The Petticoat Law free porn video

"How did you wind up with me and mummy, Mary?" I tied the drawstring of her petticoat around her waist with characteristic neatness while the question hung in the air. "I was assigned here after the war, Miss." "I know that," she said, "I mean more exactly. Do you like being me and Mummy's maid?" I was taken aback a little by Elizabeth's remarks. She wasn't usually lively enough before breakfast to ask questions like these. I made sure the silhouette of her chemise and petticoats was smooth before removing her walking skirt from the wardrobe. It always took slightly longer to iron than her other skirts owing to the detailing at the hem, so I draped it carefully over my arms, trying my best to avoid creasing it. "Yes, dear, I find the both of you very kind." Elizabeth knew the routine by now and put her hand on my shoulder, balancing herself. First one leg, then the next went into the skirt. She held it up, unfastened, while I knelt behind her and tightened it around the pinched waist of her blouse and corset. "I'm not a little girl anymore Mary," she said a little crossly. "I know that you didn't come here out of choice. So I want to know the truth." "Do you not like me being here?" "Of course I like you being here! I wouldn't know what to do without you. But I see you trying to change the subject." She turned her head and gave me a quick glance of her eyes, dark like her Mother's. She had the same shortness of temper, too. "I'm not trying to change the subject, dear, I'm just a little concerned that you'll be late to meet your Mother for breakfast." "Phooey." She'd crossed her arms. I stood and looked over her shoulder into the mirror. She still had the same expression when cross that she'd had when she was a child. Certainly endearing, although not a face she'd show in public given that she was now a young adult, always eager to show her sophistication. A smile suddenly came to her lips. "I'm sure Mummy would tell me." The idea of having to overhear Mrs. Cooper and her daughter discuss my employment over breakfast was not one I was especially keen on, but I knew her well enough to know that once something got into her head she would inevitably see it through to the end. "What has brought these questions on Lizzy?" I asked. "Mummy's got a visitor today." "I know, I've prepared the spare bedroom. A lady from Bristol." I bade her to sit down so I could powder her face. "Well," she replied, "I know that she probably had a hand in what happened to you. Why you're here with us." She screwed up her face as I passed the powder puff over her nose. At least it got her to quieten down. As for the lady visitor, I was genuinely intrigued. Mrs. Cooper had asked me to prepare the bedroom for a guest, and although I knew exactly when she was arriving, it wasn't revealed to me exactly who she was. Knowing the extent of Mrs. Cooper's social circle, it really could have been anyone. She had told me the woman had a particular fondness for the smell of lavender, and I promised her that it wasn't too much of a task to cut some sprigs from the front porch and put them, tied in packing string, on the pillow of the bed. The woman had also requested a prayer-book, and Mrs. Cooper had insisted I use her personal book of prayers, one that her Mother had given to her on her 16th Birthday. I left the book on the bedside table. I'd opened the curtains of the room and aired it out only minutes before I arrived to wake Elizabeth. "Mary you're getting powder on my clothes." "Oh! I'm sorry Lizzy," I said, wiping a dab of powder off the neck of the blouse with my thumb. "I'm just ever so curious about this woman. It's not every day we get visitors." "No. But like I said, you might recognise this lady. Mummy said you would." "Well I'll have to ask her about it." I took a comb from the pocket of my apron and tried to tidy a few strands of Elizabeth's hair. It was being surprisingly well behaved that morning, although her hair had always tended to frizz up and become unmanageable. "You won't. You're always quiet as a mouse around her. I'll ask her for you." "There's no need for that." She let out a patronising laugh. "Mary you're more likely to put Mummy's dress on backwards than interrupt her breakfast. You can pour her tea and I'll ask her all about it. Agreed?" I shrugged and wiped my hands on my apron before putting the lid back on the powder tin and clicking it shut. "As you wish." She couldn't hide her smirk. "Anyway, we're going to an event tonight with her." "Is that so? Is it a formal event? Will you be wanting me to launder anything?" She chuckled at my predictably anxious response. "Yes. Mummy said I should wear my cream gown, with the ribbon. Hold on." She signalled me to stay where I was stood, then stood up from the make-up table herself and began leafing through the dresses hung in the open closet. She soon found the gown she was looking for and proceeded to hand it to me. I held it high to keep the hem off the floor. I looked it up and down. "I've always liked this one on you." She was standing with her hands on her hips, smiling. The surest way to making her smile was to compliment her. "Thank you, Mary. You wouldn't mind freshening it up for me before seven, would you?" "I'll make time for it. I suspect your Mother will have her own clothes to sort out too." "And let's not forget our lady visitor." "And our lady visitor, naturally." "You better go and ready Mother's breakfast. I'll be down in five minutes. Thank you again Mary." I used my free hand to lift my skirts into a small curtsey, stepped out of Elizabeth's bedroom, and softly closed the door. She was right about Mrs. Cooper's breakfast. I knew it would be unfortunate to delay her morning meal on a day she was expecting visitors. She was prone to anxious anticipation when respectable guests were due. She relied on me to sort things out, and anything that would make her think twice about my reliability would only upset her. Nevertheless, there was the matter of Elizabeth's gown. I carried it carefully down the hall towards the back of the house, then down the stairs towards my quarters. I took the key from my skirt pocket and slid it into the keyhole. Once inside the room, I hung the gown on the rather spare-looking iron clothing rack, next to two of Mrs. Cooper's woollen skirts and one of her cotton nightgowns. All would have to wait for me to light the fire and prepare the iron in the afternoon. I had been up and about for a good three hours by that point of the morning, and took a minute to sit on the bed, making sure not to crease my skirts. The boot on my right foot was laced slightly too tightly and was causing me a little discomfort, so I pulled my skirt and petticoats up to the knee and undid the laces, loosening them ever-so-slightly down towards the toe of the boot. This task was not made easier by the simple corset I wore under my uniform. Despite the difficulty, however, I suddenly noticed the coy play of light on the fabric of Elizabeth's gown, hanging next to the wall. It came from a small window at the very top of the opposite wall, too small for even a child to crawl through. The cream fabric shone beautifully as a letterbox-sized rectangle of light shone down across it. The room was, aside from this, relentlessly drab. Of course, I understood why, that it was not only due to my position in the household hierarchically, but due to the position of the room spatially, stuck in a corner, facing the overshadowed and narrow urban gardens at the rear of the townhouse. There was not enough light to make decoration of any use. Everything was neat, certainly. My uniforms were laundered and ironed, arranged in the closet as neatly as cards in a deck. Boots and shoes polished, and even my overcoat was brushed free of lint, even if I had no immediate plans to wear it. It was not every day that I would be preparing an evening gown for the two ladies of the house, and at those times the only things that identified it as someone's living quarters were the few trinkets I had been permitted to bring with me. My Mother's ring, bearing a cameo with the profile of Diana, lay, as always, in the up-turned metal lid of an old tobacco box. In the same lid there were beads of the rosary, a gift from my aunt, on which I counted my Hail Mary's; a habit Mrs. Cooper had been keen to foster in my earliest days as her maid. In a similar vein, Mrs. Cooper had encouraged me to bring along a small bible, a well-thumbed book that had been in the Howard family for decades. Not only would it remind me of my closeness to God, she was always keen to tell me, but it would also remind me of my family: 'And what is a woman without her family?' Whatever the answer, I now had a new family. I also had a role within it completely unlike the one that I once enjoyed with my blood relations for the first decades of my life. Mercifully, the sound of Mrs. Jenkins emptying a cinder-pan across the alleyway shook me out of my introspection. It was time for breakfast, and Mrs. Cooper was due in only half an hour. I swept my skirts off the bed and made sure my laces were tightened. The high heels of my boots ensured my skirts didn't sweep up any dust from the wooden floorboards. I re-tied my apron at the back, before retrieving my key again, which I used to lock the door. I'd already lit the fire in the kitchen that morning, and it didn't take much preparation to have the ladies' breakfast ready to serve. I sliced an apple and boiled porridge, mixing it with a small amount of honey. I'd also come to learn that Elizabeth would always turn up to the table at the merest hint of a cooked crumpet, and so readied the griddle pan over the fire. I set aside some crumpet, and the remainder of the porridge at the bottom of the pan, for myself. I was placing Madame's breakfast on the table when the door opened. My heart, as usual, leapt. "Hello again Mary," said Mrs. Cooper enthusiastically. She was in her grey walking skirt and pearl blouse. The 'rainy daisy' skirt left her boots and stockinged ankles visible. Her boots would need polishing, I thought, although she'd no doubt remind me later to get on with it. With a sweep of skirts she paced towards her position at the dining table, her lips held tight in a smile. It was the second time she'd greeted me today, the first being at dawn, when I dressed her for her morning stroll. Her doctor had been keen for her to take regular exercise in the mornings ever since she'd reached her fiftieth birthday. As a woman of means she had no other regular or energetic occupation. Still, with the energy thus conserved, she carried herself very rightly, never scuffing her feet, dangling her arms, and would never be caught sat hunched in a chair. The way she carried herself seemed almost a means of expressing her good standing, financially and socially. One could take the girl out of the finishing school, but not the finishing school out of the girl. Mrs. Cooper matched her impeccable posture with a confident, disciplined, eye contact. Whenever I accompanied her to evening events or helped her entertain guests, she always leaned keenly towards her conversation partner, warming herself to her companion by peering deeply into their eyes. Her skill was that this was never noticed by whoever she was talking to. They merely came away with a warm sense of familiarity, even intimacy. With me, her maid, eye-contact played a different role. She had no need to draw me into her circle, to win me over to her charms. I always met her eyes in greeting but could never resist breaking that connection and furtively looking down at my shoes. Of course, it would have been unthinkable to stare her down, to return her look with one of equal intensity. What sufficed was a brief glance of recognition, before I bobbed my knees in curtsey. This was only partly intentional. I knew she enjoyed this shyness on my part. It reminded her of who she was and who she aspired to be, the confident society hostess, a woman of some local renown. While I understood that I had my role to play, there was also a subconscious pull that forced me to avert my eyes in her presence. Whether it was the routine tasks required in serving her, my uniform, or something else entirely, there was something that compelled me to give way to her, to appease her and in no way obstruct or divert her daily activity. It was enough to frazzle someone's nerves entirely, having to tread so carefully around her, to behave so closely to her expectations. At the time of her arrival, I'd only just laid her breakfast on the table in the light of the front window. It was a bright autumn morning, and already the workaday talk of passers-by was mixed with the intermittent sound of a rolling carriage and a braying of horses. Mrs. Cooper's breakfasting routine was understandably one of the first I had to become accustomed to. A smart curtsey, a chair pulled out from under the table, and a polite invitation to sit were all vital components. "How are we today Mary?" she said, sitting, "I trust Elizabeth is well?" "Indeed Madame," I replied. As she sat, I prepared a serviette for the collar of her blouse. "She will be with us shortly." "Very good." With the serviette in place at her neck, she looked down at the table, checking everything was set correctly. "Aren't you forgetting something?" she said, lightly tapping her empty tea-cup with a spoon. The sound of the crockery echoed in the corners of the high ceiling. She looked up at me, not impatiently, but with a look of expectation. "Oh, my apologies Madame." I pulled the tea-towel that was hanging from my apron over my forearm, and proceeded to pick up the ornate china teapot, pouring it carefully into her cup. She watched every drop with her hands clasped together on the tablecloth. "Can't be having breakfast without tea can we Mary?" "Not at all Madame. If there's anything else you require...?" She laughed. "Nothing else seems to be out of place Mary. You're a forgetful little soul sometimes, aren't you!" She picked up the spoon I'd laid on the table for her and checked it in the light, then gave it a little buff with the serviette. She used it to take up a dainty portion of porridge and delicately blew the steam off the top of it. At this late hour of the morning, I was beginning to appreciate my foresight in leaving some in the pan for myself. "Now Mary, I hope you have your head screwed on properly today." "Yes, I do Madame." "Then you'll remember that we're expecting a visitor?" "The guest bedroom is all prepared." "Is it aired?" "I aired it this morning, after you left for your walk, Madame." "Good." She finished another mouthful of her porridge before speaking again. "She's a woman of good breeding and will expect good service from you Mary." I judged from her lack of complaints about the porridge that I could ask to be excused. "Madame, I hope you'll excuse me while I prepare Elizabeth's breakfast." "Go on then, off you go. And don't burn the damned thing." "Yes Madame," I said quietly, and curtsied. As expected, Elizabeth appeared almost as soon as her breakfast hit the table. She sat close to her Mother, leaving a great deal of the table unoccupied. Mrs. Cooper took an awful long time to finish her porridge, and only then began biting into the small slices of apple I'd arranged beside her bowl. She would only eat sweet apples. She took one piece at a time between two fingers, held it to her lips, then bit into it softly. Elizabeth by this point was already picking crumbs from her plate. She wouldn't leave the table until her Mother had finished. I often felt a vague sense of envy for the staff of famous individuals; one could read an awful lot about the character of a person from their habits at table. "Mummy?" Elizabeth asked, absent-mindedly stirring her tea. They had both finally finished their breakfasts, and Mrs. Cooper was reading a newspaper by the light of the window, every so often sipping from her cup. I had just returned from carrying their dirty plates into the kitchen and stood with my hands clasped in front of my apron skirts. "Yes dear?" Mrs. Cooper replied, without looking up. "Mary wanted to know about our lady visitor." Mrs. Cooper looked at me briefly from the corner of her eye with a hint of disapproval. "Mary wanted to know did she?" "Mmhmm. This morning when she was dressing me. We were talking about her." "Is that right Mary? What were you two chatting about this morning? Gossiping like fishwives." "I'm sure she meant nothing by it," Elizabeth added, "I encouraged her, see..." "Alright Lizzy, calm down," Madame interjected. "Let Mary speak for herself." She held a hand out to me, waiting to receive an answer. "Sorry Madame," I said. "I was dressing Elizabeth this morning when she remarked that the lady visitor today would be someone I would recognise. That this lady was somehow involved in my employment with you." "That is indeed the case," replied Mrs. Cooper. "Would you like to know her name?" "Oh, I wouldn't want to ask anything from you, Madame. It was only idle curiosity." "I agree with you there Mary. They say idle women have the least leisure. Still, I think it not unreasonable that you know who you'll be attending to this evening. It is a Mrs. Wilson. She's here to speak at the Ladies' Society." "Mummy nothing that happens at the Ladies' society is ever interesting," replied Elizabeth. "Lizzy don't tempt me to send you back to your room. You'll learn to respect our visitor, in time. This lady was one of the founding members of the Ladies' Guild for National Charity and Morale." "I thought you dined with them last week?" Lizzy asked. "No dear. That was the Ladies' Benevolence Fund dinner. The Ladies' Guild is a great deal more important than those fussy housewives. Mary will tell you about the Ladies' Guild." Mrs. Cooper turned her head in my direction with a look of encouragement. My natural response to being under Mrs. Cooper's gaze was to straighten my apron and skirts. I must have looked like a schoolgirl about to recite a prayer. It was hard to know who to look at. "They were founded during the war," I said, "by Annie Ascot of Bristol." "Mrs.", Mrs. Cooper said, correcting me. "Yes. Mrs. Annie Ascot. The guild became very influential under her leadership." "She's a very brave woman Elizabeth. A model for any young lady," said Mrs. Cooper. "She founded the Guild and did a great deal of good for this country. She set a lot of things right that many women thought were going wrong for a very long time." "I've heard of her," Elizabeth replied. "You were only a girl," Mrs. Cooper continued, "but during the war she did all sorts of good things while our boys were fighting in France. Mary will tell you." She looked at me expecting a response, but I struggled to string my thoughts together, to formulate a sentence. "Yes Madame. She organised charitable work for children of the fallen. She organised knitting clubs to send warm clothes to our soldiers, among other things." "And? Don't miss out the most important part dear," Mrs. Cooper said. "She also drafted and petitioned for the petticoat law. She brought it all the way to the prime minister, and it was passed as law soon after." "Come on now Mary don't dither," Mrs. Cooper replied. "Tell the girl what the petticoat law was, please." "The petticoat law affected those who chose not to fight in the Great War. Men and boys old enough to fight but who refused to join up." "Mrs. Ascot lost her son in the trenches," Mrs. Cooper said to her daughter. "In 1916. He was shot through the heart by a German bullet. There were thousands of brave boys like him. His name was Thomas." There was a moment of quiet as Mrs. Cooper reflected. Elizabeth looked at me with a slight look of confusion, before Mrs. Cooper looked towards me again and spoke. "Carry on then Mary." "Mrs. Ascot was unhappy that hers and many other mother's sons were killed in the fighting," I continued. "She was angry that there were men at home who could fight but chose not to. That it was unfair." "And isn't it unfair?" Mrs. Cooper asked. "What do you think Lizzy?" She nodded her head. "Any sensible person would think it unfair. Mrs. Ascot had the courage to do something about it. Everyone, in a time of war, must take responsibility for the good of their country. Those who shirk responsibility during war must make up for it afterwards. Wouldn't you agree with that sentiment?" "That sounds right Mummy." "But Mrs. Ascot was cleverer than she first appears. She thought that people who didn't fight had to make up for it in a special way. These men were evidently far too cowardly to fight, and you have to remember that it was after the war; there was nobody left to fight! Still, think of it this way; how would you describe a man? A good man? What characteristics would he have?" "He would be kind," Elizabeth answered, confidently. "And?" "Strong." "Of course," Mrs. Cooper said, nodding along. "And brave. And a lot else." "You have just painted a rather fine picture," her Mother replied. She took her daughter's hand in her own and tenderly began to stroke it with her thumb. "And Mrs. Ascot evidently had the same idea as you. Her son was a man just as you've described. He was kind enough to protect his Mother by fighting the Germans, he had to be strong and brave to defend his country. But there were other men who were not like poor Thomas at all. Men who shied away and hid when others volunteered. What do you think those men were like?" "Not nice. Weak." "And brave?" her Mother asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "Not at all." She said this with some conviction, taking up her Mother's own strength of feeling. "So, imagine the war has ended. Some men have taken responsibility, have taken on their duty and have proven themselves as men. They return as heroes. Some, however, failed to do this. Of course, there are perfectly respectable and honourable men who through genuine illness or old age could not sign up. Everyone understands this. But Mrs. Ascot thought long and hard about how to deal with those who refused to fight simply out of cowardice. If these men were not kind, brave, strong and honest souls, what were they? Were they men? Would you call someone who is too afraid to defend his Mother or sister, would rather hide behind his Mother's skirt, a man?" Lizzy shook her head. "No." She shot me a shy glance. "Not men. Something else." Mrs. Cooper couldn't hide the satisfaction she got from her daughter's understanding. "Then you'll think Mrs. Ascot's Petticoat Law a perfectly reasonable solution to the problem. What would you do with these so- called men? If you were prime minister?" Lizzy shrugged, "I'm not sure." "Well let me tell you what Mrs. Ascot once said." Mrs. Cooper sat back now, gently relinquishing her daughter's hand. "She was a very good public speaker. She would always say that 'just as Tommy picked up the rifle, so Connie should pick up the sweeping brush.' By Tommy she means our soldiers. Connie was a term that was going around at the time, for when we referred to 'conscientious objectors', men who didn't want to fight. Mrs. Ascot said that Tommy died in the uniform of the soldier, so Connie ought to live in the uniform of parlour maid!' What do you think about that?" "She thought they should become maids?" "Not just maids, but she thought that they should take on all sorts of feminine roles. Perhaps if they were a doctor, they could become a nurse," said Mrs. Cooper. "But you're right, many ended up in domestic service." "I think it's quite clever. And right." Mrs. Cooper grinned. "I think so too." "And I suppose," Lizzy added, "that this explains why Mary is here." Her Mother nodded. "It does." They both levelled gazes at me. "Lift up your skirt front Mary." I picked up the outer layer of my maid's uniform at the hem, drawing it up to my knees so that the ladies were looking at my petticoats. "And what are we looking at?" she asked her daughter. "Her petticoats. Like the petticoat law," Elizabeth said. "Exactly," Mrs. Cooper replied. "Mary was, once upon a time, one of those cowardly little souls that showed neither generosity, fortitude, nor bravery when we most needed it. With Mrs. Ascot's encouragement, the government decided she belonged in ladies' things. In petticoats." She gave me a brief gesture with her hand. "You can straighten yourself out Mary." I dropped my skirt and shook it free where it caught on my underskirts. I curtseyed to the pair automatically, immediately regretting the show of submissiveness. "And what about Mrs. Wilson?" Elizabeth asked, turning to her Mother. "Well our visitor was one of Mrs. Ascot's closest confidantes back during the campaign years. She's going to talk to our Ladies' club tonight about her work. I offered up our house for her pleasure. Really, it's our pleasure to have the audience of such a wonderful woman. You'll see for yourself." Mrs. Cooper began to rise from the table, picking up her folded newspaper and taking one last small sip from her cup. "But enough of this performance. Let Mary tidy and wash up." Elizabeth also got up. "Yes Mummy," she said, before leaving quickly through the door, seemingly keen to escape my presence. "I trust you'll be up to my rooms soon enough as usual, Mary?" Mrs. Cooper asked. "Yes Madame," I said, before curtseying for what must have been the hundredth time that morning. Returning to the cold silence of the kitchen, scraping food from the plates in my frock, I very nearly burst into tears. For all my years of labour for the ladies, Mrs. Cooper felt no obligation to forgive my earlier failures. I was still to be despised as a man, and accepted only as the obsequious, nervous, submissive woman I had become. I tried to distract myself with the washing up, scrubbing the tea stains from the crockery with a wet rag, careful not to get the sleeves of my dress wet. When everything in the kitchen was neatly put away, I brushed myself off, put on a fresh apron, and climbed the stairs to Mrs. Cooper's bedroom. "Come in," she said, after I knocked. I always knocked twice, not too hard, to let her know it was me. Whether she answered immediately or not, I always knew to wait for a minute outside the door lest she was momentarily preoccupied. I'd checked my face in a hall mirror on the way there to ensure my earlier emotions hadn't made a mark. She was already sitting at her vanity stool, making a few adjustments to a letter. I curtsied as I came in. She didn't see it. "Mrs. Wilson will be here in a few hours so I'd like you to put me into my plum tea-dress, like we arranged," she said, her eyes still on the letter. "Of course Madame." I walked over to her closet, which was on the other side of her large bedroom. I knew every corner and crevice of that room, from the floor to the ornate plaster mouldings between wall and ceiling. I'd dusted every inch hundreds of times, wiped the dust from the ridges in the skirting boards on the off-chance that she too would one day get down on her knees and inspect it herself. Reaching the wardrobe meant side-stepping a small table; three curling metal legs and a marble surface, on which stood a book of poems and a small photograph of her Mother, stony-faced in an old-fashioned lace dress. A distinctly Victorian bonnet on her head. She had died some years before I'd joined the Cooper household. A relief, for the idea of dressing, serving, and doting on such a woman on top of everything else would have been no light task. Mrs. Cooper's plum tea-dress was hanging where I left it the day before. Silk required a little preparation and care, and she had had to inform me ahead of time of her intention to wear it. The delicacy of the material was one issue, but the ruffled design on the blouse and sleeves required similar levels of attention. I felt sympathy for middle-class women with similar taste for fine dresses, those who couldn't afford or didn't have the means to house a maid who could prepare and maintain them. As for Mrs. Cooper, she didn't think twice about the number of layers of a skirt or the thickness of the silk, taffeta or satin. These were issues for me to address. So it was yesterday; Madame read by the fire, her daughter with her legs crossed on the chaise-long, embroidering a design from a practice-book. Pre-occupied enough that they wouldn't need my services for the hour I would need to press the skirts of the dress and make plush the sleeves and frills of the blouse after weeks of sitting in a wardrobe. I took it out lightly and made my way over to where my mistress was sitting. There was a couch nearby that I laid it on. "Are you ready to undress, Madame?" I asked. Dressing Mrs. Cooper was an art, a complex dance that depended on reading subtle bodily gestures and intentions. Slipping a skirt from her waist and helping her step out of it, helping her balance while I changed her into a more elaborate, formal petticoat, or feeding her arms through the sleeves of a blouse, everything depended on intuition, muscle memory, and sheer practice. She was parsimonious with compliments, but I hoped that, if nothing else, she respected or even appreciated the ease with which I dressed and undressed her. It was, after all, a task I completed at least twice, more often three times a day. Today's plum silk tea-dress required a little extra care. I tried not to crease the skirt as I lowered it for her to step in. I pulled it over her petticoat and corset, primping and adjusting the fit before buttoning her in. It fit her perfectly. She admired herself in the mirror, turning slightly to watch the skirt swing around her ankles. She picked at the sleeves to give her more freedom of movement and straightened out the collar to her satisfaction. "Now Mary," she said, "I want you to be very responsive when Mrs. Wilson arrives." "Of course, Madame." "We're trying to make a good impression. I've told Elizabeth to be on her best behaviour." She walked over to her vanity and sat down before the mirror. I followed her, and began to prepare the make-up and powder, which I soon began to apply gracefully to her skin. It was then time to prepare her hair, which I combed and pinned into place atop her head with an elaborate barrette. It was greying, yes, but she wasn't embarrassed by it. She knew that the style she wanted suited her, and the strands of grey gestured towards her maturity and intelligence, characteristics of her personality she held in such high regard. When everything was finished, I started to put everything back in order on her vanity, closing lids on cosmetic cases and putting the comb I'd used back in my apron pocket. Meanwhile, she preened herself in the mirror, holding her head up to reveal the marble complexion of her long neck. "I'll meet you downstairs when Mrs. Wilson arrives," she said, looking at herself in the mirror. She dabbed her lips with a handkerchief. I walked over to her discarded clothing and bent down to pick them up, a task never simple when one was wearing a corset. I pulled my skirts up my leg to give me the legroom to bend my knees, then reached for her skirt and blouse, which I dusted off and prepared to carry to my room. "Thank you, Madame," I said, before curtseying. She was still looking at herself in the mirror. My room had warmed up a little with the passing of the sun. I hung Mrs. Cooper's clothes next to the ones already there, reminded again of the gown I'd promised to prepare for Elizabeth as it hung there elegantly next to Mrs. Cooper's more subdued daywear. I judged I had time to prepare her dress before Mrs. Wilson arrived, and prepared the iron and board. It took some work, given the delicate bows at the shoulders and sleeves. Silk was never simple to attend to. While the intricacies of the gown required a great deal of attention and strain on my wrists, not to mention my hips and legs from standing in the heeled boots, I looked forward to seeing Elizabeth wearing it that evening. But, of course, I first had to dress her in it. "Come in Mary" she said, after I knocked on her door. I dropped to the half-curtsey that was necessary when one was carrying a ladies' clothes in one's hand. Although she was treading cautiously by acting somewhat more defensively towards me ever since the revelations of the morning, she couldn't disguise her pleasure at seeing her gown prepared for her. She was sitting in an armchair reading a book when I came in. "Thank you Miss," I replied, looking at the carpet. "I've prepared the gown you asked for." She nodded. "You can put it on the bed." She stood up. "Ladies spend half their lives dressing and undressing, don't they Mary?" "You must look your best Miss," I said as I laid her gown on the cool bedclothes, using my spare hand to flush out the skirt and neaten the bows. "You must think us awfully vain." "Not at all," I said. A momentary smile graced her lips, then faded. "Have you ever worn a silk gown, Mary?" She walked over to the gown languidly, running her thin fingers over the material as it lay on the bed. "Never, Madame. I do remember my Mother's silk gown, one she rarely wore but brought out for certain public occasions." "Tell me about it," she said. "I believe it was yellow. Bright yellow, like sunshine. Large skirts, as was the fashion." "Did you ever think to try it on?" She had sat down on the bed beside her gown, looking at me inquisitively. "I thought it was beautiful, and loved to touch the fabric, but I was a boy; I don't think my Mother would have approved." "I think a lot of boys would like to try on their Mother's gowns. Or their sister's. Some of them, I suspect, would also like to try on their housekeeper's uniform. Don't you think so?" "I'm sure that's the case Miss," I replied, nervously holding my hands in front of my skirt. "Don't you ever wish you asked your Mother to try on her gown? I've tried on Mummy's gowns." "It's different for a boy, Miss, you understand," I stuttered. She smiled, bearing her small white teeth. "And yet here you are. What would your Mother say about you wearing a housekeeper's dress?" "She's no longer with us, I can hardly predict what she would have thought or said." "Would it have shocked her?" "She wouldn't have believed it, Miss." She nodded thoughtfully, and crossed her legs, arranging herself into a position most comfortable. "I think it suits you Mary. Whether you used to be a boy or a girl doesn't matter much to me. You're a good maid. I know Mummy doesn't like to say so, but I will admit it. You're very careful and kind. I like you. You might not be like Thomas, the boy Mummy spoke about this morning, but you are perfect just as you are, I think. I also think you would have looked nice in yellow, in your Mother's silk gown, from the way you describe it." "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth." "Being born a girl would have suited you better. Not just because you wouldn't have got into trouble during the war, nothing so simple as that. Your Mother must have been a good woman, because you show so many feminine characteristics. You carry yourself like a lady. It looks like it comes natural to you." She sat still and thought for a minute, before standing up suddenly, unbuttoning her blouse. "Let's get this gown on, shall we?" Like every piece of clothing that belonged to the ladies, the gown fit snugly but comfortably, accentuating the owner's ever so feminine form. She reacted to the feel of the gown by running her hands down her bodice and skirts, the crisp noise audible across the room. Her body language was that of her Mother's; she turned and watched her skirts twist around her feet and ankles, before swaying back into their original shape of delicate waves and folds. "If Mummy lets me," she said, looking at her gown in a mirror affixed to the inside door of her wardrobe, "I'll buy you a silk dress. We'll put you in it and make you up. I've only ever seen you in black Mary. But I'd like to dress you up in something nicer. You spoke so fondly of that gown your Mother wore. I'd like to treat you to something similar." "Yes Miss. That would be kind." I curtsied in thanks. "I must go and prepare for Mrs. Wilson's arrival," I said. She nodded. I picked up her discarded skirt and blouse. "I'll have your laundry back in your wardrobe tomorrow." "Thank you again Mary," she replied. The anticipation of Mrs. Wilson's arrival boiled over into anxiety. I had returned to my room and preoccupied myself with the laundry. It was evening and already dark. The portable gas lamp was only just sufficient for me to carry out my evening workload. I had had to carry the ladies' soiled garments into the kitchen to wash in the basin, then return them to hang and iron. But soon enough, my task was cut short. I heard youthful footsteps patter down the staircase before Miss Elizabeth called out to her Mother that she'd seen Mrs. Wilson descend from her carriage outside. I wiped my hands quickly on my apron and walked swiftly through the corridors of the house towards the front door at the end of the reception hall. The bell above the doorframe rang. I checked that the lace cap of my uniform was straight on my hair before twisting the brass doorknob and pulling the door open. An older woman with a cane stood on the doorstep, her grey eyes peering past the threshold into the hall. I saw the coachman pull away behind her, a relatively unkempt looking man, evidently waiting to make sure his charge's arrival was acknowledged by the occupants of the house. "Good evening Madame," I said, dropping, once again, into curtsey. This old woman at the door wasn't tall, and her diminutive stature wasn't helped by her slightly hunched posture as she leaned on her walking stick. Nevertheless, what I'd come to understand during my time in service was that the curtsey literally forced one to surrender their good posture and height through a motion of submission. You bowed your head, bent your knees, and looked at the floor. The lady looked on, seemingly satisfied that my servile gesture was proof of my understanding of her superiority over me. "Go on, you can stand up straight," she said with a hint of impatience, as if she'd been curtsied to at every house she'd visited since she was a child. "This is the Cooper residence I take it?" "Indeed Madame," I said. "Let me show you through to the ladies." "You'll take my bag?" she asked, tapping her cane against a leather trunk. "Of course Madame," I said, as I showed her in. She paced slowly through the door and into the hall. I picked up her trunk and heaved it inside, before closing and locking the heavy front door behind her, keen to prevent further draughts of cold air into the house. I'd already lit the fires in the living areas and made sure the draught-excluders were in place under the old doors. Mrs. Cooper hated draughts, and chasing down the source of a draught was a not uncommon activity of mine. So much so that I had absorbed the same preoccupation, reminding Elizabeth herself to close the doors when she entered a room, for the sake of her Mother. Mrs. Wilson came through to the lounge area, where Elizabeth and Mrs. Cooper had appeared, both dressed as I'd left them. Even Mrs. Cooper's smart tea-dress seemed youthful in comparison to the clothes of Mrs. Wilson. I'd taken her fur-lined overcoat from her shoulders and carried it through to the hall closet, hanging it beside the coats of the other ladies. I got a good look at her dress when I returned, a black gown that wouldn't have looked out of place on Queen Victoria, a wide skirt supported by an old-fashioned crinoline. Neither of the Cooper's wore crinolines, but seeing the wide skirts of Mrs. Wilson's gown forced me to consider how I'd go about managing and cleaning such a garment should she request it later that evening. The Coopers approached one-by-one to shake Mrs. Wilson's hand and offer their own curtsey. The ladies kissed the back of Mrs Wilson's hand. "I want to thank you Agnes," she said to Mrs. Cooper, "for letting me stay in your house." She looked around at the high ceilings and the set of valuable sofas and chairs. "A delightful little hideaway from all the hustle and bustle." "It's a pleasure to have you here Mrs. Wilson," Mrs. Cooper replied, betraying an uncommon hint of obsequiousness. "I've been telling my daughter about all the good work you've done. She's been keen to make your acquaintance." Mrs. Wilson looked over to Lizzy, smiling, who curtseyed like a schoolgirl. "She's a beautiful girl," Mrs. Wilson said. Mrs. Cooper looked over to me, reminding me to take Mrs. Wilson's bag to her room. I duly paced into the hall, leaving the women to introduce themselves. It took some effort to lift Mrs. Wilson's trunk. I judged, based on the size of the gown Mrs. Wilson was currently wearing, that several more must be stored within the confines of her luggage. I carried it up the stairs, and let it drop with some relief on the top step. In her room, I unlatched it, and removed three more enormous gowns, carefully brushing out the skirts and sleeves (particularly mindful of the plethora of bows and ribbons) before hanging them in the guest wardrobe. The items of underwear; some chemises, petticoats and stockings, alongside a spare corset, I folded neatly in the drawers of the guest armoire. With my task completed, I shunted the trunk into the corner beside the armoire and returned downstairs. It was rare to be the centre of attention when the Cooper's had lady visitors, but when I entered the room there was a deafening silence, softened only by the crackling of the fire. All three ladies watched as I appeared. "Good evening Mary," said Mrs. Wilson, with a look of self- satisfaction. They were sat on chairs positioned around the fire. Elizabeth beside Mrs. Wilson, and Mrs. Cooper in her own armchair only a small distance away. I dropped into a curtsey. "Good evening Madame." "Mrs. Cooper was just telling me about you. She told me I might remember you. That we had a little tangle some years ago." "I believe that's the case Madame." "We were talking about it only this morning Mrs. Wilson," Elizabeth said, seemingly keen to impress her guest with knowledge of her work. "And what exactly did you talk about dear?" Mrs. Wilson replied. "We were having breakfast," said Elizabeth, while I held my position near the door. "Mummy was telling me all about you, in anticipation of your arrival. About all the good work you've done, with the Ladies' Guild." Mrs. Wilson smiled kindly to the girl. "That's very good. You're a bright thing aren't you." She sidled up keenly to the girl. Elizabeth nodded. "She told me about the war. About Mrs. Ascot." "Mrs. Ascot is a wonderful woman. It would do every girl in this country some good to take heed of her words. Even to emulate her." Mrs. Cooper watched silently as they conversed, nodding every so often to a point the elder woman made. "The way Mummy described her," Elizabeth said, "she came across as a very intelligent woman. She makes me proud to be a girl. I like her." "She wanted to know more," Mrs. Cooper said to Mrs. Wilson, interrupting her daughter's enthusiastic commentary. "I do" Elizabeth added. "Especially in relation to the petticoat law," she said, with a hint of nervousness, looking to her Mother for approval, which she gave with a nod of her head. "The petticoat law," Mrs. Wilson responded, grinning. "A coup." She tapped her walking stick once on the rug beneath her feet. It was an ebony black cane with what looked like a silver tip. Her piercing grey- blue eyes were fixed in my direction. The rather excessive amount of eye makeup she wore would have seemed comical were she not so frightening. I could only nod as if to agree with her, although the conversation was veering in a direction that I was anxious to avoid. A coup it might have been, that law, but for me it represented only defeat. My fingers were cold. The ticking clock on the mantel-piece counted out an excruciating lull in the conversation. Mercifully, she turned to Elizabeth and patted her on the knee. "But it had a full name," she added. "The petticoat law is what the press latched onto and what has endured in the public imagination. But you're a clever girl, I'm sure you know the full name, the name it carried when it arrived in parliament?" Elizabeth shook her head. "Well I'll tell you," Mrs. Wilson added, enjoying the sound of her own affected, shrill voice. "They also called it the Ascot Bill, after Mrs. Ascot. But the bill was passed with the name 'Feminine Service and Justice Bill'. It arrived at parliament with a great deal of support from the conservative and liberal benches. Testament, I think everyone agrees, to Mrs. Ascot's unshakeable force of will and sheer charisma." "What happened after that?" Elizabeth asked. "You were involved quite heavily, were you not, Mrs. Wilson?" Mrs. Cooper asked, breaking her silence. "Indeed my dear. I'll tell you what happened dear Elizabeth," Mrs. Wilson continued. "Before the bill went to parliament, I was part of the Guild and had been for many years. After the charitable work and the local campaigning, I found Mrs. Ascot's ideas regarding the Feminine Service bill very very interesting. I lost no sons or brothers in the war, it must be said, but I wasn't the only lady at that time greatly angered by the effrontery of men who failed to fight. Who could, but chose not to. In fact I'm convinced I was made sick by it in a very literal sense. I was in bed for two weeks at one stage, had my doctor expressly forbid me from any exertion. It shot my nerves." She made herself more comfortable, folding part of her skirt over her knees. She wasn't looking at any of us anymore, but stared across the room in reminiscence. "Mrs. Ascot's ideas made sense to me. These men had, in my view, and in the view of many other ladies in our society, surrendered or given up their right to call themselves men." Elizabeth glanced over momentarily. I don't know what she saw in my face or my body language. Perhaps she didn't care; Mrs. Wilson's lecture had obviously caught her attention and I could see her drawing lines of connection between the broad target of the woman's ire, and the particularity of her own situation, her own relationship with her maid: me. Indeed I knew from the way she sat and the way she looked at this woman that she wasn't playing the role of polite hostess or model daughter, like she did when countless other gentlemen and ladies visited the house, but was being carried along, identifying with Mrs. Wilson's righteous contempt. Elizabeth had her legs crossed and leant noticeably in the woman's direction, as if she were about to put her arm around the elder woman's shoulders. "After the passing of the bill," Mrs. Wilson continued, looking down at the back of her thin, withered, hand, "we knew that our work wasn't done. Mrs. Ascot had informed us that we still had important roles to play in bringing men to justice. Many ladies knew objectors personally of course, but the vast majority of individuals were found out through our contacts with members of the church or local businesses. The police worked closely with us to round up conscientious objectors. There were several cases that I was involved in personally," she said, suddenly turning her head in my direction with a coy smile. "Ever since I was a girl I'd wanted to be involved with the law, like my Father and Grandfather. Of course, I was a girl and was discouraged. I grew into a lady and was still prevented from achieving something for myself in this area. But working with Mrs. Ascot and the Guild? I'd finally found a place where my actions mattered, where I could take justice into my own hands. I wanted to see these cowards, these traitors, petticoated like young boys. If the heir to the most fanciful pile in Buckinghamshire proved to have absconded from his duty? I'd take it as my personal duty to see the man don the petticoats of the lowest scullery maid. Thanks to Mrs. Ascot, the law was firmly on our side." "So the last shall be first, and the first last," said Mrs. Cooper, calmly. Between these contributions, she sat very neatly in her tea-dress in the armchair, legs crossed, bouncing her foot very slightly up and down. She seemed to be taken in by the woman's tale as much as her daughter. "Tell us about some of these men, Mrs. Wilson," Elizabeth asked. Mrs. Cooper was always quick to rebuke Elizabeth in company like this should she make a step, however slight, towards impertinence. However, her Mother no doubt now had the same question, and wanted Mrs. Wilson to answer it. "Very well," the elder woman replied, pleased by the young girl's respect and interest. "Yet how about we address the case of our young housemaid standing before us this evening?" she briefly pointed her cane in my direction, its point as if ready to embed itself in my chest, through my heart. "Because you were very right before," she continued, "that I was involved in this lady's case." Her face bore a sickly smile. Mrs. Cooper nodded knowingly, looking at me through the corner of her eye. Elizabeth looked between the two women for answers. "You knew Mary? Mrs. Wilson?" "Oh yes dear. Our Mary here committed that cardinal sin, cowardice, before she arrived here to attend to you two ladies. She worked so very hard to keep herself out of harms way in the war years, largely thanks to her Mother, a wealthy widow who hid her little boy behind her skirts for a good while. An effete and quite pathetic specimen when we caught up with him. It was transparent that he'd been under his Mother's wing for far too long and coddled like a toddler. Had some education, yes, but no career to speak of. He really didn't have anything to lose going to war but his sorry little life at home." Mrs. Wilson's eyes seemed to slowly take in every aspect of my dress and bearing, ripe with contempt. "I fail to understand what compelled him to hide from it; unless of course we follow Mrs. Ascot's school of thought, that he was indeed born to become a woman and hadn't the nervous disposition for that kind of masculine adventuring that so many other young men thrive on." "I like Mary," Elizabeth replied, careful not to let her disagreement overstep the line into rudeness. "I find it hard to believe she ever betrayed our country. She wouldn't betray us." "Lizzy you must remember that Mary has been here with us for a good many years now," said Mrs. Cooper. "She's been taught how to be honest and thoughtful, how to respect her superiors and to treat them well, among a great deal else." Elizabeth screwed her lips together, considering her Mother's statement. "I suppose that's the case." "It's often the case," Mrs. Wilson added. "However, a great many men simply refuse to take up the roles offered to them. They refused to become women." "What happened to them?" Elizabeth asked. "They are treated like any other criminal. Prison for many. But you must imagine that many conscientious objectors were small, frail, fey creature whose prospects of survival or wellbeing in a prison were frighteningly slim. The idea of imprisonment was far too much for them. They were offered alternative terms; to surrender their privileges as men and don the petticoat." "As was the case with Mary," Mrs. Cooper added. "It was Mrs. Wilson who first introduced her to me." "Was she still a boy?" Elizabeth asked. "Certainly no man. She was being held at the jail. Looked as frightened as a puppy in a cage of grown mastiffs. Wanted so desperately to leave that dreadful place that she accepted any terms we put in front of her. Mrs. Wilson was the expert so I let her lead the negotiations. She was facing a good deal of years in prison." Mrs. Wilson chuckled to herself. "I'd hardly call them negotiations dear," she said. "Do you remember Miss Travers, Lizzy?" Mrs. Cooper asked. Elizabeth nodded. "Our maid for many years when you were a young girl. She was from Scotland and had found work with us, a beautiful accent. You know as well that she left for the factories when the war started, that we couldn't afford to persuade her to stay. We struggled on our own didn't we?" "Yes Mummy." "Well Mrs. Wilson knew about our situation. She knew we needed help. She knew what to ask for when we met Mary at the jail." "You see Lizzy," said Mrs. Wilson, taking over again, "a great many girls saw the war as an opportunity of sorts, to quit the kind of lives they'd been living beforehand. Perfectly respectable lives as maids, cooks or housekeepers. The war brought many changes to our lives. Although you were only a small girl, I'm sure you remember well. Now after the war there were families with houses and nobody to staff them. Respectable well-bred families with nobody to look after them. Nobody to launder, cook or clean for them. Would you like to spend your days washing and ironing?" Elizabeth shook her head. "No Mrs. Wilson." "Exactly. Mrs. Ascot's guild was full of ladies who had this identical problem. Your Mother had this problem too. But she knew who to contact, how to solve this problem. She's a clever woman your Mother." Lizzy nodded in agreement, smiling warmly at Mrs. Cooper. "See, with the success of the Guild and our work with the authorities, we knew just where to find pliable young things who would positively leap at the opportunity to take up a role as a domestic helper," Mrs. Wilson continued. "It was then no great logical leap to introduce your Mother to the frightened figure they had cooped up at the police station. We laid it all out on the table, there and then, with the assistance of the local magistrate. Mary knew that she'd be fully petticoated. A full-time position as a housemaid, including full renunciation of her male privileges. Her name was decided by your Mother. Perhaps something to do with her Catholic upbringing," Mrs. Wilson laughed. "Mary went into that police station wearing trousers," Mrs. Cooper said, "and came out in a skirt. I'm sure you remember the early days Lizzy, when I had to be very strict with Mary." "Yes Mummy." "But she learnt, gradually, what the job entails. She learned how to look after two ladies. She learned how to be a lady herself, how to dress herself and how to look nice for me and you." "Miss Travers came to help teach her, didn't she?" Lizzy asked. "I'm surprised you remember. Yes she did. And she was paid quite well for that time, I might add." "What happened to Miss Travers?" Elizabeth asked. "No doubt she went on somewhere and got a job somewhere else. Perhaps she has a family and children of her own." "And such is the beauty of our petticoated darling in the corner," Mrs. Wilson mocked, again pointing her stick in my direction. "Your Mary is not going anywhere in a hurry. Having women for servants might have been a secure option fifty or one hundred years ago, but today they've become far too headstrong, too independently minded. Without them our society was very much at risk of collapse, hollowed out and bowing under its own weight. Society ladies saw this first, and made sure their men-folk knew it too. If we were being frank, for all Mrs. Ascot's crowd-pleasing rhetoric about cowardice and justice, her eponymous law, her petticoat law, functions in a very banal and practical way. It rights an imbalance in our society. We can now expect our society ladies, ladies up and down this fine country, to continue to live just as their mothers and grandmothers lived; tended to, dressed, bathed and fed by a shadow army of smartly dressed and petticoated figures. Whether they were born women or as boys now matters far less than it did. What matters is what they wear and who they are on the outside." There was momentary quiet. The Cooper ladies ruminated on the elder woman's words. She tapped her cane on the rug once more. "Mary will be here in the Cooper household for as long as you two ladies need her. Flitting from room to room doing whatever dainty little task you set her. I suggest, to you Elizabeth, that you take full advantage of the opportunities this awards you. You're a bright girl, your Mother knows it, and you should use that to your advantage. In this day and age girls like you have opportunities your Mother and I never had. Especially for intelligent young women like yourself." Elizabeth nodded shyly, pleased to have made a good impression. "Yes, Mrs. Wilson." "Now while you think about your natural facility, my dear girl," Mrs. Wilson added, "I would like Mary to bring her natural facility to bear, in attending to my preparations for this evening." She began to get up, slowly. Elizabeth helped what she could, before Mrs. Cooper waved me over. I took the older woman's arm in mine, and led her slowly towards the door towards the rooms I'd prepared for her. The door closed, and I began to undress her. What was, with the Cooper ladies, a graceful dance, became and awkward and testing ordeal, particularly in managing the sheer size of Mrs. Wilson's dress and her old-fashioned underwear. By the time I was untying her shoes, she was only in her stockings, underslip and corset. She sat on the bed, waiting for me to perform my duties. Women's boots took time to remove, I knew that from my own experience, so I'd knelt down on the floor to pay them my full attention, my knees tangled in my long skirt. Her right boot slipped off and she wiggled her toes. "I think its time you thanked me, Mary dear," she said, suddenly. She moved her foot under my nose. I held it in my hands and leant in to kiss it, holding it to my face. In silence, she edged to the end of the bed, in eager anticipation. I moved between her knees, put my head under her slip, and leaned into her. I kissed and nuzzled her warmth.