am sat alone unsure why I am here and when I will see Agnes.

A friendly lady, I take to be the cook, smiles at me whilst, assisted by a young girl, collects the plates, cutlery and mugs left on the tables.

“No work for you today girl, no matter, Mr Rogerson will soon have you busy, haven’t seen you before, you must be new? I am Patricia by the way, but call me Pat, the others do, I am the cook for my sins.”

I return her smile.

“Milly, Milly Brannigan I am waiting to see Mrs Burtonshaw I have been working in the North, Derbyshire.”

How easy that name, Milly Brannigan, now rolls off my tongue. Pat stands in front of me with her hands on hips.

“A Mayfair maid then, we have a few of you staying here, those that aren’t residential that is, though most are residential being high end. That explains why you talk like you do, all fancy like.”

The man who welcomed me when I arrived enters the room and Pat and the girl, trays in hand, scurry back into the kitchens and he walks towards me.

“Right girl, I am Mr Rogerson, I run the hostel and you will be working for me until Mrs Burtonshaw arrives, on your feet, come with me, top landings and stairs want sweeping and mopping, then you can do the hallway, I will get you an apron.”

Two days and no word from Agnes, my time spent cleaning and helping Pat in the kitchen.  Wednesday is laundry day for the top landing. The occupants of the rooms leave their bed linen on the landings which I collect and carry down to the scullery for washing. The young girl is Pats daughter, Isabelle, and is no less friendly than her mother. She has had little schooling, but she is very bright and always cheerful. Thursday, Laundry for my landing and Friday the first floor and still no word from Agnes. De facto, I am becoming the Hostels maid. The second week, along with my general cleaning duties about the hostel, the brushing and mopping of the landings and hallway is replaced with scrubbing, a fortnightly task I am told. Mr Rogerson ensures I have little time to consider anything other than the work I am given. Three weeks, and still I have heard nothing from Agnes. She knew I would be arriving here when I did, I can’t just stay here like this? But how can I leave, I have no money, no clothes to wear and, despite the maids work I am doing here, I have accumulated an outstanding debt for board and lodgings at the hostel.

Thursday of my fourth week, increasingly resigned to my fate at the hostel, Mr Rogerson finds me pressing and folding bed sheets at the back of the kitchen.

“Milly, Mrs Burtonshaw is here to see you.”

My eyes light up, at last, she is here. Having washed I try and make myself look the best I can. I have thought little of my appearance during my time a maid and even less so since being here, so I am easily pleased in that regard. Unfortunately, my appetite during my time here at the hostel did not reduce thanks to Pat, and neither has my figure. Heaven knows how or when I will be able to fit into my proper clothes. 

Entering one of the back rooms of the Hostel, one I have cleaned a number of times, Agnes is sat with Mr Rogerson who both look at me and I cannot help but instinctively curtsy.

“Miss, Mr Rogerson.”

Agnes stands and smiles.

I watch Milly enter and, without thought or prompt, offer her deference like all good maids should. Her voice yes, but in appearance and demeanour I see little if anything of the wealthy mistress of Crestley House, Miss Millicent Williams. Her mop cap sitting with a natural comfort on her cropped hair, her hair now styled in a neat bob looking even shorter than the last time we met. Her face quite podgy, smoothing out her previous fine features. Her shapely figure, once masked within the looseness of her bulky dress, is no longer slim and no longer hidden, looking rather broad at the hip, and comfortably filling out her dress.

Although hard not to acknowledge, the obvious and continued transformation from elegant lady to dowdy maid I resist my impulse.

“Milly my dear, I am pleased to hear from Mr Rogerson that you have settled in well at Sycamores. Mr Rogerson tells me that you have earned a good part of your keep with the duties you have been given. I would have been here sooner, but I have been travelling, things to attend to. Take a seat Milly we have much to discuss.”

Mr Rogerson stands to leave.

“I will leave you with your maid Agnes, let me know if you need anything.”

I take a seat and sigh, relieved at last to see Agnes of course but also able to take a rest from my labours.

“Well Milly, two months a maid at Bracken Hall, now here a further four weeks at Sycamores, you must have much to tell me, and of course you know that you can. I see you are still wearing a Bracken Hall maid’s dress, why don’t we start with that?”

Agnes is right, I have much to share from my time at Bracken Hall and here at Sycamores, there are no secrets between us concerning my desires for the apron, to be aproned. But for Agnes none of this would have been possible and whilst it is at an end now, I will be forever in her debt for that.

“The dress, can’t you tell, look at me, the cooks feeding at Bracken Hall turned me into a right pudding, and the cook’s food here is no less tempting. The dress I wore to travel to Bracken Hall, was way too small to fit me. Thankfully Mrs Madeley let me have this. I am fearful that the clothes in the trunk that you collected for me will be the same. I will have to lose some weight before they fit me again, heaven knows how long that will take. What Miss Renwick will think, when I travel back to Crestley House, and she sees me like this, I shudder to think?”

Agnes smiles at me seemingly unconcerned by my plight or that I have been put to work at this hostel these last week’s waiting for her to arrive.

“Yes, I see it now in your face Milly, I like your hair, very neat and practical for a working maid.  I wouldn’t worry about my friend Janice, Miss Renwick, Miss Williams housekeeper, there is no reason to rush back to Crestley House is there, and what would you wear, that dress? Why alarm Miss Williams housekeeper, no you cannot go back like you are, you will stay here in London with me. “

I suspect Agnes is just being polite about my weight gain and my hair, good for a working maid she says, but she is right, of course it is. Why alarm Miss Williams housekeeper? Miss Williams housekeeper, how ridiculous how readily my acceptance of that reference to myself in the third person. But in truth how distanced I now feel from that life once lived, sat here as I am, aproned, feeling and in appearance the obvious lesser of one who came to my home to be my temporary housekeeper. I consider Agnes’s offer to remain with her, rather than heading back to my home at Crestley House.

The thought of recuperating, before returning to Crestley House seems an attractive option. Like Agnes says there is no set date for my return, and to go back to Crestley House, looking like I do, would take some explaining.

I don’t wait for Milly to confirm acceptance of my invitation. Three months of not having to decide anything for herself, having been told what to do and when to do it, that decision, like all recent decisions concerning maid Milly, will be made for her, and I move our conversation forward.

“Tell me about Bracken Hall Milly, arranging for you to be aproned there, was it all you expected, having seen you at work there I suspect it was?”

Where to begin but I do, the journey to Bracken Hall, the stripping and delousing on my arrival, my acceptance into the household, the work and routines, the strictness of Mrs Madeley, the feelings of being ignored by the family, reading for the mistress. I giggle and smile when I tell of Lady Carrington, reading for her, how she made me feel and how she had me stand in front of the guests attending the gala whilst she mockingly retold my fictitious path to the apron, of my financial demise and put to the apron by the new owner of Crestley house. I mention how she thought me insolent and arrogant above my station, for speaking like I do, and the way I walk and hold myself. I confess how Lady Carrington’s chastisements and just being in her presence made me feel so disempowered, so servile, and subservient, of knowing my place, accepting that it truly was my place. My time here at Sycamores, I was worried at first, anxious not knowing where you where, not being here to meet me. Admittedly I had little choice without funds and with only the clothes I wore when I arrived, but once aproned again, it just seemed natural, that it was my place to do Mr Rogerson’s bidding. Doing the cleaning, laundry, helping cook, being the housemaid here.

I listen to Milly for over an hour, every detail, fascinating. Her enthusiasm for the apron obviously not diminished, much as I thought it wouldn’t. When she mentioned her encounter with Lady Carrington, I sensed she was reliving every moment, and not with any regret at how debased she was made to feel, on the contrary, with relish. Her concocted story, that she openly professed, of her demise from Lady to maid, quite believable, and that a Miss Williams is the current owner of Crestley house? Of course, she is, I chuckle under my breath, a Miss Williams who is currently and conveniently travelling abroad.

Then here at Sycamores, I wasn’t sure what affect her conditioning at Bracken Hall would have on her but, how readily she took up the apron again, to accept to be taken into service by Rogerson. It came naturally to her, seeing it to be her place, she freely admits to me?

My suspicions, whilst having her for my maid in her own home, that her darkest imaginings, go beyond those of merely being aproned, would seem justified. I hide my amusement, That the delusional imaginings of the wealthy Miss Millicent Williams are increasingly becoming her reality, within the persona of Milly Brannigan.

With my continued guidance, encouragement, and indulgence, I see no reason that the long-suppressed fantasy of the Mistress of Crestley House, does not truly become her reality. Accepting of her place to be nothing more than that of a lowly domestic servant, Milly Brannigan.

“Well Milly, the perfect maid, Bracken Hall, and especially Lady Carrington would seem to have had quite an effect on you in such a short time. I suspect that if she would have taken you to become one of her maids you would have been unable to resist, perhaps you are disappointed that she didn’t, am I right?”

Agnes sits smiling and says nothing whilst I talk though my time at Bracken Hall, but I blush slightly, probably more than slightly when she does speak. I giggle nervously seeking to hide the truth of Agnes’s observation.

Milly giggles but her blushing cannot hide her true thoughts. If she knew more of Lady Carrington, and her household at Pike Towers, which I do, having worked there, she would not covert such an ambition, or would she?

“Thankfully for you, she didn’t Milly, you are not ready to serve the likes of Lady Carrington, trust me, Pike Towers is definitely not for you, not yet anyways.”

I smile having seen and heard enough to convince me that there will be little resistance to some urban servitude in the city for maid Milly whilst I attend to other matters, and I stand to leave. Interesting and unfortunate that she mentioned becoming confused about who she really was at times, something I intend to encourage in the stupid woman.

“Well Milly, we cannot have a Mayfair maid skivvying at the hostel for Mr Rogerson, can we? You will of course have to finish your duties here today, but tomorrow morning I will come for you, and we can start by getting you some new clothes to wear.”

Agnes stands to leave, but I am not to go with her, not yet, but tomorrow she will take me for some new clothes to wear. I will be glad to be out of this well-worn dress and into something more stylish and these boots, some nice shoes to wear. I stand myself, sorry that Agnes is leaving me here, but its only for one more day.

“I will see you in the morning then Agnes?”

Agnes stands back and tuts, then stares at me questioningly.

“Agnes Milly? Such familiarity will never do, will it? Mrs Burtonshaw or Miss to the likes of you Milly Brannigan. It seems Lady Carrington was correct in her assumption of you getting above your station. you will do well to remember that you remain one of my maids, a Mayfair maid.”

The stare and the tone of Mrs Burtonshaw’s words remind me of my situation, and I accept her rebuke. Why would one of her maids presume to address her by her first name, what if someone overheard. I blush in genuine embarrassment at my error which I seek to rectify in the only way I know how and lower a curtsy.

“Sorry Miss”