18 May 1907
I cannot believe it. I have been accepted as a maid at the most palace-like manor in all of England! I knock briskly on the polished-oak door, my heart pounding. ‘I must greet them formally.’ I remind myself. I let out a loud internal squeal of excitement. A young lady of about fifteen answers the door. I curtsey politely, but to my horror the bun I thought I had secured firmly at the back of my head falls out, and the band I used to tie it with springs right onto the lady’s nose. She looks at me in utter disgust, primly picks the band off her nose and drops it at my feet, then says in an irritable tone: “Who are you?”
“The new maid, Miss. Pleasure.” I reply, extending my hand. She frowns at me, then drawls: “Wrong door. The back door is around the corner and to your left.” ‘By gosh she sounds plummy’ is all I can think as I turn scarlet with deep embarrassment. “Oh.” Is all I manage to say. As she turns away and semi-slams the door, I hear her shout: “FA-ATHER, WHO IS THIS IMPOSTOR WHO THINKS SHE CA-” And that’s all I hear before the door clicks completely shut.
I’m in awe of the grounds, they are stunningly groomed, not a leaf out of place on a single hedge, each flower standing straight like little soldiers, the breeze sweeping the air not rustling them at all. Even the shrubs are perfectly tamed, their lush green leaves glinting as the light hits them. I pull on the knotted rope by the back door and hear a bell ring inside. I am greeted by a rather large maid holding a goose-feather duster, looking quite flustered and panicked. As soon as she sees me the look on her face disappears and she smiles at me warmly. “Hello, love. You must be Louise. Let me tour you ‘round.” She is the most polite person I’ve met in my ten minutes of being here. They are all quite snobby to be honest, but then I suppose they are close to being like royalty. The tubby maid guides me through the Great hall, the Dining Room, Kitchen Pantry…. I even met the Butler! Last of all are the maid’s quarters. The maid- Who I’ve learned is called Sylvia- leads me up the stairs, then opens the door. I don’t expect anything too extravagant, we are maids after all, but I get a shock when I enter. All there is is a bed each, a sewing machine and a bucket, soap and rack for the laundry we are forced to do. “That’s all?” I ask Sylvia expectantly. “Oh, dear no, there is also a bathroom through there.” She smiles, pointing to the door. I sigh dramatically and flop on the bed. “How can you live like this?” I exclaim, standing up and straightening the thin white covers I just crinkled. Sylvia shifts and smiles uneasily. She leans in and and mumbles in a hushed tone: “ I don’t.” I look at her.
“What do you mean you don’t?”
“Promise you won’t tell the Master or Mistress?” She says, her watery blue eyes staring straight into mine. I place my hand over my heart, and feel it thumping through the dull grey uniform. “Maid’s honour.” I promise. She leans in and whispers; “I’ve been sneaking out to attend to another job down the dress shop. I have a little house down the road from there. I live there, then use the Servant’s door to come back here in the morning so that old Davie doesn’t suspect anything.” I reel backwards in shock. “You have another job? Another house??” I exclaim. Sylvia holds her hand to my mouth to stop me talking. She bends forward to reach under her bed, finding a cigar and lighting it. She poises it between her teeth, but doesn’t inhale. “If you EVER tell a single soul, I’ll be sure to get you out of your job here.” She practically spits the words like they are poisonous to her tongue, and I swear I see those blue eyes glow a devilish red. Oh, dear Lord, what do I do? How can I keep such a big secret? How can I be trusted? How can I keep my job….
I cannot believe it. I have been accepted as a maid at the most palace-like manor in all of England! I knock briskly on the polished-oak door, my heart pounding. ‘I must greet them formally.’ I remind myself. I let out a loud internal squeal of excitement. A young lady of about fifteen answers the door. I curtsey politely, but to my horror the bun I thought I had secured firmly at the back of my head falls out, and the band I used to tie it with springs right onto the lady’s nose. She looks at me in utter disgust, primly picks the band off her nose and drops it at my feet, then says in an irritable tone: “Who are you?”
“The new maid, Miss. Pleasure.” I reply, extending my hand. She frowns at me, then drawls: “Wrong door. The back door is around the corner and to your left.” ‘By gosh she sounds plummy’ is all I can think as I turn scarlet with deep embarrassment. “Oh.” Is all I manage to say. As she turns away and semi-slams the door, I hear her shout: “FA-ATHER, WHO IS THIS IMPOSTOR WHO THINKS SHE CA-” And that’s all I hear before the door clicks completely shut.
I’m in awe of the grounds, they are stunningly groomed, not a leaf out of place on a single hedge, each flower standing straight like little soldiers, the breeze sweeping the air not rustling them at all. Even the shrubs are perfectly tamed, their lush green leaves glinting as the light hits them. I pull on the knotted rope by the back door and hear a bell ring inside. I am greeted by a rather large maid holding a goose-feather duster, looking quite flustered and panicked. As soon as she sees me the look on her face disappears and she smiles at me warmly. “Hello, love. You must be Louise. Let me tour you ‘round.” She is the most polite person I’ve met in my ten minutes of being here. They are all quite snobby to be honest, but then I suppose they are close to being like royalty. The tubby maid guides me through the Great hall, the Dining Room, Kitchen Pantry…. I even met the Butler! Last of all are the maid’s quarters. The maid- Who I’ve learned is called Sylvia- leads me up the stairs, then opens the door. I don’t expect anything too extravagant, we are maids after all, but I get a shock when I enter. All there is is a bed each, a sewing machine and a bucket, soap and rack for the laundry we are forced to do. “That’s all?” I ask Sylvia expectantly. “Oh, dear no, there is also a bathroom through there.” She smiles, pointing to the door. I sigh dramatically and flop on the bed. “How can you live like this?” I exclaim, standing up and straightening the thin white covers I just crinkled. Sylvia shifts and smiles uneasily. She leans in and and mumbles in a hushed tone: “ I don’t.” I look at her.
“What do you mean you don’t?”
“Promise you won’t tell the Master or Mistress?” She says, her watery blue eyes staring straight into mine. I place my hand over my heart, and feel it thumping through the dull grey uniform. “Maid’s honour.” I promise. She leans in and whispers; “I’ve been sneaking out to attend to another job down the dress shop. I have a little house down the road from there. I live there, then use the Servant’s door to come back here in the morning so that old Davie doesn’t suspect anything.” I reel backwards in shock. “You have another job? Another house??” I exclaim. Sylvia holds her hand to my mouth to stop me talking. She bends forward to reach under her bed, finding a cigar and lighting it. She poises it between her teeth, but doesn’t inhale. “If you EVER tell a single soul, I’ll be sure to get you out of your job here.” She practically spits the words like they are poisonous to her tongue, and I swear I see those blue eyes glow a devilish red. Oh, dear Lord, what do I do? How can I keep such a big secret? How can I be trusted? How can I keep my job….