The Manor House is its own little world. What happens in the manor stays in the manor, you know? It has its own rules.
So please don't judge me!
"Good afternoon, Miss Havisham!" all the ladies sang in unison. Afternoon? Yes, I suppose it must be by now. I had been following this woman around since mid-morning. I suddenly realized how hungry I was.
Oh, and that's when I learned her name. "Miss Havisham," they called her. It seemed fitting. She seemed just like a Miss Havisham.
I was admiring the detailed outfits of the girls. At first glance they were period maid outfits, but with some modern twists. The long-sleeved, high-necked, uniform was charcoal colored. It had a fitted bodice, and mid-thigh skirts, clearly lifted by petticoats into a very pretty, if anachronistic, flattering shape. Over the front of the dress there was a white apron, tied at the waist. Each girl had an impossibly small waist, and I guessed they were wearing corsets. The lacy white collars and cuffs were expected, but the stylish, shiny, elegant, high-heeled shoes weren't, I mean, not very practical for a maid, and surely historically dubious! They wore dark stockings, and I thought I could make out the edge of a dark band at the top of the stockings on the two girls on the highest step, indicating probably suspenders. What? I'm short, ok? And they were on the top of the stairs. It's not like I was just peering up skirts on purpose! Oh, whatever. Like I said, don't judge me.
Miss Havisham stopped abruptly as we reached the honor-guard, two on the left, and three on the right, of the sweeping, albeit low, five-step stone staircase up to the landing. She made it clear she was impatient for something, and all five of the entourage stood obediently still, although some belied a slight amusement, or anticipation. I had no idea what was happening.
Suddenly, a sixth maid came bursting from the front door, and scrambled into place at the bottom of the stairs on the left side to render the greeting party symmetrical. Her dress wasn't as neatly arranged as the others', perhaps her corset wasn't done up properly? And she was blushing deeply. She placed herself in the formation and stood to attention. Some of the others barely concealed a small giggle.
Miss Havisham showed no such mirth. She let several tense moments pass, to the obvious discomfort of the new arrival, a girl maybe just a little older than me. She sighed heavily, and turned to her with an exaggerated sense of exasperation.
"Late again, Mahogany?" not so much a question as an accusation. The whole group was steely-faced now, and standing sharply at attention, with no smirking or giggling. I felt the aura of Miss Havisham's authority descend over the group, enveloping us in it, all together under the spell.
"We have discussed this before, haven't we?" she demanded, without rancour or aggression, but with an undeniably commanding air, and demanding an acknowledgement.
"Y, yes, Ma'am," the poor girl stuttered, vainly fidgeting with her hem, as if that might relieve the pressure-cooker moment. It didn't.
"And what, pray tell miss, did we agree would be your punishment, should you be tardy again?" Miss Havisham proceeded with her irresistible interrogation, as the girl squirmed visibly before her.
"The ruler, my lady," she replied, in a meek and contrite tone. Her cheeks were flushed.
"The ruler. Yes," the older lady agreed. A moment or two passed. Nobody dared move a muscle.
"Is lunch ready?" she eventually asked, addressing nobody in particular but still looking directly at the poor wretched girl squirming under her gaze. The more senior (in age, at least) maid at the top of the stairs replied immediately, "Yes, my lady. Lunch is prepared, ready to serve at your convenience in the dining room."
