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.”

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 8.

by Jackie J

The letters that Mrs Burtonshaw had her maid Milly write duly arrived at their addresses.

Janice, having spent the past week preparing Crestley House for her Mistresses return, read the letter she had received with mixed emotions.  Disappointed her Mistress would not be returning but pleased that she had met someone. No detail but travelling abroad sounded as if at last it was a relationship that could lead to something permanent. Provision had been made with the bank for her to access additional funds and, with no mention of when her Mistress would return, Janice reconciled that she would just have to wait until she did.

The bank manager, on receiving Miss William letter, instructed his assistant to make the necessary arrangements and prepare a letter of authority for Miss Janice Renwick. Whilst giving her housekeeper access to her main accounts, he trusted that Miss Williams knew what she was doing and, with little concern, he would be retiring at the end of the month anyway, filed away the correspondence. 

Any reservations that I may have held about remaining a maid at Bracken Hall are forgotten settling the arriving guests for the gala weekend into their rooms with Rosy.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 7.

by Jackie J

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

Lucinda sighed.

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

James tops up his whiskey from the decanter.

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

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

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 6.

by Jackie J

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

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

Caption: The Imposter.

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

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

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

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

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

Dear Miss Brannigan,

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

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

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 4.

by Jackie J

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

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