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."
"Very good. We will eat in twenty minutes," she announced. The two women at the top of the stairs on the left and right exchanged knowing glances and scooted inside.
Miss Havisham strode forward between the remaining maids. She gave me no instructions, so I hesitated. One of the girls tugged her head to the side to indicate I should follow. As I did, the maids fell in around me. Mahogany was in front of me on the left, and as we skipped up the stairs and started to form a group behind Miss Havisham, she swerved briefly across in front of me, just so she could give the girl to her right a playful, but firm, smack on the behind. The other girl theatrically hopped forwards, putting both hands over her backside and shot an exaggerated, if playful, open-mouthed look of feigned shock back towards Mahogany, before it morphed into a mischievous grin. Then they both took up their places on each side, scurrying along behind Miss Havisham.
I didn't know what was going on between them, but I hoped I would find out. I could report, though, by that time, following them up the stairs, with their skirts bouncing outwards on a springy bed of petticoats, that the girls were wearing suspenders for their stockings. I'm not even denying it. I looked. I was curious, ok?
In train behind Miss Havisham we all crossed the threshold between the heavy double wooden doors, with their large metal rings for door handles, and detailed carvings of a woodland scene forming a huge, incredibly detailed relief in the heavy wood that one could sit and study for hours, if only one weren't in such an odd procession moving at such a hurried pace. We swept past into the spacious entry hall, the trailing two maids closing the doors behind us. The space featured a high, vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate moldings. The walls were embellished with richly patterned wallpaper, and an enormous crystal chandelier hung from above, its many facets capturing and reflecting the afternoon light which poured into the space through enormous high windows and a magnificent skylight. An imposing staircase with a beautifully carved banister swept upward to form a balcony both to the left and the right, from a polished marble floor with a huge central mosaic. On the far side of the entry hall, an intricately designed carpet led the way to a cozy seating area, where plush, velvet armchairs surrounded an antique coffee table.
We passed tasteful floral arrangements, some in fine crystal vases, others in delicate and intricate pottery. There were sculptures, busts, portraits. It was a lot to take in, and Miss Havisham's pace never slowed to allow me to try. I hurried behind her as she strode confidently across to double doors, and the forward two girls clipped forwards as quickly as they could in their heels, wagging their straight arms forward and back to achieve the fastest possible speed, their skirts bouncing outward like a rendition of Swan Lake, and even then, barely out-pacing Miss Havisham to reach the door before her. They managed to reach the doors in time, and swung them open just as Miss Havisham swept through without slowing. She was evidently not accustomed to waiting for doors to be opened, or inconveniencing herself by changing her pace. She simply expected not to be obstructed in her movements.
"Mahogany," Miss Havisham simply said the name. There was no inflection in her voice. She simply spoke the name into the room, expecting everyone to understand its context.
Everyone did.
"Yes, Miss Havisham," Mahogany responded to what she correctly interpreted as a summons. She had been holding the door open for the procession, but now scampered in front of the motionless woman and stood to attention, albeit with her eyes downcast.
