half-past-five.’
I jumped out of the bed and took my turn in the shared toilet to have a wash. Then I dressed and had a cup of tea and a bit of leftover bun from the night before. Lucy did my make-up as usual
and I lugged my case down to the number thirty-six tram stop at a quarter-past six. I was standing on the step outside 24
Chester Square at ten minutes to seven. Tailcoat took my case and put it somewhere, then he introduced himself as Jacob, the first footman, even though there were no other footmen in the
household. He took me through and introduced me to the cook, whose name was Mrs Jackson – she was a jolly sort of woman in her mid-forties and not at all like the Beadle of Hampstead. She had
two kitchen maids under her, Esther and Annie, and she said they’d call me Miss Moyle so nobody would be confused. I don’t know if she meant that as a joke and they all knew I was just
a jumped-up scullery maid, or if she was being sincere. The scullery maid was Josie and she genuflected when I shook her hand, even though I was only a few years older than her. Tom, the chauffeur,
was having his breakfast and he was an ex-army man and asked ‘How are you, young lady?’ I told him I was well and he said he was glad to hear it.
We then went upstairs and Jacob introduced me to the two parlourmaids, Heather and Beatrice, both of whom were about eighteen, the age I was pretending to be. They giggled when I shook their
hands, as if they were party to a joke and I wasn’t. There were no children in the house and no nanny and, finally, I was shown into the housekeeper’s drawing room to meet Miss Mason,
the head housemaid, who was responsible for catering and linen and the supervision of the other female servants. She was a severe-looking woman of about thirty-five, dressed all in black and
buttoned up to the neck in a figure-hugging frock. Her face was pale and thin and her features were sharp and her hair was pulled back in a severe braided bun. She barely touched my hand when I
offered it to her, as if she might catch something unpleasant from it. Then she sniffed and waved to Jacob and I was taken away. The footman then took me to my room, saying I’d meet Mr Biggs
the butler and Mrs Hathaway the housekeeper later in the day. My case had already been delivered to the room and he left me and closed the door behind him, not mentioning what I was expected to do
or what my duties were or what would happen next.
The room was spacious enough, bigger than anything I’d ever been used to, at least. There was a fair-sized sprung bed with a thick mattress and a matching set of walnut bedroom furniture,
consisting of a bedside cabinet and a mirrored dressing table and a big wardrobe. The room was carpeted in brown and beige, and matching floor-length curtains covered the window that looked out
over the manicured back of the house. I unpacked my case and put my stuff away in the drawers but, when I opened the wardrobe, I found there was already an assortment of clothes hanging there
– dresses and coats and jackets and cardigans and rayon stockings and five or six pairs of shoes on the floor. So I left my own couple of dresses in the case, thinking these clothes belonged
to Mrs Staines the previous lady’s maid, and she’d be sure to be coming back for them. There was a crystal jug with water and a set of crystal glasses on a table close to the window, so
I poured some and had a drink to quench my thirst and sat on the bed and waited. It was only about half-past eight in the morning.
I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door.
‘Come in.’
It was Heather, one of the young housemaids.
‘Would you like breakfast in your room, Miss Moyle?’
‘As opposed to . . .?’
She didn’t seem to understand my question for a moment, then she giggled and put her hand up to her mouth.
‘Oh, sorry . . . or with Miss Mason in Mrs Hathaway’s parlour.’
‘I’ll have it here,
I jumped out of the bed and took my turn in the shared toilet to have a wash. Then I dressed and had a cup of tea and a bit of leftover bun from the night before. Lucy did my make-up as usual
and I lugged my case down to the number thirty-six tram stop at a quarter-past six. I was standing on the step outside 24
Chester Square at ten minutes to seven. Tailcoat took my case and put it somewhere, then he introduced himself as Jacob, the first footman, even though there were no other footmen in the
household. He took me through and introduced me to the cook, whose name was Mrs Jackson – she was a jolly sort of woman in her mid-forties and not at all like the Beadle of Hampstead. She had
two kitchen maids under her, Esther and Annie, and she said they’d call me Miss Moyle so nobody would be confused. I don’t know if she meant that as a joke and they all knew I was just
a jumped-up scullery maid, or if she was being sincere. The scullery maid was Josie and she genuflected when I shook her hand, even though I was only a few years older than her. Tom, the chauffeur,
was having his breakfast and he was an ex-army man and asked ‘How are you, young lady?’ I told him I was well and he said he was glad to hear it.
We then went upstairs and Jacob introduced me to the two parlourmaids, Heather and Beatrice, both of whom were about eighteen, the age I was pretending to be. They giggled when I shook their
hands, as if they were party to a joke and I wasn’t. There were no children in the house and no nanny and, finally, I was shown into the housekeeper’s drawing room to meet Miss Mason,
the head housemaid, who was responsible for catering and linen and the supervision of the other female servants. She was a severe-looking woman of about thirty-five, dressed all in black and
buttoned up to the neck in a figure-hugging frock. Her face was pale and thin and her features were sharp and her hair was pulled back in a severe braided bun. She barely touched my hand when I
offered it to her, as if she might catch something unpleasant from it. Then she sniffed and waved to Jacob and I was taken away. The footman then took me to my room, saying I’d meet Mr Biggs
the butler and Mrs Hathaway the housekeeper later in the day. My case had already been delivered to the room and he left me and closed the door behind him, not mentioning what I was expected to do
or what my duties were or what would happen next.
The room was spacious enough, bigger than anything I’d ever been used to, at least. There was a fair-sized sprung bed with a thick mattress and a matching set of walnut bedroom furniture,
consisting of a bedside cabinet and a mirrored dressing table and a big wardrobe. The room was carpeted in brown and beige, and matching floor-length curtains covered the window that looked out
over the manicured back of the house. I unpacked my case and put my stuff away in the drawers but, when I opened the wardrobe, I found there was already an assortment of clothes hanging there
– dresses and coats and jackets and cardigans and rayon stockings and five or six pairs of shoes on the floor. So I left my own couple of dresses in the case, thinking these clothes belonged
to Mrs Staines the previous lady’s maid, and she’d be sure to be coming back for them. There was a crystal jug with water and a set of crystal glasses on a table close to the window, so
I poured some and had a drink to quench my thirst and sat on the bed and waited. It was only about half-past eight in the morning.
I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door.
‘Come in.’
It was Heather, one of the young housemaids.
‘Would you like breakfast in your room, Miss Moyle?’
‘As opposed to . . .?’
She didn’t seem to understand my question for a moment, then she giggled and put her hand up to her mouth.
‘Oh, sorry . . . or with Miss Mason in Mrs Hathaway’s parlour.’
‘I’ll have it here,
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