Story: Who's the Maid Now?

An old caption of mine, Who's the Maid Now, has inspired one of my favorite Fictionmania writers, Belladonna, to write a full story. It turned out to be one of the best lady-to-maid stories I've read recently. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Who's the Maid Now?

By Belladonna

Victoria Lightfoot turned over in her bed as she saw the morning light piercing through the dark curtains of her room.  She grinned at the feeling of her silk sheets as she pulled them across her smooth skin. Her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them to glance up at the Raphael inspired mosaic she had paid a small fortune to have installed on her bedroom ceiling the year before.

Her eyes tore away from the ostentatious reminder of her roots and privileges. Victoria lived a life she knew others would kill to possess for themselves.

The four-hundred million dollar fortune that her aristocratic parents had bequeathed her had left Victoria without a real worry for a lifetime.  It had all come too fast for her though.

The father she cherished, that had worshiped her as his darling little girl, had passed when she was only seven.  He was much older than her mother, who even Victoria saw as little more than a trophy for her beloved father.  He was someone she could not stop thinking about when she was alone.  

Despite her constant thoughts of him, she struggled to remember what her father looked like.  It was only pictures that triggered her own memories, but she was no longer sure if her memories of how looked were truly her own or based on the images captured.

If he had lived, it would have all been different for her.  She was sure of it.

Story: Miss Elizabeth Fitzroy Jones

By Jackie J

When Elizabeth’s parents died suddenly, whilst not overtly wealthy, they had provided for their only daughter. Placed in the guardianship of an Oxford professor, with the specific instructions that their residual wealth be used for her education, she was also to have an unspoilt adolescence, learning self sufficiency, given she would be alone in an unforgiving world. The professor was true to his promise and, during her formative years, between relentless studying and, much to the delight of the professor’s wife, Elizabeth helped with the upkeep of the household. At the age of twenty one Elizabeth was glad to be free of these shackles and face the world.

Becoming a Barrister is not easy, for a young woman to become a Barrister very difficult, for a young woman in 1919, almost impossible.  The Law, a male domain, the name of Elizabeth Fitzroy Jones stuck in the throat of almost all the judiciary of the land. But she was good, very good in fact exceptional.  Not only did she have the brain, she also had the looks which infuriated the establishment even more.

Having forced her way into law school and graduated at the top of the all male class she had won an intern at Dawson, Roscoe and Mallard, the top law firm in the centre of an increasingly cosmopolitan London.

How was your day, fallen aristocratic lady?

One of my favorite authors, T.H. Enerdly, pointed me to an interesting account that, while not exactly a lady-to-maid story, is nonetheless very interesting. While we wait for updates of Molly, China story, as well as a new piece from Jackie J, here is a short real life downgrade tale of an aristocratic lady that has lost the wealth and the status that used to go with her title:

Bourgeois, as usual. Boring and tiring. Each morning when I wake up to go to work I can’t help cursing my own fate. I still can’t believe it: How did I get to this point? My family dates back to the 13th-century French Angevin kings’ invasion of Sicily but has devoured its entire fortune. I was left with nothing as heredity, just a pair of wooden chairs. The only sign of nobility is the blue blood running in my veins.

Not much, eh? And my aristocratic title? A piece of paper. When I turned 24, my earl dad looked me straight in the eye and told me I had to find a job. I am the first of my lineage to work for a living, and it’s not even great work. I occasionally teach Italian at a local high school. Salary? Not even $1,000 per month..

But what I can’t stand is what I do each day and what my mother, let alone my grandmother or great-grandmother, would have never lowered down to: household chores. Cleaning the house, buying groceries, getting the washing machine going, cooking twice a day, ironing — oh, I hate that! Paying bills and running a household is just not part of my DNA.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 11.

by Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I was embarrassingly standing in front of Signora, fidgeting as usual with the edge of my not so clean apron. It was early in the afternoon and I was already tired, disheveled and dirty after a morning of serious cleaning and tidying up. The house was messy after the party and although it was a Sunday - my alleged day off to go to the Church - it was my duty to bring it back to order.

The Signora, dressed in her flowery, just-above-the-knee dress and designer high-heeled sandals, looked fresh and elegant as ever. Then, of course, unlike me she didn’t spend her morning carrying piles upon piles of dirty dishes or crawling on all fours to clean the carpets from numerous wine spills and greasy spots left by guests . She walked across the room, leaving very visible footprints on the wet floor I’ve just finished mopping, took out a pack of Virginia slims from her light brown Birkin bag and lit a cigarette.  

“I had a swim and a light lunch with Mark and Rowena, in the hotel they are staying, probably you’ve heard about it, Molly, from your fellow maids, lots of them are working there,” she said and looked at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.  “It’s the Raffles’’.

Story: Maid in China

By Barefoot Servant

“Hey, do you want to go to China with me this summer?” The question caught Maddie Akers completely off-guard. It really probably shouldn’t have. Her friend Jenny Kim’s parents were from China after all, and they visited every summer.

“What? Are you serious?” Maddie shifted to a sitting position. She had been lying across Jenny’s bed. Jenny sat up too, cross-legged, mirroring Maddie’s movement.

“Yeah, totally, I’d love to,” Maddie squealed in excitement. Jenny grabbed her hands and squealed too.

A knock at the bedroom door interrupted the girls’ excitement. An accented voice followed. “Ladies, is everything okay? Can I get you something to drink, maybe a snack?” Maddie had visited Jenny’s house often enough to recognize the voice as belonging to Rosario, Jenny’s family’s Filipina maid.

“You want anything Maddie, maybe a lemonade?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Maddie nodded.

Jenny yelled toward the door, “Rosario, go make us some lemonade, okay.” It wasn’t a request.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 10.

by Camille Langry and Monica Graz

The man turned to the right, looking around the room, and I froze in complete and utter shock. It was Mark! I looked at Signora, who, after seeing my reaction, walked towards me, blocking Mark from my view.

“Follow me. Let’s talk briefly before you do something stupid,” she said quietly and walked towards the study. I followed her, too scared to check if Mark saw me.

She turned and faced me as we both entered the study. I was still in shock and my hands were trembling. My normal English came back as I said in a very anxious voice, “Why you lied to me, Signora? What am I going to do now? I don’t think that I can go out there again.” I had tears in my eyes as I finished speaking.

She gave me an angry look, but managed to compose herself and said in a low but commanding tone, “Listen to me carefully, Molly. I wasn’t lying to you when I said that Mark and his wife had to postpone their trip. That’s what was mentioned in the last e-mail they sent me. But as he explained just now, there was a false alarm and his wife had only a strong allergic reaction and a persistent bad cough that initially was diagnosed as a possible bronchitis-pneumonia. After a thorough check-up and a good dose of cortisone she was fully recovered and they just run to catch their plane never having the chance to alert me.”

Story: Lady Helen

by Jackie J

Chapter one

Patricia had worked for Lady Helen for some twelve months in the capacity of house maid carrying out her duties diligently working six days a week being at Lady Helens beck and call with no complaint. Wednesday was Patricia’s free day when she would leave the secluded manor house of her reclusive Mistress and visit her friend in the neighbouring village. It was Wednesday and after serving breakfast Patricia left the Manor, she would be returning no sooner than eight thirty in the evening, in time to serve supper.

Lady Helen, a traditionalist, was fastidious insisting on strict protocols within the household, whilst somewhat draconian, conditions that Patricia willingly accepted. Patricia understanding the demarcation, Patricia was the house maid and Lady Helen was the Mistress of the manor and she paid due deference to her Ladyship at all times.  Patricia, always smartly attired in her dated, old fashioned and cumbersome maid’s uniform, curtsied when addressing her Ladyship, never questioning her instructions, speaking only when spoken to and efficiently going about her duties. A sensible three year indenture clause, within the contract, giving security to both Mistress and maid, the indenture only to be revoked should both parties agree and a replacement maid be trained and in position to serve the Mistress of Hillside Manor.