Betsy had been devastated when old Lady Longsworth had dies. She had been working for her for the past three years and, although kept busy, she had been happy and made a number of friends in the area. Now with the old lady gone she was out of work.
After the funeral, Betsy was in her room packing and wondering what she would do now. Being summoned to the library by Lady Longsworth's lawyer was unexpected, and she was feeling very nervous when she went down to see him.
"Ah, Betsy, the upstairs maid, yes?" asked Mr. Gainsmith. "You've probably been wondering what you're going to do now that you're out of a job. Lady Longsworth anticipated that and has instructed me to arrange new positions for any servant who requires assistance in finding a new job. She has left excellent references which I will submit to potential employers. Do you want my assistance in this matter or have you already obtained a new position?"
Feeling vastly relieved, Betsy indicated that the lawyer's assistance would be greatly appreciated. Accordingly, things were put in motion and very soon Betsy was interviewed for the position of upstairs maid at the country residence of Lord Jenson.
Her initial interview was conducted be Mrs. Woolsley, the housekeeper. Betsy found herself being grilled over all the duties expected of an upstairs maid and was pleasantly surprised at just how much she'd learnt over the past few years.
"Alright, dearie, you'll do for me," said Mrs. Woolsley at the end of the interview. "I think you'll do well. I'll put you on our shortlist. You'll get a call for another interview shortly with Greaves, the butler. He has to make the final decision."
At the end of the week Betsy was back for the interview with Greaves, the butler.
"My names is Greaves," Betsy was informed. "Not Mister Greaves or Master Greaves. Just Greaves. Remember that."
Betsy decided very quickly that she and Greaves would never be soul mates. He was a little man, full of his own importance, and assuming that you would be aware of it as well. It was obvious from his manner that he considered himself the supreme arbiter of all that went on in the household.
Greaves, Betsy reluctantly acknowledged, was as fully aware of all the ins and outs of an upstairs maid's duties as Mrs. Woolsley had been. He gave her a grilling that was even tougher than the one the housekeeper had subjected her to, and Betsy was quite pleased that she appeared to be meeting with his approval.
Then the interview took on a slightly uncomfortable note.
"How old are you, Betsy?" he asked.
"Eighteen, sir."
"Greaves, not sir," she was reminded with a cold look.
"Yessir, I mean, yes, Greaves," said Betsy.
"You've been with Lady Longsworth for the last few years," Greaves continued. "Now it's obvious that you're rather a pretty young woman, and this household had high standards. Are you in the habit of flirting with the male staff or visitors?"
"Wh-what. No. Lady Longsworth didn't have any men in her household except the butler, and she never had gentlemen call on her."
"Did you go stepping out with the butler or with any of the staff from neighbouring establishments? I'm sorry if these questions embarrass you but we run a tight and moral establishment here and I need to ensure that you're the type of person who will fit in."
He didn't look sorry, thought Betsy. He looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed disconcerting her.
"No, Greaves. The butler was even older than Lady Longsworth and I never went for a walk with any male staff from the other establishments. I..I'm rather shy, I'm afraid and I don't really like talking to men."
Greaves looked at the faintly blushing young maid squirming on her seat and smiled, inwardly. A tasty dish, he decided. She could be fun.
"So you maintain that you're still a virgin?" he asked, pushing it a little to see her reaction.
The faint blush became a deep rosy hue as Betsy struggled to cope with the question.
"Of course I am," she said, and a touch of anger crept into her voice. "I just said I don't step out with any men. I'm just not that sort of person."
"Hmm. I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose," grunted Greaves. "Mind, if we catch you stepping out with the lads here you'll be out instantly."
"Do you mean I've got the job?" asked Betsy, surprised.
Greaves nodded. "You seem the best of a bad lot," he grumbled. "I'll have the formal offer sent to that lawyer fellow to keep him happy, but you can start here next Monday. Go and see Mrs. Woolsley and set it up with her."
"And I give myself two weeks to get you into bed," he muttered quietly, watching her skip out.
Betsy settled into the new establishment quickly and easily. The work was the same as she was used to and she was quick and efficient. Despite a certain amount of shyness she also managed to make friends with other girls on the staff.
"Actually," she confided to June, the other upstairs maid, "I don't know if I'm relieved or insulted. When I was interviewed Greaves was really firm about not flirting with the male staff, but I don't know what he was worried about. The footmen barely acknowledge my existence and the only time a groom tried to get familiar one of the footmen came up and chased him off. I haven't been bothered since."
"Well, I wouldn't be feeling too relieved just yet," June told her. "The only reason the footmen haven't been trying to drag you to the nearest bed is because Greaves had warned them off."
"Oh. That was nice of him. I didn't think he'd do anything like that."
"You are such an innocent, Betsy. He didn't warn them off because of you. He just didn't want them catching you before he's bonked you."
"What do you mean?" wailed Betsy.
"Haven't you noticed how he always seems to be around? He sees you coming and he comes oozing up to you, all oily charm. It's all calculated to get you into bed. After that he'll switch to his normal obnoxious self and you'll be declared in season for the footmen."
"Not going to happen," snapped Betsy. "No way am I going to bed with him, no matter how often he asks."
"Oh, naivety, thy name is Betsy. What makes you thinks he's going to ask? The little monster will trap you into having a meal with him to discuss how you're settling in. And after the meal he'll lift your skirts and help himself. He won't mind if you wriggle and squeal while he takes you. It'll make him feel a big man."
"Do you mean that he'd actually rape me?" asked Betsy, horrified.
"Like a shot. Why do you think the last upstairs maid left? He's the butler. Who are you going to complain to? And even if you managed to fight him off, you'd just get yourself fired. I'm sorry, my friend, but you're screwed. Or will be very shortly."
After that enlightening little talk Betsy did her best to avoid Greaves. When trapped, she didn't look at him and kept her answers as brief as possible. And all the time Greaves smiled, watching her. He guessed that someone had probably warned her of what he had in mind, but as far as he was concerned, so what? She was trapped.
It was towards the end of Betsy's second week that Greaves made his move.
"Betsy," he said, coming up from behind, depriving her of the chance to duck away, "I think it's time we reviewed your performance and see how you're settling in. I'll tell the cook that you'll be dining with me tomorrow and we can discuss your performance over dinner."
With that he departed, leaving Betsy looking white and strained, nervously biting her lip. Her work suffered somewhat that day. When Mrs. Woolsley pointed it out to her Betsy simply told her the Greaves had ordered her to have dinner with him the next day.
Mrs. Woolsley had said nothing more, but sympathy had been in her eyes.
Betsy was surprised when Alan, one of the footmen, stopped to have a chat with her.
"I hear that gruesome Greaves is putting the hard word on you tomorrow," he said. "You do realise that if you weren't a virgin he wouldn't bother?"
"What do you mean?" Betsy asked.
"He can only get it up if the girl's a virgin," sniggered Alan. "It means that once he's had you he won't bother you again."
"Maybe not, but everyone will know and they'll all be trying to get me into bed. And if Greaves is prepared to use force, how do I know the rest won't?"
"Nah. We've got rules about that. You have to be willing. But we sort of figure that after suffering Greaves you'll just naturally turn to us to make up for his performance."
"Or I'll be forever turned off men," retorted Betsy.
"That's a possibility," admitted Alan. "That's why your predecessor left. What you really need is to lose your virginity before Greaves gets to you."
"And that would get me fired for a start and I'd still be a non-virgin and fair game for the rest of you," pointed out Betsy, almost in tears.
"I'd offer to help you myself, but then Greaves would fire me, too," said Alan. "I'll tell you what. I'll consider your predicament and see what I can come up with."
Betsy watched him leave. She had an uneasy feeling that he'd come up with a scheme that he thought hilarious. She strongly suspected that she wouldn't find it so funny. Although if it got her out from under gruesome Greaves, she'd probably go for it. Who, she wondered, nicknamed him gruesome and does he know?
That evening, shortly before she was due to retire for the night, Betsy heard a rap on her door. Answering it she found herself facing an elegantly dressed man of around forty.
"Betsy?" came the inquiry. At her nod, he continued. "You're wanted in the library."
"Wait," called Betsy, as the stranger turned to leave. "Who wants me and who are you?"
"Oh, yes, you're new, aren't you," said the stranger. "I'm Felton, Lord Jenson's valet. Guess who wants to talk to you."
"Lord Jenson?" asked Betsy, horrified. Lord Jenson hadn't even put in an appearance all the time she'd been here. And the first thing he does when he arrives is to ask to speak to her?
Felton said nothing, just walking off. He'd delivered his message and the rest was her problem.
Betsy hastily checked her appearance for neatness and then hurried down to the library. Knocking, she heard a voice call come, and she walked in. The man sitting at the desk on the far wall glanced at her, pointed at a chair and said "Sit. Wait." and continued with what he was doing.
Betsy sat and waited, wondering what the hell? She took the time to look over the man at the desk, presumably Lord Jenson. He was a large man in his early thirties. Solid, but Betsy suspected that it was muscle, not fat. He had the look of a man who exercised regularly, not the dissipated look of a man who spent his entire time at balls and parties.
Finally Lord Jenson finished what he was doing and turned his attention to Betsy.
"You know, I came here for some rest and relaxation, and the first thing that happens is that Felton dumps the problem of you in my lap. And how he found out all the details walking from the coach to my rooms is beyond me."
"Ah, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what you mean?" muttered Betsy. "How am I a problem?"
"Well to be fair I suppose you aren't the problem as such. You have the problem and I'm supposed to resolve it."
Betsy blushed. He couldn't be talking about Greaves intentions, surely.
"Um, what have you been told about any problem I might have?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
