November 11th 1972
The taxi driver turned his window wipers up to their fastest setting and concentrated hard on the road ahead, they were well off his normal routes in and around Leeds but then this was a special delivery. He shouldn't really risk a glance at his passenger but he did anyway, trusting that the road would remain straight enough for the next few yards of opaque drizzle. The angle of his rear view mirror afforded a nice vista of the young woman's cleavage and the driver wished he had the courage to pull over screw the girl, willingly or not but he knew he could never do that. He returned his gaze to the windscreen and as grateful at the upcoming series of bends and hidden dips for he would need to concentrate on them rather than the silent beauty in the back.
Mary Doyle would not even have realised that she was displaying such an impressive cleavage such seemed her innocence and naiveté. She was just a mere two months past her eighteenth birthday and this was her first time outside her native Isle. The warmth and gaiety of her family home near Cork all the more distant as she observed the cold and barren moors she was being driven through. She was aware that the taxi driver was watching her and glancing at her but put it down to yet another Englishman wary of her countrymen and women, since she had arrived at Liverpool yesterday she could scarcely credit the looks of disdain and mistrust she had encountered and been treated to. She would never believe that the driver, or any other man, would be looking at her because she was disarmingly pretty, albeit in a fashion that crept up on you rather than immediately struck you. Her skin was very pale, her dark, curly hair a perfect contrast to its almost china-like whiteness, and in that innocent, high cheek boned face the most startlingly bright and keen emerald eyes. A short girl growing up she had thought herself the ugly duckling as the youngest of six sisters but in the last six months not only had she bloomed in height to five foot five but her bosoms had seemed to develop rapidly as well and her clothes struggled to contained her quite so modestly as they had in the past. And her family was hardly as financially well off to purchase a new set of outfits for her so she just had to make do with what she had, blissfully unaware of her effect on men with a liking to the 'larger breasted' woman.
The beige Cortina she was being escorted in had to pull into the side of the two track road to allow a tractor to pass them by and the driver cursed as he urged his vehicle to accelerate out of the mud, patting the steering wheel to congratulate the car when it finally got going again. They were over the rise of the steep hill they seemed to have been travelling up for the last half-hour and the mist and rain suddenly cleared somewhat and the driver exclaimed, pointing his hand down into the bleak valley.
"Down there Miss! That's Charnley Hall, to the left of that forest there, that's where I'm taking you."
Mary pressed her face to the rain soaked window and peered through the gloom at the house where she was about to enter into domestic service as a maid. She was still reluctant to do this but knew that she had a responsibility to do it, her sisters were either in service themselves or married back in Ireland and she knew she owed it to her Mother and her Father to take on a good position, make a good job of it and send a portion of her wages back home, it was her rightful duty. But, Charnley Hall looked so dreary and foreboding and all Mary wanted to do was to scream at the driver that there was a mistake and to take her back to the train station and then back to home. But she didn't, she just stared out the window and wished herself not there, not even noticing that the driver had adjusted his mirror even further as Mary had leaned over and had his hand between his legs and was slowly rubbing his crotch as he drove.
One of Mary's mothers friends had known the previous maid that served at Charnley Hall and when she had left unexpectedly Mary's name had been swiftly pressed into the frame and she had been taken on on the basis of a short, sharp telephone call with the Lady of the house. A mere two weeks later and here she was almost in touching distance of the place she would call home for the foreseeable future. The journey passed with no further incident and ten minutes later Mary was being helped from the car by the driver (unaware of the time his sweaty hands lingered on hers as he guided up or when he passed behind her and his crotch rubbed against her bottom) while a stern looking butler paid her fare brusquely. The butler introduced himself stiffly as Mr. Culver and without further ado lifted her small case and directed Mary to follow him.
Culver as a tall, narrow man and Mary was wary of him from the start, his manner was both condescending and aloof and there was a vague sense of menace about the man. Certainly his appearance unnerved her, his jet black hair pulled back tightly on his head more than added to his severe look. She guessed he would be in his early fifties. Wordlessly he led her through the bowels of the large country house and into a cramped little room.
"This is your quarters Mary, I'll show you tonight what rooms you are allowed in and what rooms you are not. Report to the third door on the left along this corridor to Cook who will give you your instructions for tea time. Once tea is finished upstairs she will give you your meal for the night. I'll explain your day time duties in the morning so report to me in the kitchen at 7am sharp tomorrow for that. You are not allowed visitors and are allowed one Saturday in two off for the afternoon and evening. You'll find your uniform in that wardrobe, the Master expects you to wear it at all times while you are on duty".
And with those brief instruction he left the tiny bedroom and allowed Mary some moments to herself. Left alone in the room Mary sat on her bed and contemplated her new life, it was all so foreign and strange and she had to fight off a rising nausea caused by homesickness. She coped though, she was hardly pathetic and a was made of sterner stuff than to give up this early on, what would her family think of her is she came running back home, her tail between her legs? No, she would not do that indeed. Mentally, she gave herself a good talking to, unknowingly using her mother's voice to scold her in her head as she delivered the pep talk.
Thus chastened she got to her feet and opened the wardrobe to see what her uniform was like and was immediately in need of sitting back down on the bed!
It was nothing short of scandalous. If Mary had known such things existed then she would have recognised it immediately as resembling a kinky, French Maid's outfit. But Mary was not so worldly wise and to her it was a uniform that would show altogether too much of her body. Mr Culver had been clear about the point though, it was the uniform she was expected to wear by her employer so whether she liked it or not, she would have to wear it. Reluctantly (and after double checking her door was closed, there was no lock on it unfortunately), Mary stripped off and tried on the skimpy outfit. Once it was on she looked in the duty mirror to see how bad it was in her reflection. Most red blooded men would certainly not have described it as bad, that was for sure, not with the ample amounts of cleavage and breast flesh it displayed from the low cut, loose neck line it employed. Around the waist it was tight while the skirt was barely half way down Mary's thighs and left her legs feeling naked. The uniform was black with a frilly, white lace lining and edge to it. As she stared at herself in the mirror she picked at it and smoothed the skirt to go as low as she could get and tried to tuck the top as far up on her as it would go -- but it as a pointless exercise it was better when she stood still but as soon as she moved the outfit retained it's revealing qualities and she would have to learn to live with it.
It took all her courage for her to exit the room for the first time dressed like that and totter on the ill fitting shoes she had been given along the dark corridor to the kitchen to meet the cook. At first the old woman sat at the large wooden table seemed a friendly face, even though it was as well Marry did not hear Mrs Ambrose exclaim under her breath.
"God sakes, here's fresh meat for the Master on no doubt, I wonder how long this poor dear will last."
However, what sympathy the cook had for the new maid disappeared as soon as the young woman opened her mouth to introduce herself.
"G-Good morning, my name is Mary Doyle, I'm the new maid."
"Oh you're a Paddy are you? Well, I'm sure the Master knows what he's doing but heaven knows what the world is coming to. Take that plate of cutlery upstairs to the dining room immediately, Mr. Culver will be there he'll show you how to set the table, if you don't know."
Her tone left Mary in no doubt as to her thoughts on the Irish being a mix of hostility and disdain and Mary was only too happy to collect the large tray and make her way to the dining room, all the while getting used to her new uniform and trying desperately not to think about how much skin she was showing.
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a blur of activity, so much so that Mary could hardly believe it was nine o'clock when they had finally finished clearing the stuff from the dining room. She had not even laid eyes on her new employers as yet, having been told in no uncertain terms by Mr. Culver when she was to enter the dining room and when not to. She was shattered, poor girl, the stress of the journey and the exertions of the evening having taken a toll on her and it was all she could do to grab a bite to eat of leftovers and undress and collapse in her bed to a fitful, disturbed sleep.
* The next morning brought a dire, wet day with it and Mary was thankful she was not travelling, though whatever other blessings she was counting were quickly dismissed as she squeezed into her scant maid's outfit at seven o'clock. Her duties until ten centred around the kitchen and breakfast and again the cook made on bones about her antipathy towards the new, Irish maid.
"'Cor, look at the state of you Paddy, anyone would think you'd been picking potatoes all night, or shooting British soldiers, indeed."
Fortunately Mary was relatively thick skinned and kept her head down and tried her best to ignore the old crone's jibes and was actually relived when it came time for her chores in the two bedrooms upstairs. Of course with the Lady of the house being away (Mrs. Charnley was due back from London that very afternoon) there was minimal work to be done in her bedroom so she was quickly on to tidying the masters room. If she was surprised that the couple had separate bedrooms she did not show it, instead concentrating on doing her work and doing it well as she had been taught from an early age.
