Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 14.

by Jackie J

Two days since the funeral for Agnes Burtonshaw and the mourners who came and stayed at Sycamores have all departed including my housekeeper, Janice. Having revealed all to my housekeeper, the night of the funeral, she left the following morning without a word. Promising to help me, she was to find away and make the necessary arrangements to get me back to Crestley House. Sweeping out the rear yard of the hostel I smile to myself. “Making necessary arrangements”, no doubt Janice will have made good use of Crestley House in my absence, especially if she thought it doubtful that I would be returning, thinking me married and settled in some foreign land. Arrangements yes, she will no doubt be returning things back to how they were before my return.

Janice made haste back to Crestley House the morning after the funeral what she had found out about her Mistress, Miss Millicent Williams, could change everything. What would she tell Richard, her husband of only three months. Richard Williams had moved to the area taking over as bank manager at the bank used by her mistress, and which Janice, following Miss Millicent’s departure, was obliged to visit. Richard took a shine to Janice having helped her in resolving the anomalies left by the instructions from her travelling mistress. Flattered by the attention, not long into their relationship Janice suggested that Richard leave his cramped rented accommodation and move into Crestley House, which he did. Their love blossomed, and they eventually tied the knot, Crestley House had become the home of Mr and Mrs Williams. How could she explain that her absent mistress had not married and settled overseas but had quite willingly taken the apron to become a common maid, had become a common maid, with a new identity and, with her own collusion, disenfranchised herself from her wealth. By the time Janice was on the last leg of her journey home, she was wishing she had not attended Agnes funeral and never met up with her once Mistress.

The day after her return to Crestley house Janice brooded over what to do. What she didn’t know didn’t matter, but she did know, she had been drawn into the ridiculousness of it all. If she did nothing, and it all came out later, that she had not helped her mistress, what would be the consequences for her then? 

Janice stamped her feet in frustration everything had been going so well. A generous allowance from the bank, curtesy of Miss Millicent, that had never altered. They had the run of Crestley House, treated it like their own, Richard and herself had moved into the master bedroom after their marriage.  Janice, despite her good fortune, brought about by the turn of events, was starting to despise her wealthy Mistress. Playing being a maid, becoming a maid, a lady’s personal maid and now, with her Svengali, in the manifestation of my friend Agnes Burtonshaw, being no more, she is wanting her life back. She brought it all on herself, she told me she had, and now she wants to come back here and ruin what Richard and I have. It's not fair, not fair at all.

After supper, three days following Janice’s return from her friend’s funeral in London, Richard smiled at his wife.

“A penny for them my dear, your thoughts? What’s wrong, you have been distracted like this since you came back from London, what is it?”

There had been one matter unresolved concerning Janice’s thoughts of her Mistress returning to Crestley House. Like most things in life, it revolved around money, fortunately, what her husband did not know about finance was not worth knowing.

Janice smiled.

“It’s nothing really my love, it was just whilst in London, with the funeral and everything, it got me thinking. The access to Miss Millicent’s finances that I have with her being away, will that always carry on until she returns?”

Richard smiled then laughed putting down his pipe and whisky glass.

“Money, money, money, my darling, did you see some fine things that tempted you in London.”

Janice frowned

“No, I did not, but I am serious, I just want to know that’s all.”

Richard took a sip of his drink and tapped out his pipe.

“Well, yes that was the covenant that your Mistress made which still stands. It is funny that you should ask, but some months ago, it could be six now, the bank was informed that a cousin of your Mistress, a Miss Margret Williams now holds a guardianship of Miss Millicent’s affairs. It’s not uncommon with wealthy families. There were no details but I presume it’s with your Mistress being overseas. I never mentioned anything with nothing changing, the instructions the bank received being that existing arrangements were to remain in place until otherwise instructed.” 

Richard laughed.

“Happy now dear, so, if you do want to treat yourself to a new hat or dress, I am sure you can.”

Janice sat back in her chair and smiled.  

“Yes, darling, I feel much better now, thank you for putting my mind at rest.”

Two weeks soon become three since the funeral, and a concerned Milly was starting to have doubts about Janice helping her, she said she would, but three weeks and she had heard nothing? What was she going to do, what could she do?

Another day passes without word, and I am called to see Miss Elizabeth. I walk to the offices and, making room for others on the pavement, even without my apron, with my worn shawl and bonnet, and my lowly demeaner, my position in society is clear, although who would give a care, or indeed a second look. 

Sat outside Miss Elizabeth’s office I stare at the frosted glass door. There are still shadow traces of the previous designation beneath the gold lettering of Miss Elizabeth Jackson. Only faint, but the A of Agnes brings a lump to my throat and some resentment. Why did she have to drown, leaving me like this?

My thoughts are disturbed by the door opening, and I stare at the shiny heeled boots in the doorway and, from the lace petticoat that is slating below the hem of a long tailored tight-fitting skirt my eyes move slowly upwards to the pristine white delicately lace trimmed blouse of the smartly dressed Miss Elizabeth. With her hair, pinned into a tight bun, her face brightened by the lightest of cosmetics she stands imperious looking down at me. 

“Milly, you have not been to the offices before, have you? No of course not, Mrs Burtonshaw, bless her soul, kept you very much to herself didn’t she. Do come through and take a seat. NO, no Milly not in one of those nice chairs, on the wooden bench at back, there near the window.”

I sit where I am told feeling quite wretched in the expensive surroundings and the presence of the elegant Miss Elizabeth who sits at an impressive desk. Everything seems new and clean, even the wooden bench I am sitting on and of course it is. I don’t know it, why would I, but Miss Millicent Williams, through a kind benefactor, her cousin, Miss Margret Williams, paid for the lavish refurbishment of Mayfair Domestic Services Offices some four months ago.

Miss Elizabeth opens a file on her desk and smiles at me.

“You have been very fortunate haven’t you Milly, being taken under Mrs Burtonshaw’s wing, bless her soul. I have read through your file. I will not mock you for it, I am sure you suffered enough ridicule at the time. The notes here, made by Agnes. You were the Mistress of a sizeable manor house but due to your debts, you were forced to become a mere maid in the very residence that was once your home by the new owner. No details, which perhaps is for the best. Still Mrs Burtonshaw helped you away from there and look at you now, thanks to Mrs Burtonshaw’s help and training you are a competent and qualified maid, a lady’s personal maid no less. Your file is one that any domestic servant like you, would be proud to call their own. A testament to just how good a maid you are, being, that Mrs Burtonshaw herself, having recently become quite wealthy, and, if she had not passed, was to have you for her own personal maid. You must be very proud of that; I know I would be. Hard for you to believe I know, looking at me now dressed in these fine clothes, and being the manager here, but I was just a common maid like you once.”

Miss Elizabeth stretches her neck reaching for another file behind her and I note the fine emerald broach at her collar, one of my many possessions taken by Agnes, now obviously inherited by Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Elizabeth continues

“So, Milly, I cannot have one of Mayfair’s best maids wasting away skivvying at Sycamores can I.”

Miss Elizabeth opens the second file.

 I have two placements to consider for you, both strangely ask for you by name. Mrs Madeley, from Bracken Hall, would like to have you back, it seems the steps of the Hall have not been scrubbed so clean since you left. You would be a maid of all work of course but it could be a long-term position. I met Mrs Madeley at Mrs Burtonshaw’s funeral, she only had good words for you, she said that she would write, which she did.”

“However, the second placement will be more rewarding for the company and that is the one you will be taking. Like with Mrs Madeley, I met Mrs Williams during the funeral, she stayed at Sycamores. saw you at work and was most impressed. Unlike Mrs Madeley she didn’t mention anything to me at the time, but you must have made an impression, she mentions in her letter that she spoke with you? Not quite the splendour of Bracken Hall, but I understand Crestley House is quite substantial.”

Hearing the name of Crestley House I cannot help but smile, how wrong I was to doubt my housekeeper, so wrong, I should have known she wouldn’t let me down and desert me, I knew I could trust her. Janice found a way to get me back to Crestley house, clever, very clever.

 Once I am away from here, when I get back to Crestley House I can start to get my life back. Janice will help. I was starting to think the rest of my days would be spent a maid, Milly Brannigan. How fortunate am I to have such a loyal and trustworthy housekeeper.

Arrangements are made and within two days I am on the train heading back to Crestley and Crestley House.  I have to pinch myself to know this is true. I have been told that uniforms will be provided at Crestley House when I arrive. I chuckle that Janice’s would have mentioned uniforms in her letter. I think I have seen the last of the apron. I have packed little, I have little, had little to pack. Miss Elizabeth reminding me that everything I have belongs to Mayfair Domestic Services. Well, they can keep it all, I shall not be returning, that’s for sure.

The train whistle blows and awakens me from a light sleep and the guard announces our arrival at Chemlington Junction. The main line station where I need to change to the branch line out to Crestley.  Filing out past the ticket inspector I am surprised to see a very well-dressed Janice. She looks splendid and why shouldn’t she, so long away from my wardrobe I do not recognise my stitched dress or indeed the matching Italian shoes she wears, mine but now tailored for a perfect fit for my housekeeper.

“You look lovely Janice, you need not have come to meet me, I could have found my own way to Crestley House.”

Janice returns my smile.

“We are not going directly to Crestley house I need to speak with you, come, follow me I have a room at the Railway hotel, we can talk there.”

The railway hotel? The irony is not lost on me, the hotel where my transformation from Lady to maid began. The hotel in which I stayed before travelling to Bracken Hall to be one of their maids. I am obviously anxious to get to Crestley House, but the journey was rather tiresome, and some refreshment will be most welcome. But for Janice I wouldn’t be here so I will go along with what she wants to do. On the way to the hotel, I am guessing Janice is going to offer some form of apology and explanation for the things she cannot put back as they were at Crestley House before I return. Whatever the changes have been made I will just have to accept them and not make a fuss. I just need to recuperate, more reading aloud to regain my speech, I am sure Janice will help me with that.

Ordinarily, had I been out in town with Janice, my housekeeper, it would be I who would be taking the lead. With no longer any boldness in my stride better as we are. Janice was always graceful and following behind with her wearing that lovely dress and with her confidant stride, she looks, very much the Lady. I tug my cheap worn shawl around my shoulders and chuckle to myself. A lady and her maid, thankfully not.

I Wait in the lobby of the hotel whilst Janice talks at reception and returns with a key. I smile, a smile of realisation, of course, that is why we are here, Janice must have brought some clothes for me to change into, she wouldn’t want me returning to Crestley house looking like I do. We enter a room on the third floor, I doubt Janice realises but this room, number 310, is the very room I used before travelling to Bracken Hall. The same hotel and the same room where it all began what a strange coincidence.

I nervously take the seat offered by Janice; she has not said a word to me since we left the station. Of course, it is awkward for both of us, and I decide to break the ice.

“This is really strange, what a coincidence, this is the same hotel and the very same room that I used before my first maid assignment for Agnes.”

I smirk at what was my Mistress, nervously trying to engage me in conversation. I have brought her here to Crestley, like I said I would, the choice will now be hers, if she wishes to stay.

I have prepared myself for this meeting and speak in an authoritative tone as one would, and must, to hired help, especially maids, and even more so to a new maid who is about to enter service in your residence.

“Strange? yes that Miss Millicent Williams ever chose to come here at all, but she did. Coincidence? No, there is no coincidence, I chose this hotel and this room specifically. This is the last place that Miss Millicent Williams actually was, she has not been seen since.

There are things you need to know before I take you back to Crestley House, so you will sit and listen and not interrupt or say a word, just listen. Much like I did when you told me everything that happened to Miss Millicent, when she left this very room. Not a word, do you understand?”

I squirm in my chair looking up at Janice, so long a submissive, a maid, Janice’s authoritatively spoken instructions find receptive ears and my words of conditioned compliance, without thought, trill naturally from my lips.

“Yes Miss.”

I remain standing and keep a stern expression although her now natural and pathetic response of “Yes Miss” makes me chuckle inside. To think, I once served what I now look down on sat meek and uncomfortable in nothing better than rags. But no longer is this to be my Mistress, the Mistress of Crestley House. No more than it will ever be Miss Millicent Williams again. she left Miss Williams and all she was behind when she walked through the door of this very room to enter service, to become a maid, at Bracken Hall. I intend that she will walk through that same door again, this time, to be my maid, to serve the new Mistress of Crestley House, Mrs Janice Williams.

“Good, then listen and mark my words well.”

Janice speaks clearly and concisely in a resolute tone. With each sentence, all and any thoughts or perceived reasons or believes, that I held for returning to my life, the life I knew at Crestley House, the life of Miss Millicent Williams, are first raised, ridiculed, then dismissed to be an unattainable fiction.

My head lowers and I stare at the floor. Everything Mrs Williams has said is true and of my own making.  I do not look up, hearing the door close when Mrs Williams leaves. I just sit silent, filled with a tearless sorrow of acceptance, staring at the scuffed toe caps of my shoddy boots.  Mrs Williams parting words. “You have your two choices choose wisely, MILLY.”

Eventually I sit up and lean back in my chair looking at the two train tickets Mrs Williams left for me. My two choices. One to Crestley the other back to London, the choice is mine.

A Knock on the door startles me and I gather myself before answering. A young maid, who carries a tray, smiles at the door.

“Miss Brannigan? the lady who just left asked me to bring this to your room, a pot of tea and a glass of brandy.”

I force a smile and thank the girl taking the tray inside. The glass drained I pour myself a cup from the pot and sigh.

How wrong I was to trust my housekeeper, telling her everything every detail, I was a fool to confide in her.

Janice, Janice Renwick, Mrs Williams now, Married of all things. I never suspected, even considered that she would do this. But why wouldn’t she do what she is doing, what she is going to do with me. Her words succinct and eloquently spoken, describing what is the known and what is evidentially an accepted truth.

Miss Millicent Williams left this very hotel and has not been seen since, she is not abroad, settled and married, she was sectioned and languishes in a London mad house put there by her cousin, a cousin who being Miss Millicent’s guardian, holds power of attorney over the Crestley estates finances. Unprovable and known only by me, and now Mrs Williams, that cousin will never return. but more importantly, the instructions she left will remain in place. Even beyond review, in the fictious Margret Williams absence, the notary, through the courts, will maintain the guardians wishes. Leaving no one to contradict or repeal those instructions, excepting for Miss Millicent herself.

I had mistakenly thought that Janice, Mrs Williams, having brought me back to Crestley House would help me establish my true identity to unravel the self-inflicted paradox I have trapped myself within. How wrong I was, on the contrary, should Milly Brannigan attempt to prove that she is Millicent Williams, Janice would denounce the mad maid and see me join my surrogate, confined within a sanitorium for such ridiculous rantings.

At my realisation of what Mrs Williams had planned for me, my desperate offer of money, as much as she wanted, was met with mocking derisory laughter.

She already had money, as much as she wanted, of course she did, Miss Millicent Williams had already provided that for her. And, thanks to Miss Millicent’s cousin, access to that money will remain in virtual perpetuity.  Like Mrs Williams laughingly said. “How was the loose change in a maid’s purse going to compete with that?”

During my slow capitulation to my fate, I have sipped my way through the now cold pot of tea. I am beyond despair, and I find myself overcome by a strange calmness staring at the glass topped table in front of me. I have been given my instructions, I know what awaits me, and what choice do I really have. Standing, I stoop to pick up the train ticket from the left-hand side of the table.  I snigger, third class, of course, what else for maid Milly, for Milly Brannigan.