Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 20.

by Melissa 

Part 20. Striking a deal with the devil. 

The morning sun, filtered through heavy silk drapes the colour of clotted cream, cast a soft glow across the opulent bedroom. I, Melissa Jones, stirred, a groan escaping my lips. My head throbbed, a dull ache that mirrored the unease churning in my stomach. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light, taking in the room's extravagant details. A four-poster bed, crafted from dark, polished wood and draped with a canopy of sheer, shimmering fabric, dominated the space. Ornate, gilded mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the plush, velvet chaise lounge and the antique writing desk tucked near the window. A thick, Persian rug, rich with intricate patterns, muffled my bare feet as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

Though I'd been living in this room for weeks, it rightfully belonged to the other Melissa Jones, the redhead. And that thought, sharp and insistent, was the source of my headache. The previous day's events also replayed in my mind, a chaotic jumble of flashing lights, raised voices, and the terrified face of the poor redhead. The one whose life I had so casually, so brazenly, usurped. The one who had been led away in handcuffs and was now sitting in a jail cell, accused of theft. A theft that I knew, with a sickening certainty, I myself was responsible for. 

I rose, the cool air sending a shiver down my spine. A silk robe, embroidered with delicate silver thread, lay draped across a nearby chair. I slipped it on, the smooth fabric a stark contrast to the rough texture of my conscience. 

The adjoining bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and glass. A freestanding clawfoot bathtub, gleaming like a pearl, sat beneath a window overlooking the manicured gardens. A separate shower enclosure, with jets spraying from every angle, promised a refreshing start to the day. The air was fragrant with the subtle scent of lavender and sandalwood, emanating from a diffuser perched on a small table beside a pile of fluffy, white towels.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 19.

by Melissa 

Part 19. Arrested. 

The morning after the incident with Mrs. Henderson, I woke up with a throbbing pain in my back. I winced as I sat up, the memory of the previous night's events flashing through my mind. I felt a sense of shame and confusion, but also a strange sense of excitement. 

I reluctantly peeled off the thin, scratchy blanket that barely covered me in the dank, cold room. The walls were a stark white, almost blinding in the harsh light that streamed in through the small, barred window. The room was sparsely furnished with a single, hard bed and a chest of drawers, which contained the only possessions I was allowed: the court-approved underwear and the traditional maid's uniform that was as much a symbol of my degradation as it was a tool for the backbreaking work I was forced to do. 

Gingerly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. The ache in my bottom was a constant reminder of my lowly status here at Elmwood Academy. The thought of the cold water was almost unbearable, but I knew hot water was a luxury I could not afford. As a maid, my comfort was never a priority. 

The chilly air nipped at my skin, making me shiver as I walked over to the washbasin, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to the warmth I craved. The icy water in the pitcher was a stark reminder of my place. As I raised it to my face, the frigid liquid hit my skin, making me gasp. I closed my eyes and let it run over my cheeks, hoping it would wash away the tears and the memories of the previous night's punishment. The water felt like a thousand tiny needles, but it was a sensation I had grown all too accustomed to. 

My reflection in the small, cracked mirror looked nothing like the Melissa Jones that once existed. My eyes were sunken, my cheeks flushed from the cold, and my hair was a mess of tangles. As I bent over the washbasin, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal from the memory of the day before. The way Sabrina had forced me into that kiss, her hand gripping the back of my neck, the feel of her soft, demanding lips on mine. It was wrong, and I knew it, but the heat of it had stayed with me, haunting my dreams and leaving me feeling both disgusted and excited.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 18.

by Melissa

Part 18. The price of pleasure.

As I walked back to the maid's quarters, I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. It had been wrong, so wrong, but there was something about the way Sabrina had taken control that had stirred something deep within me. I tried to shake it off, to focus on finding a way out of this situation, but the memory clung to me like a sticky web. I felt a strange heat pooling in my stomach, and my cheeks burned with a mix of anger and something else - something I didn't dare to name.

In the quiet solitude of my room, I couldn't escape the feeling that had taken root. The way Sabrina had touched me, the way she had made me submit, it was as if she had unlocked a part of me that I had never known existed. I tried to tell myself that it was just the stress, the fear, that was making me feel this way, but deep down, I knew it was more. There was a thrill in the submission, a dark allure that whispered to me, promising an escape from the harsh reality of my predicament.

I lay on my narrow bed, my body feeling both heavy and restless. My mind replayed the scene in the lobby over and over again. Each time, the kiss grew more intense, more demanding. I felt the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the way she had claimed me as her own. It was a strange mix of anger and arousal that surged through me, leaving me feeling both violated and... excited. I buried my face in my pillow, trying to muffle the soft moan that escaped my lips. My hand, seemingly of its own accord, began to drift down my body. My skin felt feverish and sensitive, the fabric of my maid's uniform too rough against my skin. I slipped my hand under the fabric of my panties, my heart racing as I touched myself. It was as if I was trying to erase the memory of Sabrina's fingers on me, to claim back some semblance of control. My fingertips brushed against my clit, and I gasped. It was swollen and sensitive, and I realized that I was wet, soaking wet, from the encounter.

I couldn't believe it. I hated the way Sabrina made me feel, the way she made me crave something that I didn't even understand. But as my fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, I couldn't deny the response my body was having. It was as if she had flipped a switch inside me, one that I didn't even know existed. The anger and fear and humiliation all coalesced into something... else. Something that made me feel alive. My breath grew ragged as I touched myself, my imagination conjuring up images of Sabrina standing over me, watching me with that smug smile on her face. But instead of the fear and anger, there was a new emotion there - one of submission, of letting go. And it was terrifying. I didn't want to want this, didn't want to be the kind of person who found pleasure in being used and degraded. But as my orgasm grew closer, I couldn't help but embrace it. It was a release, a way to take back some of the power that she had stolen from me.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 17.

by Melissa 

Part 17. Under Sabrina's thumb. 

The morning sunlight streamed in through the dusty window, casting long shadows across my cramped room of the maid's quarters. I groaned, rolling over to avoid the rays. I had been sleeping on a hard cot for two weeks, ever since I had been mistaken for a delinquent girl and forced to become a school maid at Elmwood Academy. My dreams of a posh private school had turned into a nightmare of endless chores and the strict supervision of Mrs. Henderson, the head maid. Despite my attempt to clarify the identity mistake with the Dean, Mrs. Cavendish, my situation remained unchanged. Mrs. Cavendish, with an air of unwavering resolve, insisted I maintain my duties as school maid while she investigated the matter further. This left me in a peculiar position, unsure of the future but committed to fulfilling my assigned tasks for the time being. 

Today was different from other days though. Mrs. Henderson was away for several hours, and Sabrina, another school maid who I had grown to loathe, was in charge. Sabrina was often cruel to me, taking pleasure in humiliating me. I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as I climbed out of bed. 

As I made my way downstairs, I noticed that Sabrina was already waiting for me in the kitchen. The normally cheerful room was now tense and uncomfortable. "Good morning, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hope you're ready for another day of hard work." I forced a weak smile, not wanting to antagonize Sabrina further. 

I followed Sabrina through the hallways, past the empty classrooms and locked doors. Today, I was assigned to clean the science lab. My heart sank as I remembered the last time I had been in there. I had accidentally broken a beaker, and Mrs. Henderson had scolded me severely. 

While I wouldn't normally be allowed in, Sabrina used her fingerprint to grant me access to the lab. I felt a shiver of anxiety run down my spine. "Now, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice low and threatening, "I want you to clean this place spotless. And if I see even the tiniest speck of dust, you'll be sorry." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 

I took a deep breath and began to survey the lab. It was a mess. Beakers and test tubes were scattered across the counters, and the floor was covered in a layer of grime. I grabbed a mop and bucket and started to clean, methodically scrubbing the tiles until they shone. As I worked, I couldn't help but wonder when Mrs. Henderson would return. I didn't trust Sabrina to be in charge for very long. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 16.

by Melissa 

Part 16. The steep price of Maria's forgiveness. 

The phone rang shrill in the quiet of Maria's apartment. She eyed it with suspicion, the memory of Agnès' last call sour in her throat. Finally, with a huff, she snatched it up. "Hello?" 

"Maria, it's Agnès, Elmwood Academy's receptionist again. Did you have a chance to... well, to see everything?" came the hesitant voice on the other end. 

Maria hesitated. "About Melissa, the daughter of my former employers? Yes, I got the video." She couldn't deny a sliver of grudging respect had pierced her anger when she'd seen the young woman, decked out in a scratchy maid uniform, scrubbing the floor with a fervour that spoke volumes. The apology letter too had surprised her. It wasn't the flowery, self-serving apologies Melissa usually offered. This one was raw, filled with a desperation Maria hadn't seen before. 

"And?" Agnès prompted gently. 

"And... well," Maria sighed, "the girl did a good job on her hands and knees, that much is clear. And the letter... it sounds more sincere than I expected. Begging, even." Her voice hardened again. "Doesn't change what happened to me." 

"No, of course not," Agnès soothed. "But sometimes, people make mistakes, Maria. And sometimes, they learn from them." 

Maria snorted. "Melissa's a master of making mistakes. But learning? That's a new one. Besides, hard work does a spoilt girl like her a world of good." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 15.

by Melissa 

Part 15. Talking to the dean at last. 

The next day, I stood nervously in the hallway of Elmwood Academy, my heart racing as I saw the message flashed by the biometrics system after I had placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner to access to the laundry room: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please suspend current cleaning duties and report immediately to the dean, Mrs. Cavendish." 

Rejoicing inwardly, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Agnès, the receptionist. Her initiative in snagging this meeting with the dean had potentially saved the day. Now, I'd finally have a chance to explain myself to Mrs. Cavendish, the one person with the power to resolve this bureaucratic nightmare. Crucially, she could update my registration in the biometrics system and undo the identity mix-up that led me to be mistaken for my namesake, a delinquent girl sentenced by a Court to community service as school maid under the strict supervision of Mrs Henderson, the head maid. 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Henderson, who had been keeping a close eye on me. "Melissa, I've been meaning to warn you," she began, her tone grave. "Tread very carefully around Mrs. Cavendish, the dean. She's a woman of formidable sternness. If you claim to be a student and she doubts your word, things could turn ugly fast. She has the power to dish out extreme punishments, and even with my best efforts, there'd be nothing I could do to shield you from her wrath. Trust me, for your own safety, it's best to avoid telling her about any fantasies of being a student." 

I braced myself and decided to tell the truth. "I've got to do what's right, Ma'am, and that means clearing my name."

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 14.

by Melissa

Part 14. Glimmers of hope.

This was the first day of my second week at Elmwood Academy. It was still early morning, the first bell a distant threat in the quiet halls, but I couldn't wait any longer. Every second counted. After straightening my apron and maid's cap and scanning my fingerprint to open the door, I crept out of my cramped quarters in the maid's dorm, the stolen hours of sleep clinging to my eyelids like cobwebs. In my hand, I clutched the completed assignment, a testament to my nearly sleepless night. The hallway echoed with the soft thud of my steps as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the student lockers.

I soon reached my destination, a stylish locker adorned with an elegant plaque bearing the name "Melissa Jones" and which should have been mine. I reached to the locker and put my fingerprint on the scanner. "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Access to student Melissa Jones' locker denied." Of course, the locker - my locker - was programmed to be used by the delinquent girl who had stolen my identity, not by me.

Suddenly a figure materialized from the shadows. It was the delinquent girl herself. Startled, I almost dropped the assignment. The girl, clad in her pristine schoolgirl uniform, eyed me with suspicion and a defiant scowl, a smirk twisting her lips. "Early bird, aren't we?" she drawled, her voice rough with sleep.

Caught off guard, I stammered, shoving the assignment towards the girl. "I, uh, I finished your assignment."

The girl took the paper with a disinterested shrug, not bothering with a thank you. Then, to my surprise, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled banknote. "For your troubles," she mumbled, thrusting the money into my hand.

I stared at the low-value banknote, torn between relief and hesitation. Taking money felt wrong and it was a very small sum, yet it might come in handy as I was completely penniless after all my means of payment had been confiscated on my arrival at Elmwood Academy. "Thank you, Miss... Jones," I stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsy out of habit.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 13.

by Melissa 

Part 13. The hidden garden. 

As I slowly made my way to my room to rest, still wincing of pain at each step, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me? How could I feel such arousal when Sabrina was belittling me and had forced me to kiss her? Could she be right about me? Was I just a weak submissive girl craving to be dominated? The thought snaked its way through my mind, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. That couldn't be true, I muttered inwardly, desperate to return to a place of certainty. But the seed of doubt had been sown, and I was no longer entirely sure of myself. However, even if I really had submissive fantasies, something I was still reluctant to fully admit, that didn't mean I was going to sacrifice my dreams and give up my education. After all, not all fantasies are meant to come true. Instead, I promised myself that I would show Sabrina that I could be strong and ambitious. 

But another thing worried me. Could Sabrina be right about Elmwood Academy being a place where the students were corrupted and changed into horrible people? I didn't want to believe it, but I was no longer so confident in my previous beliefs, especially as I had witnessed time and again the contempt with which the students had treated me since I had put on the maid's uniform. The situation left me utterly bewildered. Everything I knew felt upside down, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Yet, beneath the confusion, a spark of determination flickered. I wouldn't be swayed. My rightful place awaited, and I wouldn't rest until I took it back. 

I finally reached my room, a narrow space tucked away at the end of the maid's quarter. The hard cot beckoned me, promising a much-needed rest. But before collapsing onto the sheets, I paused for a moment, my hand on the door handle. There was something I had to do first. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't confront it now, it would only grow worse. With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I made my way to the reception desk, where Agnès, the receptionist, sat primly behind her ornate desk. The woman looked up at me with a cool, disapproving glance, her perfectly coiffed hair, sophisticated makeup and beautiful uniform a sharp contrast to my dishevelled appearance. "Yes, girl?" she said, her tone sharp. "What is it you need?"

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 12.

by Melissa

Part 12. The kiss. 

As I trudged through the rust-coloured landscape of Mars, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the place. I was Melissa Jones, a proud astronaut of the first manned mission to the Red planet. The Martian sky was a deep, endless red, dotted with clouds that seemed to shift and dance like ethereal creatures. The ground beneath my space suit's boots was a patchwork quilt of red rock and dust, criss-crossed by the tracks left by my rover. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whir of the suit's life-support systems and the faint hiss of dust kicked up by her boots. 

But something was wrong. I felt very sore. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The first week of the mission had been filled with exhausting work, and I'd been on edge since the moment I'd landed on the Red planet. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed myself too hard. I'd been given strict orders not to overexert myself, but the allure of exploring this alien world was too great to resist. 

I gasped as I suddenly jolted awake, my heart racing and every muscle in my body protesting. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing my spacesuit. I was Melissa Jones, but I wasn't an astronaut and this wasn't the vast expanse of Mars I'd been dreaming of for years. In fact, I was still clad in my scratchy maid's uniform from the day before. I was lying on a hard cot in a tiny room of the maid's quarter, the pale light of a single dim bulb casting eerie shadows across the cramped space. The air smelled stale and dusty, and my throat felt raw from the dryness. I sat up slowly, my head spinning, and rubbed at my eyes. This was just another day in the maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy. The same routine I'd been stuck in for a week now, forced to masquerade as a delinquent school maid at this prestigious boarding school where my life had been turned upside down by a cruel twist of fate, my identity stolen by my namesake, a girl from a disadvantaged background who had taken advantage of my misfortune to assume my rightful place. 

I groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of my tiny room. After having been punished the day before by having to move countless crates of wine, the pain in my back, shoulders, arms, legs, and even my neck was unbearable. I had never felt this sore in my life. As I sat up, my vision swam, and I had to clutch at my aching head. I couldn't possibly be as sore as I felt; it must be some sort of weird dream. I stood unsteadily, my legs wobbling, and made my way to the mirror. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 11.

by Melissa

Part 11. Discovering Elmwood Academy as a privileged student.

The morning sun peeked through the luxurious drapes, casting warm light across my room. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's realization still heavy on my chest. Was it all a dream? Would the other Melissa Jones - the redhead - arrive and shatter the illusion? But then, a knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

Opening the door, I was greeted by three girls, their faces alight with friendly smiles. Their polished uniforms and confident demeanours screamed "Elmwood Academy royalty." Yet, their voices held a warmth that surprised me. They introduced themselves as my next-door neighbours, privileged Elmwood students named Jessica, Emma and Olivia. Their voices held a warmth that surprised me. Used as I was to averted gazes and hushed whispers, this open friendliness felt surreal.

"Good morning, Melissa!" Jessica's voice rang out, bubbly and enthusiastic. "We saw you weren't out and about yet, so we thought we'd invite you to join us for breakfast in the lounge."

Emma, the quiet observer of the group, chimed in, "It's the most incredible spread, with everything you could imagine. And the company's pretty good too," she added with a wink.

Olivia, the fashionista of the trio, flashed a dazzling smile. "Come on, we wouldn't want you to miss out! Put on your uniform, and we'll show you the way."

The invitation hung in the air, laced with genuine kindness. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. Normally, the very idea of rich entitled girls would have made me bristle. But something about their genuine smiles and the warmth in their eyes disarmed me, and the thought of sharing a meal with these seemingly friendly girls, of experiencing another slice of this privileged world, was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sure, thank you."

Hesitantly, I donned the unfamiliar schoolgirl uniform again, the soft fabric still unfamiliar against my skin but whispering promises of a different life. Joining my new neighbours, I followed them through the corridors, their laughter echoing in the grand halls. As I walked alongside them, their chatter filled the hallway, a symphony of excitement and plans for the day. I listened, absorbing their world, their language, feeling like an outsider peering into a secret club. But their casual acceptance, their lack of judgment, offered a sliver of comfort.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 10.

by Melissa

Part 10. Welcomed as a privileged student at Elmwood Academy.

The cacophony of announcements, hurried footsteps, and rolling luggage painted a vivid portrait of bustling life as I waded through the human current of the train station, on my way to the platform where my second-class carriage was waiting for me. Suddenly, I collided with a red-haired girl, the impact sharp and unexpected. I stumbled back, surprised, and my eyes met hers. She was the epitome of preppy perfection, designer labels adorning her like polished armour. Her outfit screamed wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to my own worn and somewhat trashy clothes that bear the quiet scars of a life less fortunate.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over me. The air thrummed with an awkward silence, thick with the unspoken difference between our worlds. Not wanting to give that rich bitch any opportunity to humiliate me, I decided to take the initiative and to have a little fun at her expense.

"You clumsy oaf!" I exploded in her face, my voice dripping with accusation and disdain. "Look what you've done!"

Taken aback by my words, the loser girl meekly apologized. As she began to gather her scattered belongings, I noticed that our train tickets had both fluttered to the ground. I quickly went down and retrieved her first class ticket.

"My ticket!" she exclaimed, her eyes glinting with surprise. "That's mine!"

"Oh, please," I scoffed at her with amusement. "Look at you, all dressed up like you're going to a debutante ball. You don't deserve a seat in first class."

Then I turned around and, before that dumb redhead could react, I hurried away in the crowd with her first-class ticket tightly clutched in my hand, leaving my own ticket on the ground.

Shortly afterwards, the train conductor materialized in front of me. A wave of apprehension washed over me as I faced him, fearing he'd confiscate the first-class ticket. Instead, to my surprise, he only offered a warm smile after examining it. "This way, Miss," he gestured forward, ushering me into the opulent first-class cabin. Without asking, he effortlessly lifted my luggage, making me feel instantly pampered. With a reassuring smile, he made sure I was comfortably seated before turning his attention to other first-class passengers.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 9.

by Melissa

Part 9. A setback and a punishment

My heart plummeted as the receptionist's words washed over me. The glimmer of hope I had clung to, the possibility that Maria's intervention could give me back my true identity, seemed to vanish in an instant. "You didn't send the letter?" I gasped in surprise.

The receptionist, her gaze now avoiding mine, nodded slowly. "No," she admitted. "I... I read it first, out of curiosity. And after what I read, I couldn't bring myself to send it."

"You read my letter?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I did. And frankly, Miss Jones," she continued, her voice laced with disappointment, "it painted a far from flattering picture of your actions towards Maria. Allowing her to be falsely accused of theft and then, but only after needing her help, offering her money as a kind of consolation... it doesn't speak well of your character."

Shame burned through me, hotter than all the stoves I'd been forced to clean since my arrival at Elmwood Academy. The receptionist's words mirrored the self-recriminations that had haunted me since realizing the gravity of my mistake. "I know," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I was scared and selfish. And until now, I didn't understand the true cost of my silence."

"Maybe you just deserve what's happening to you," she continued, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a firm conviction. "Perhaps this experience is a harsh lesson, one you sorely needed."

Caption: The Lady of the House

The Lady of the House

by AndiJF

 "You not get away with this! You trick me to meet all the local lady in this uniform, but I the mistress of the house, and you just my maid!"

"My dear, now they have seen you as a maid, no one here will ever believe that you, an Oriental, are anything more than my servant, or that I, a white woman wearing your elegant and expensive clothes, could not be your mistress. Just look in any mirror if you doubt me. I think we’ve found our proper roles in life at last!

Zhou Lusi, an educated but orphaned Chinese girl, met and fell in love with an older English trader, James Cavendish. Eventually, they married, and Lusi took the name Lucy Cavendish, but their happy life was shattered when the chaos of the Boxer Rebellion erupted. James decided to leave China with Lucy, taking her English maid Abigail with them. More tragedy struck when James died of a heart attack on the voyage to England, and Lucy found herself alone in a foreign land, speaking little English, with only her maid for support, but Abigail secretly resented and schemed against her mistress.

Story: The Bridge Player

Inspired by the classic 1960s Bunty cartoon, The Imposter. Please welcome a new blog contributor, George. 

The bridge player

By George (G.T.)

Victoria Perkins lived in a small country mansion with her parents. She came home from a private boarding school just two weeks ago. She had barely seen her parents for years. In addition to them, the house was inhabited by a butler, a cook, a housekeeper, and a maid. With the exception of the young maid, all employees were at least fifty years old.

Someone knocked on her door in the morning. The maid asked permission to come in to put a fire in the fireplace. Victoria didn't want to get out of the good warm bed into the cold room. She watched the maid work. Her black dress reached to her ankles. The sleeve of the dress ended in a tight white cuff at the wrists. She had a tight white neck strap around her neck all the way to her chin. Maid Mary was embroidered on it. A white maid's hat covered her hair. She wore simple little hoop earrings in her ears. Her white apron reached almost to her neck. Two wide shoulder straps go to the apron's back. In the back she tied the apron around her waist with a big bow. Anyway, Mary was like her. The girl's age, stature, face, even eyes were similar to Victoria's. There was only one difference. Mary's hair is straight and Victoria's curly. Victoria knew this from the fact that Mary's cap had once fallen as she scrubbed the stone in the hallway. The housekeeper immediately struck her with a wand from punishment.

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: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 7.

by Jackie J

Chapter 7

There had developed an unmistakable normality at Stag Head Manor, with its groundsman cum groom and coachman, its maid and mistress. Constance, the once gracious Mistress of the manor had evolved into a perfect maid, mainly by her own delusional imaginings, utterly consumed by and held captive within the dumbed down persona of her own making, that of Maud Williams.

Maud’s weight gain had been subtle but significant over the months, although her figure could be said to be more plump than overweight. Once considered quite statuesque, along with her chubby cheeks, busty chest, an often-slapped, broad worker woman’s backside now protruded below her neatly tied aprons bow. Gone the gracious step of a lady, from the wearing of heavy boots and restrictive garb, and her light educated voice now replaced with her encouraged common speech. There was little that remained of the once sophisticated and elegant Lady Constance Summerfield. In fact, nothing at all!

Whilst the degradation and debasement of the former mistress of Stag Head manor could not have been better triumphed, the transformation of maid to lady, by Miss Jennifer Jenkins, was no less profound. Jenny the maid had blossomed, assuming a deserved superiority over her fawning maid until becoming second nature. Wearing fine clothes and with her developed grace no one would consider the ladylike Miss Jenkins to be other than the Mistress of the manor.

Having taken breakfast and returned to her rooms to dress, Jennifer looked out from an upstairs widow over the lawns towards the gatehouse. Not the best of days, low cloud, and drizzle in the air, not a day to be outdoors. More a day to be spent in the library.

 

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 6.

by Jackie J

Chapter 6

A month had passed since the visit from the customs agents and Jennifer had heard nothing further.

Jennifer smiled cynically at her once mistress down on her hands and knees polishing the upper landings floors. Now convinced of her Mistress’s motivation for their role reversal, Jennifer reconciled that a continuation of the situation was only what her Mistress would want. She wouldn’t want to be discovered, would she? Life of maid, her maid, was much better than the potential confines of a prison cell.

Ever more confident of her position, it was two weeks later that Jennifer took up the invitation of Mrs Geraldine Booth to take afternoon tea at her residence. A number of ladies were present, and Jennifer was not out of place amongst them. The new dress she wore drew many favourable comments. The event was passing well until Geraldine, unknown to Jennifer, the wife of the local magistrate, took Jennifer to one side.

“Is it true then about Constance?”

Jennifer was taken somewhat off guard.

“True? What? What is true?”

Geraldine privy to highly confidential information, released on the pillows of her bed by her husband, smirked.

“You know, why she left the manor in such a hurry… You had a visit did you not, from the customs? I have it on good authority Constance is a wanted woman. Warrants have been issued. Come on Jennifer, you must know! You can tell me. What is going on?”

Jennifer stayed calm. How did Geraldine know all this? Was it common knowledge? Jennifer needed to know just how much she did know.

“Geraldine you obviously know more than me. Yes, the customs officers visited the manor and took away some files. They didn’t tell me anything other than they needed to speak with Constance about some matter or other. Wanted woman, warrants? I was told nothing of this. You must tell me what you know, Geraldine, to be sure I am most confused.”

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

Chapter 5

If the phrase 'be careful what you wish for' was ever more poignant, it was surely the case for Lady Constance Summerfield. The life of a maid that she had coveted and contrived to be her own would appear to have been a most reckless endeavour. The best laid plans of mice and men, or in this case Lady Summerfield, could have not been better illustrated. It could only be those who had known Constance extremely well that would recognise her to be other than the maid she now was. Plain faced, cropped hair, a slightly stooped posture, callused hands, and a servile demeanour all swathed in the apparel of service.

Aproned she had wished to be and aproned she had truly been. Jennifer had little conscience for what she had done, what had become of her once mistress. She wanted to be a maid and a maid she now was. Jennifer of course could have called a halt at any time during the extraordinary and comprehensive transformation from lady to maid, sought help for her Mistress, but why would she? It had gone too far for that now.

Jennifer was well aware that the continued absence of Lady Summerfield would, at some point, be questioned. But by whom? No one had shown any concern whatsoever for the wellbeing and whereabouts of Lady Summerfield.

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 4.

by Jackie J

Chapter 4

William was expected to arrive from his visit to see relatives mid-morning and Jennifer ensured that her maid would be kept busy. Beating the many rugs was a heavy and monthly task, another addition to Maud’s rota.

The last two weeks, whilst William had been away, Sam, a local farmers son, had been attending the horses and keeping the grounds tidy. Jenny had hardly seen him, but he had done a good job, and everything was in order.

After taking breakfast Jennifer waited for William at his cottage situated at the end of the drive leading up to the manor. Her timing was perfect and she did not have to wait long seeing William step down from the coach that had brought him, gather his case, and walk towards her.

“Hello, Jenny. Sunday’s best on a Saturday! My, you do look handsome. A new dress?”

Story: A Lady and Her Maid. Chapter 3.

Chapter 3

Stag Head Manor was not overly large. The ground floor, a parlour, a study, a library, two reception rooms, a dining room, kitchens, the maid’s accommodation adjoining the kitchens. A wide staircase leading from the long hallway to the upper floor. A master suite and four guest rooms, the latter seldom used. Attics and cellars for storage but nothing more. The late Lord Summerfield’s wealth had enabled the modernisation of the property which benefited from a central boiler for heating and hot water, and gas lighting. Stag Head Manor was not difficult for one competent maid to provide service for.

During the previous week, when Lady Summerfield took the apron, her maid had prepared a rota for her daily duties. It was only to be for a week so there were many omissions, which Jennifer was now revising. No different to Jennifer’s own rotas, along with additional daily duties, weekly and monthly tasks were now to be included in the maid’s work. Jennifer would not burden her maid with the extra work immediately and would introduce these to her schedule over the coming weeks.

Jennifer, like her mother before her, had been in service from an early age and had been taught well. The instilled mantra from those formative years being to ensure that each task was completed in a timely manner, sticking strictly to the rotas prepared for the household. A good maid never took to her bed before all the day’s work had been completed. This discipline had served Jennifer well. What was good for her will be good for the new maid.