Chapter 1

In the summer of 1898, four months past my twentieth birthday, my cousin Linda paid us a visit. Had she not, perhaps my father would never have had the idea.

Despite the familial connection, I had met Linda only twice before, both when I was very young; I did not well remember her except to recall she was three years my senior. Though her family did not live nearby, she had, two months previously, taken a role in a house as a serving maid for a wealthy family on the outskirts of Bourton-on-the-Water, eight miles from our village of Coln St Dennis. She came to visit on her first available opportunity, no doubt keen to regale us with the wealth of her employers and thus the reflected fortune of her appointment.

“…Nine bedrooms, if you could believe such a thing, and they have three drawing rooms, and their pantry is almost as big as this whole house!” She spoke with genuine delight at her providence.

“I’m sure it is.” That was my mother. She had not looked up from her knitting, and her tone suggested that though this must be very exciting for Linda, it did not necessarily mean everyone else would likely find it so.

“But is it not a lot for you to clean?” asked my younger sister, Laurel, who, at sixteen, was very practical, often exuberant, but not at all full of fluff, despite her innocence.

“Well, I do not clean it all myself,” Linda replied. “There are three serving maids all-told. Granted, I am the most junior, but then I have not been there but many weeks at all.”

Linda did not stay long as she had to bicycle the miles back to Bourton, and we all (except Mother) trooped out dutifully to admire the lady’s bicycle that she had been loaned for the journey (“One of the first of its kind!”). I wasn’t disappointed to see her go, but she promised to visit with us again when she next had a day to herself, perhaps two months hence.

I watched her peddle away; the bicycle looked like hard work, and not at all easy in all those skirts.

It was not long after she left that my father, who had mostly kept to himself during Linda’s visit, expressed his opinion. “It is a decent enough occupation for a girl. You should consider it, Emily.”

I did not know quite how to respond to that and so said nothing, thinking that instead I might wish another occupation that perhaps allowed me more time to myself than a day every two months. I didn’t fancy a life of cleaning for a wealthy family who would be unlikely to notice whether or not I was there.

Nevertheless, I had held my tongue when Father first raised the idea, and therefore could not reproach him when, scarcely a fortnight later, he entered the drawing room in excitement to inform the household in general, and me in particular, that he had secured me bed and board as a serving maid “with good prospects”.

I was to leave the very next day. Laurel cried, and even Mother informed me that she would miss me.

*

In retrospect, it was obvious that I was very fortunate, though at the time I did not appreciate quite what was in store for me. Yet to obtain such a role and at such a residence was a grand coup indeed, and I could imagine I was the envy of many a girl from the area.

The address to which I had been appointed was the estate at Laxton, near to Mansfield, far to the north. I was to come to learn it was considerably grander than the house where my cousin Linda was employed. Laxton had sixteen bedrooms and numerous state rooms, drawing rooms, a library, servants’ quarters and such, supported with extensive gardens and grounds.

It emerged my father had been in correspondence with a Mrs Dempster, with whom he had been acquainted some years previously, and thus had familiarity. It was she, I was informed, who was responsible for managing the various maids, of which Laxton apparently employed quite a number.

The following day I left early in the morning, even before the sun was up. First by post from our village to take coach from Burford, and from there to Oxford. Father rose to bid me goodbye and to remind me to keep my manners. Mother had apparently not slept particularly well and therefore had elected not to rise, due to the unseemly hour. At the last minute, my sister Laurel appeared clad in her nightshirt and hugged me fiercely.

On arrival at Oxford, I took a train as far as Mansfield, which had proximity to Laxton. It was my first time travelling by train, and I found it quite thrilling. Arriving at Mansfield in the early afternoon I looked for a girl named Lucy, another maid employed at Laxton, as per my father’s prior instructions. I understood she had been visiting family and was now returning to the estate. The station was not too busy, and anyway contained few girls travelling unescorted, as one might expect, thus she was not too difficult to locate.

Lucy was a very pretty, friendly-looking girl, and she greeted me warmly.

One of the Laxton coaches had been sent to collect us and our chests, an unexpected courtesy that was most welcome and saved the complexity of having to procure our own transport. To my eyes it was a very fine carriage and pulled by four; far larger than the post I had taken from my home earlier in the day.

Lucy’s chest was quite small, as she had been away only three days, but mine was somewhat larger. Despite this, Lucy expressed surprise that it was all I had brought. I did not say that it would have been difficult to bring more, given that the chest contained all the clothes I owned and still had room for some small, personal and cherished trinkets. Moreover, were it to have been any heavier, I could not imagine lifting it on and off the train without assistance.

The footman hoisted my heavy chest on top of the stage as though it were empty, and I couldn’t help but find him a little daunting. He was a very large man with ever so broad shoulders. Unlike my father, he was clean-shaven, but his mouth seemed to wear a permanent scowl which, combined with his bushy, black eyebrows, made him seem quite sinister.

I was a long way from home and, despite Lucy’s company, felt quite alone, though I found it reassuring that she did not seem nervous in his presence. Nevertheless, neither the intimidating footman nor the length of the trip had lessened my excitement of travelling – which was, for me at least, a new experience. I particularly anticipated our arrival at the estate itself.

Once past the gatehouse, the road wound gently between rows of well-established trees for some time before the house finally came into view. The residence seemed to stretch on and on, with a frontage of at least two-score large windows overlooking the entrance to the central courtyard. The carriage continued within, the horses turning a wide circle to finally stop before a flight of steps that rose up toward the main entrance, a door of considerable size and grandness.

The house was truly magnificent and incredibly daunting, predominantly white in its aspect, with much marble and majestic columns. While it was no doubt architecture of the highest quality, I found it difficult to look past my own awe-struck feelings of inadequacy. How on Earth was I to find my place in such a grand estate?

Lucy opened the door to our carriage and stepped down first, clearly more at ease than I. Making a conscious effort not to gape, I followed her. I hardly noticed the indifference the footman continued to show us or the lack of civility in not opening our door; Lucy had clearly expected as much and sensibly aided our alighting. He unloaded our chests, though somewhat less than gently. I made no objection as my possessions were deposited unceremoniously onto the gravel, feeling I wasn’t in a position to reproach him. It was not long before he had taken his rest once again and the driver geed the horses on.

“This way then, girls, let us not stand idle,” came a strict voice from my left, surprising me, so distracted had I been by the facing of the house and the departure of the stage. A quite severe-looking woman stood nearby, dressed reasonably well in a long, pleated, grey dress. She was probably in her early thirties, but the tightness of her braid and the sternness of her countenance made her seem older – or at least most intimidating. She gestured towards a small door to one side, sequestered discreetly; indeed, I had not observed it before.

Lucy quickly picked up her smaller case and walked towards her. I tried not to tarry as, with an effort, I lifted my heavier chest and struggled across the gravel.

“Come, come,” urged the woman impatiently, clearly with no intention of assisting me.

It took me some time to haul my chest through the door, along various corridors, up several flights of steps and finally to the room in which I was evidently to reside. Lucy cast me the occasional sympathetic look and appeared to want to help me, but there was only one handle and thus I had to manage alone. In any event, she had accompanied me; it seemed we were to be roommates.

The room I was guided to was clearly shared by several other girls for there were four beds in all, yet I had still at least twice the space I enjoyed at home, sharing with my sister.

I placed the chest at the foot of my bed and was all ready to collapse on to it, exhausted, when I noticed the disapproving look from the severe-looking woman by the door.

“You will need to bathe, then,” she stated. “Quite clearly your journey has left you in no fit state to be seen.”

It seemed one was not allowed to perspire in the house. This did not bode well for any future hard work – such as cleaning, for instance.

“Dinner will be attended at eight-thirty,” she continued, “but you are to gather by eight o’clock.”

I was to learn that the servants ate after the rest of the household, who usually dined at seven.

She turned and left, with a final, “Emily, Lucy will see to you.”

I admit I was quite glad to see her gone.

“She’s a bit of a dragon!” Lucy whispered, the moment the door had closed. She had echoed my thoughts quite accurately, and I fought to restrain a nervous giggle.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Mrs Dempster,” she said as if I should know, her surprise quite evident. “Did you not meet her during your interview?”

“I didn’t have an interview.” So that was the Mrs Dempster my father knew. I wondered what form their previous acquaintance had taken.

“Really?” Lucy seemed quite taken aback by this development, but recovered momentarily. “Come, we must see to our bathing.”

She led me from the room and briefly down the corridor, before turning into what was the most enormous washroom. Several bathtubs lined the centre of the room, and I was astounded to see rows of large, copper pipes running across the sides of the room to terminate in what could only have been shower heads.

Lucy was watching my expression. “Yes, we are extremely modern here,” she announced, as though she had herself devised the plumbing. “There are many things that are done at Laxton that are well ahead of the times.”

As she spoke, she began to strip off her clothing, tossing it unceremoniously into a basket to one side. From the room and her manner, it was clear that bathing was to be communal. I wasn’t enamoured with that idea. But as she continued to disrobe, soon to be unclothed, I judged it wisest not to lag behind. I unbuttoned my dress and pulled it over my head, then focused intently on removing the remainder of my clothing, not quite comfortable with the nude proximity of the heretofore unknown Lucy, who, unashamed in her nakedness, had walked towards one of the wall-mounted showerheads and activated it by pulling a pair of long chains.

I could not delay unduly and soon was naked too, and though there were shower heads alongside both the walls of the washroom, felt it would be rude to choose one distant from Lucy’s. I busied myself with the chain mechanism, aware that Lucy was regarding me openly and frankly.

“You are very beautiful,” she said to me.

I turned to look at her in surprise, but at that moment cold water deposited upon my head and I gasped, spluttering, and had to swallow a shriek.

Lucy giggled.

“You have to use both chains to get the right temperature.” She stepped from her shower to mine, her closeness quite disconcerting. I tried not to look at her, regarding instead the chains as she instructed me on controlling the flow of water, and soon, to my surprise and delight, I had engineered a very pleasant flow of water under which to bathe.

I was aware of Lucy washing herself beside me and watching me while she did so.

“I like your breasts,” she remarked. “They are not too large or too small, and you have very fine nipples.”

I was absolutely certain I did not know how to respond, and felt my cheeks flame to be so appraised.

Lucy was not finished.

“Overall, I think you have a very fine figure. It is no wonder you were employed here.”

I wondered why the fineness or otherwise of my figure would have any bearing on my employment.

“You will need to do something about that, though, of course,” she added, and appeared to have gestured toward my pubic region.

Surprised, I looked at her, and though, with propriety, my eyes were largely focused on her face, I could not help but notice her nakedness. Lucy was certainly a very beautiful girl, and I thought her far finer than I. Her breasts were larger than mine and her hips curvier, and it was then that I noticed with great surprise that where I naturally wore a thick thatch of dark pubic hair, Lucy had nothing at all. She was completely bare, and it was possibly the most shocking thing I had ever observed. It was completely outrageous: it left her no modesty or cover; more, it served to flaunt her womanhood in the basest of ways, as if to draw attention. I found myself unable to look away, despite my embarrassment and the heat rising in my cheeks.

“What has happened to your hair?” I blurted, unable to stop myself.

“Do you like it?” she asked, turning towards me so that I could better see while she raised her arms lightly about her head. I noticed, too, that the underside of her arms was smooth, as indeed were her legs, on further appraisal.

I considered her nakedness, transfixed despite myself, and decided that she looked so beautifully feminine, so smooth and inviting, that I could only nod my approval, my cheeks flaming crimson with the discomfiture of the encounter. I felt far more earthy, as though I was unrefined, and she, in comparison, the very image of sophisticated exquisiteness.

“Yes, I like it too,” she stated, as though I had voiced my approval. “It is another example of the things we do here at Laxton that are well ahead of the times. I think it will catch on, don’t you?”

I wondered exactly how one shared such a fashion in polite society, and held my opinion.

“Here, I will fetch you a razor,” she said, stepping from beneath her shower. She paused to regard me for a moment, before adding, “And perhaps some scissors.”

She walked naked and dripping across the tiled floor to a medium-sized cabinet set against the wall. I couldn’t help but admire the firmness and shape of her derriere. She really was very beautiful.

She bent slightly to open a drawer beneath the cabinet and then looked back at me over her shoulder, and I blushed furiously and lowered my eyes, but not before I had seen her smile to have caught me peeking.

In a moment she had returned with three items: a pair of scissors with small, sharp blades; a stick of shaving soap; and a razor quite unlike the cutthroat blade I had seen my father use on rare occasion.

She saw my surprise. “It’s a new design. It’s called a ‘safety razor’.” She showed me how the small blade was mounted between two slim pieces of wood. “It is far easier to use under your arms. And elsewhere.” You will not cut yourself. It is another example — ”

“— Of the things we do here at Laxton that are ahead of the times?” I finished for her.

She laughed. “Take your time, but do not tarry. We are due in the servant hall at eight o’clock, and we need still to get you your uniform.” And with that she took a towel and left, wrapping it around her even as she walked out into the corridor.

Apprehensively, I eyed the items she had placed in my hands.

Surely my legs were the safest place to begin.

I placed the scissors on the shelf beside the shower and started with the stick of soap, stepping back under the shower to re-wet my skin and began to work up a lather. I grimaced at how quickly the long hairs on my legs served to raise the lather, feeling again that sense of unkempt hygiene in comparison to the smoothness of Lucy’s body. I shaved carefully, not fully trusting the safety razor, yet finished quickly and without incident. Afterwards, my legs and under-arms tingled, sensitive under the water spray as I rinsed off the remnants of the shaving soap. Regarding myself as best I could, I considered the effort well worth it.

I had been putting it off, but now had no choice but to consider the thatch between my legs. The thought of using the razor there – safety or not – did not inspire me, and anyway Lucy had not made it clear that I must be shaved like her. I spent some industrious moments with the scissors, trimming as short and as tidily as I could manage. Then, conscious of time, I cut off the shower and returned the shaving items back to the drawer. I discovered a small bowl for what looked like used razor blades and deposited mine accordingly.

“Hurry up, Emily,” I heard Lucy call from the corridor, and I quickly turned and grasped a towel, clutching it to me as I stepped from the shower room.

“There you are,” she said, and she was now fully clothed in her maid’s attire: white blouse with sleeves short from the shoulder, overlaid with a blue bodice, and a white skirt cut short well above the knee. A white hair clasp finished off the ensemble. The skirt seemed shockingly brief compared to the ankle-length garments I was used to wearing, but I could not help admiring the overall effect: it made her look delightful.

“Nice bottom,” came a masculine voice from behind me, and with a shriek I spun. My towel had been clutched only to the front of me with my naked derriere on display to the corridor behind. A footman walked past, dressed simply but smartly in shirt and trousers, a small smile on his lips.

I resisted the urge to glare at Lucy. I had assumed, because she had left the wash-room naked, still wrapping her towel about her, that the corridor was safe from male eyes. It was my own fault, and yet I felt somehow that I had been tricked. I wound the towel around me tightly, wishing that I could also hide the fierce blush that heated my cheeks.

Lucy was smiling too, and I had the sense that she was trying not to laugh. “At least he liked your arse.”

I had never referred to my bottom as an ‘arse’, and yet, when Lucy said it, it sounded pleasing. I smiled back shyly despite still smarting from the incident.

“We need to get you measured for your uniform, and quickly,” Lucy continued. “There is little time. Mrs Dempster will be waiting for us.”

“But—”

Lucy walked off, clearly expecting for me to follow.

Measured? Now? Wearing only this?

It must be another example of the way they did things at Laxton.

I swallowed hard, gripped the towel tightly, and followed her, barefoot, down the cold stone floor.