Brigid McAllister was just 13 when her Uncle Davie loaded her up onto the wagon near Clones and drove her into Dublin one misty June morning in 1907. She had no idea why they were going, and she imagined it was just a rare day out to the big city. She thought her widowed mam was silly sobbing over her and hugging her fit to crush her, telling her to be a good girl; after all, she'd only be away a short while. When they reached Dublin Davie took her into a bar, ordered himself a draught of ale and sat hunched talking in undertones to an unpleasant looking man in the corner. He had a long, thin, cruel face, and a narrow moustache with points at the end. It wasn't clear to Brigid what was happening, but she saw money change hands.
A short while later, Uncle Davie drained his ale pot, stood and leaned over her. "Now me fine girl, " he said, breathing the fumes of ale and pipe tobacco into her face, "You're to go with Mr Fergus here, and be a good girl, like your mammy said."
The child turned to stare at Mr Fergus in bewilderment. When she turned back, her uncle was already making for the door. "But Uncle Davie," she cried, "when will you be back for me? How long?"
Davie McAllister paused in the doorway, and glanced back at his niece, sheepishly. Then, without another word, he left. Tears of alarm springing into her eyes, Brigid tried to follow him, but the other man caught her by the arm and pulled her back. "Now look here, girly girl, don't you be causing a fuss now", he barked with false joviality. "Your uncle and me have done the deal fair and square, and I'm to be taking you to your nice new home."
Brigid sank to the floor beside him and sobbed. Casting his eyes around in embarrassment, Fergus pulled the girl to her feet and dragged her struggling and wailing from the pub. She was terrified; she had heard tales of how bad girls were sold to brothel keepers in Dublin to serve men's carnal desires, only to die maddened from syphilis and be condemned to the fires of Hell. Had she been a bad girl? She cold think of no other reason why her uncle had dealt with her so shamefully. She might have tried to break away from Fergus, but she was a country girl and all she knew of Dublin was bad. She hadn't the faintest idea how to find her way back to her little family cottage. So, sniffling to herself, she followed the man through the dirty, dusty, noisy streets of the capital, to a terrace of grand houses just off O'Connell Street.
They descended a flight of iron steps and the man rapped on the door. It opened a moment later and, with barely a word, Fergus thrust Brigid into the hands of a tall, austere Englishman who told her sternly, "Stop your snivelling child, you're in the service of Lord and Lady Melkham now, you'll be well looked after here."
Brigid looked up at the new man, for a moment too afraid to cry. Then there was a flurry behind him and a small, furious woman pushed him roughly out of the way. "For heavens sake, Archibald, don't snap at the poor child like that, even a fool can see she's scared. You come here my duck." With that the woman snatched the confused Brigid from Archibald's hands, and hugged her to her warm breast, whispering sounds of comfort as the child sobbed into her apron.
Later that day, over a bowl of broth, Brigid learned that she was to be the new parlour maid to the Melkham household. The people she had already met were Mr Reeves, the family's butler, and his wife Constance, their cook. She was also introduced to a footman called Steven, not much older than her, and a girl of about 20, Alice, who was to show Brigid her duties. When Mr Reeves learned Brigid's name, he tutted and shook his head. "Oh no, no, that'll never do. From now on you'll answer to Emily."
Brigid momentarily wondered who Emily was, then realised the man had just changed her name. She started to protest, but Mrs Reeves laid a hand on hers, and explained quietly, "The parlour maid in this household is always called Emily. It makes it easier for the Mistress, not having to remember new names when there's a change."
That night in bed, as Alice snored beside her, Emily as she now was cried herself to sleep. She told herself this was only temporary. Her mam would not allow Uncle Davie to get away with such villainy, she would come to get her little chicken any time now. Emily was never to see her mother again.
Emily picked up her new duties quickly enough, but ached for the beauty of her home. She met Lady Marina Melkham infrequently, Lord Roger even more rarely. Her Ladyship did not seem a happy person, very thin and always fretting. Emily wasn't sure what the Master did, just that he was something to do with the government. One morning, after she had been in the household for two months, she was told to help pack household items into tea chests, as the family was returning to England. For a while her heart soared. She would have to be released from her servitude now, they wouldn't make her leave her homeland. She sank into a depression when Alice told her what a daft notion that was, and of course she'd be going with them.
Five years later Emily had become used to life at Melkham Hall, set in the rolling Sussex Downs, but she still occasionally thought of her family back in Ireland, and whether she would ever rejoin them. She had risen in the household to personal maid to Lady Melkham, and she was relieved to at last have a bed to herself. She had got sick of having to share one bed with two other maids, Georgina and Susan. They were sweethearts, even though Georgina was engaged to be married, and many was the night that Emily had lay with a pillow over her head as the other two women slobbered over each other and made each other moan and cry out.
One night a few weeks earlier, when Georgina had slipped away to be with her man, Susan had turned to Emily for comfort. Emily had been very scared when she first felt the other girl's hand stroke her small breast through her flannel nightgown. They were both 18, but Susan was a big, strong girl. No other person had ever touched Emily so intimately, and at first she pretended to be asleep. She barely managed to suppress a whimper of fear as Emily's hands stroked up the insides of her legs. But then something strange had happened. As Susan's hair began to tickle Emily's legs, and the other girl licked the insides of her thighs, Emily's belly started to churn, and she felt an unaccustomed warmth rising through her body.
When Susan's fingers first stroked, then pushed into, her cunny, Emily could no longer pretend sleep as she wriggled on the probing fingers and a moan escaped her lips. Susan grasped the girl's thighs and a moment later Emily felt the most indescribable sensation, as Susan's tongue stroked the length of her cunny opening then slid inside. Quite unable to help herself, Emily groaned loudly, and felt her bottom rising from the bed, pushing her more firmly onto Susan's face as her bedmate licked and probed at her, moaning her own encouragement. Very soon Emily felt her tummy clench, and then it seemed as though fireworks had exploded in her head as a fire shot through her body and she bucked her hips over and over onto Susan's probing tongue and hands. Emily sank back into her pillow, gasping for breath. By the time she had recovered her composure, Susan had already rolled over beside her and fallen asleep.
Georgina had been back the next night, and Susan had not touched Emily again. The Irish girl felt very guilty about what had happened – even though it had not been of her doing, she knew that such unnatural acts were a sin. What made her feel even more guilty, however, was the awful excitement she had felt as Susan had made love to her, and how much she wanted those feelings again. She had tried to avoid being alone with Susan since the incident; but one day the other girl had cornered her in the scullery, and whispered to her that the next time Georgina was away she, Susan, wanted to fuck Emily good and proper.
Emily flattered herself that she had become something of a beauty. She was slight of build, no more than five feet tall, with long flowing hair the colour of burgundy, a turned-up nose and a pale complexion contrasting with a sea of freckles which ran from one ear to the other. Whenever she went into Melkham village the delivery boy at the grocer's shop went out of his way to flirt with her, and wax lyrical about her 'sweet Irish brogue', as he put it. She would giggle, and blush prettily, and tell him to be away with his malarkey. It was another boy she had on her mind though.
The household was not a happy one. It was clear that there was tension between the Master and Mistress. Lady Melkham looked thinner than ever, and ill, and seemed often to shed tears. She had been born in Germany, and the constant threat of war with the Kaiser's army could not be helping. The problem, however, was greater than that. According to Connie Reeves the couple had been trying for years to produce a son and heir, without success. Emily suspected that His Lordship blamed Lady Marina, and that this was the reason for his often foul moods and her sadness. She had also heard gossip of him keeping a mistress in London. He was tall and slim, in his mid 30s, good looking with sandy hair and an elegant moustache, and seemed to spend more and more time in town at his club. And everyone knew he had an eye for the ladies.
The one bright spot on the horizon was the return to Melkham of Master Jack. He was Lord Roger's 18-year old brother, the youngest of the four siblings and, as the only other male, heir to the estate. He was in his last year of study at Eton, the most prestigious school in all the Empire. It was the school's summer holiday, and Perkins, Lord Melkham's chauffeur, would be meeting Jack's train at Crowborough that very afternoon. When Emily had arrived at Melkham as a terrified child Jack, the same age as she, had been the first person other than Connie Reeves to really be nice to her, and had made her feel welcomed at his ancestral home. A bond had formed between them, to an unusual degree for a member of the aristocracy and a common servant. Emily really liked Jack, and felt uplifted by his imminent return. Occasionally, she even let herself dream that one day...but of course, that was quite impossible.
As he sat in the back of his brother's new Daimler, Jack breathed a huge sigh of relief at being home. He did not enjoy the discipline of Eton, and was looking forward to long, lazy summer days back at his old home. Of course, what he was looking forward to even more was seeing his little Brigid again. He smiled; he was the only one who ever called Emily that, and he knew she liked him for it. The question was, how much did she like him?
Jack thought he had been in love with Brigid almost since the first time he'd laid eyes on the tiny red-haired girl who Roger and Marina had brought back with them from Ireland, all frightened big brown eyes and apologies, petrified that she would make a mistake. He'd never had the courage to tell her how he felt though, let alone do anything about it. At just under six feet tall, athletic with fine blond hair and a face which on a female would be called pretty, a champion swimmer and captain of the cricket XI, Jack could have had any of the silly girls who worked in the shops and cafés in Eton, and preened every time a senior boy from the College walked through the door. He could equally have had any of the nancy boys at the school, but that wasn't his taste. Despite his evident attractiveness, Jack had been with a woman only once. That had been a month before, on his 18th birthday when Roger had taken him up to the West End to celebrate. The evening had ended with a visit to an apartment in Piccadilly, where Roger had paid a tart to relieve his young brother of his virginity. She had been a sweetie, but old enough to be Jack's dear departed mother. He had enjoyed his first fuck, but all in all he had found the experience embarrassing and shabby. It certainly wasn't something he'd be telling Brigid about!
As the motor pulled up on the gravel drive outside the front door of Melkham Hall, old Reeves, Roger's butler, was there to greet Jack. He pumped his hand enthusiastically and ordered Steven, the footman, to take the Young Master's luggage to his room. As Jack entered the drawing room he saw Emily standing nervously in the shadows. With a broad grin, he said, "Well, top o' da mornin' to yez miz Brigid, an' how's moi sweet Oirish colleen dis foine day?"
