{"id":14,"date":"2023-06-08T17:42:34","date_gmt":"2023-06-08T17:42:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/?p=14"},"modified":"2023-07-22T21:00:37","modified_gmt":"2023-07-22T21:00:37","slug":"in-cap-and-apron","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/2023\/06\/08\/in-cap-and-apron\/","title":{"rendered":"In Cap and Apron"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

In Cap and Apron<\/h1>\n\n\n
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CHAPTER I.
“LIBERTY” AND “INDEPENDENCE.”<\/h2>\n\n\n
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“STITCH! stitch! stitch!” I stood in the doorway of a fifth-floor back-room in a Camberwell lodging-house, listening to a modern edition of “The Song of the Shirt,” sung to the accompaniment of the sewing-machine. The scenery was similar to that painted by Thomas Hood half a century ago. The woman and the unwomanly rags, the crust of bread, the table, the straw, and the broken chair, all were there. The singer of the song sat at the machine, her head bent over the work which her hands were guiding, while her feet pushed the treadle up and down. I looked on until my brain grew weary with the monotony of her movements and the grating noise of the unlubricated wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“How much do you earn a day at that work?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Eighteenpence, Miss,” was the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“And you pay for your lodging, food and clothes, all with that eighteenpence?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes, Miss.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But is there no other work you can do \u2014 nothing that is less wearing on body and brain?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Nothing, Miss. Some other girls that write a good hand get work in the City at \u00a31 a week, and some that are quick at figures earn almost as much in the shops; but I can only sew. I bought my machine on time, and it’s not paid for yet. Excuse me, but I must be on with my work.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stitch! stitch! stitch! The noise commenced again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Stop! “I cried. “I have it. I will help you. “Can you do housework ? “<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why, yes, Miss, I suppose so,” she answered, with wondering eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Then fix yourself up a little and come with me. I will give you a place as housemaid in my home. What you don’t know, you will soon learn. You shall have a nice clean bedroom, with plenty to eat, print dresses in the morning, black stuff in the after-noon, with white caps and aprons, and collars and cuffs. I will buy them for you as we go along. We will pay you \u00a316 a year to commence. Come, why don’t you get your things on? We will settle up the back rent and return the sewing-machine to the instalment people.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The girl had risen from her chair and, to my astonishment, confronted me angrily, her cheeks aflame and her eyes blazing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Did you come only to insult me?” she demanded, stamping her feet. “I go out to service! I wear caps and aprons, those badges of slavery! No, thank you. I prefer to keep my liberty and be independent.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What was she talking about? Her liberty, her independence ? I was bewildered, and could scarcely believe my ears. I had been so interested in this girl, and for the past two months had vainly tried to think of a plan whereby I could help her. I knew she was poor and proud, and would not take a penny from me unless she felt she had earned it. I had finally decided to give her a comfortable situation in my own home, and this was the way she received my suggestion. She had deemed my offer an insult. So this was the outcome of my maiden effort in the missionary line! She had asked for bread, and I, according to her way of thinking, had proffered her a stone. Disconsolate and disappointed, I left her, and in my bitterness was half resolved to steel my heart for ever against the woes of my own sex, and never again venture outside the legitimate paths of journalism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, my cynical resolution was not carried out, for the following day I was seized with a womanly curiosity to learn something more about this wonderful “liberty” the sewing girl seemed to value so highly; and, with that in view, I passed considerable time among the working women of London, trying to gain a clue to the meaning of their war-cry, “Independence.” Everywhere I heard that word. It sounded above the clickety-clack of the type-writer while the fingers flew over the keys; the noisily-turning factory-wheels failed to drown it; I heard it over the clink of the barmaid’s glasses; it mingled with the ring of the telephone-bell, the whirr of the cash-machine, and the refrain of the chorus-girl. The telegraph operator murmured the word as she took down the letters of the various messages, the schoolmistress whispered it as she gave out the morrow’s lesson in arithmetic, the female bookkeeper uttered it while she added up the long column of figures. Even the little sub-editress, earning a salary of \u00a3 I a week for stealing copy from the daily journals, seemed imbued with that so-called “spirit of independence.” “Give me my liberty and independence! “That was the burden of their song. Some of them belonged to “The Independent Young Ladies’ League,” some to a “Liberty Club,” others to “The Society for Promoting the Equality of Classes,” and the rest were members of various societies and orders with similar names, while all prated of liberty and freedom like Young America just let loose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their ideas seemed to be vague and wandering, and the majority of them were hardly able to give a proper definition of the word they used so glibly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were not a cheerful lot of girls by any means. Indeed, their solitary happiness was apparently in the belief that they were independent. Some of them were what are generally termed “ladies by birth,” others were ladies by education. Each individual girl rejoiced in the appellation “young lady,” whether she were a visiting governess or a clerk in a tobacco shop. They worked early and late at their professions and trades, and their salaries varied from 6s. to 30s. a week. They supported themselves, and often had several younger brothers and sisters dependent upon them. Week after week, month after month, and year after year, they had toiled with little advancement or encouragement Most of them belonged to the commonplace order, neither clever nor stupid, only ordinary, everyday young women, working for their living. Many were hungry, some were badly clothed, few had comfortable beds or clean lodgings. A number of them had porridge for breakfast and watercress for supper, with no midday meal. One young woman assured me that boiled rice was her perpetual diet, and that, while it was filling, it became tiresome in the long run. But, despite these numerous inconveniences, they were all “independent” girls, every one of them. Several times I broached the subject of domestic service as a possible release from their troubles, but they laughed me to scorn and flaunted the flag of liberty in my face. What! go to service? Not they! Why, they could only have one night off each week, and no followers. Besides, who could wear caps and aprons without despising herself?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I began to wonder if there really could be anything terrible connected with domestic service which should make these poor girls so shrink from it. For myself, I knew little or nothing about housework, but the belief that there was nothing incompatible between gentility and domestic work had always been a hobby of mine. Why could not a refined English girl wash dishes, make beds, and roast a leg of mutton just as well as a member of the lower classes? Wherein would she demean herself by doing this work and receiving wages for the same?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But there were the caps and aprons. Could an educated girl wear them without diminishing her self-respect? Why was not a housemaid’s cap just as respectable as that worn by a “lady nurse”? For my own part, I had always insisted that no Paris milliner could manufacture any headgear more becoming to the majority of women than the white ruffled cap of the domestic servant employed by members of the upper classes. A pretty maid, to my mind, was much prettier with a cap than without one, while the face of an ugly girl was also improved by it. But these “slavery badges,” I was told, were not the only bugbears of the servant-girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had a curiosity to find out just what these trials were, and to discover why this service was looked upon with so much contumely. As a mistress, however kind and considerate I might be, it was impossible for me to get a perfect understanding of the inner working of the household machinery. There was only one way to get at the root of the matter, and that was to go out to service myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I arrived at this decision one morning in the latter part of August, and I no sooner decided than I began to make preparations for my campaign. I first purchased some goods for a print dress, which I had made up in the prevailing style for housemaids, together with a black serge gown for afternoon wear. Then I bought three linen aprons for morning, and as many fine muslin ones for dress-up occasions. They were prettily trimmed with embroidery, and the ruffled epaulettes were a joy to behold. Cuffs and collars and caps with long streamers completed my outfit. Then I hired a room in Camberwell for 2s. 6d. a week, where I might have letters addressed, and arrangements were made with a titled friend to give me a reference as to respectability and honesty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Until all these details were settled, I gave little thought as to how I should get the situation I desired, nor the difficulties I should be likely to encounter. I had a nineteenth-century woman’s confidence in my ability to accomplish whatever I should set out to do, and the remembrance of my first and only attempt at sweeping a floor (which left me with blistered hands) did not in the least daunt my spirit. I should never have been tempted to call myself a domesticated woman, and my experiences in household duties, so far as the actual work might be concerned, was very limited; yet I prided myself upon my abilities in the “knowing how” line. If I had never washed dishes, I knew how they ought to be done; and I was thoroughly convinced that dish-washing, sweeping, dusting, making beds, and “turning out” rooms, could be reduced \u2014 or, rather, elevate \u2014 to a science. I felt sure that in all kinds of work there were hard methods and easy ones. By going out to service I should discover which was which, and then I should be able to write a series of articles on “Housework Made Easy,” thus benefiting womankind in general and servant-girls in particular. In order to inform myself as to just where my valuable services were required, I picked up the morning paper and looked among the ” Situations Vacant.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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WANTED. \u2014 Housemaid where Parlourmaid is kept; must be neat, of good appearance, tall, and thoroughly capable, with at least twelve months’ character.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

It was evident that I would not suit that advertiser, for I was not tall, neither was I possessed of a twelve-months’ character. I proceeded down the column, and to my utter dismay I found that length of body, as well as length of character, was considered indispensable in a housemaid or parlourmaid. There were several places open to ” generals,” but most of them were required to look after the babies, besides doing the other work, and I felt unequal to the task. Cooks were in great demand, but they also must needs have long characters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, I did not lose heart, but bearing in mind the motto of the Americans, “Trust in the Lord and advertise,” I wrote out an advertisement and took it to a newspaper office in Fleet Street. As I handed it to the receiving clerk, I observed that a puzzled look overspread his features. My notice was apparently something of a novelty to him, for, after rereading it, he took it across the room to another clerk, who, when he had read it, smiled, and said, “It’s all right. Put it in.” The next morning \u2014 August 23rd \u2014 there appeared in the columns of “Situations Wanted” the following:\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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AS Housemaid, Parlourmaid, or HouseParlourmaid. \u2014 A refined and educated young woman, obliged to earn her living, and unable to find other employment, wants situation as above. Expects only such treatment as is given to servants. Will wear caps and aprons, but would not wish to share bed with another. Thoroughly reliable and competent. References; town or country. Wages, \u00a314.\u2014 Address \u2014.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 2<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER II.
SEEKING A SITUATION.<\/h2>\n\n\n
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“Seeing your advertisement in the morning paper, wanting a home and friendship of a friend, I want a young person to assist me in the up-stairs duties of a first-class lodging-house, to look after and see and do all that is necessary, and take entire care and responsibility of the same. You would have to wear caps and aprons of course, when anyone was in the house, but not otherwise; and I would do anything for your comfort if only you would study me. I have a young daughter of my own, but she prefers to go to business, and will not work in the house, and I want you to take her place.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All this was very flattering, and showed the esteem in which the lady held me; but I felt that the entire care and responsibility of a lodging-house, besides the duty of being a daughter to anybody, would be too great a weight on my shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another writer assured me that I should find her a considerate mistress, and said that she had always been told that she spoiled her maids by considering them too much, which, she began to think, was true. Many offered higher wages than those I had asked for, and a few thought my terms too high, on account of my probable inexperience. A young matron at Clapham Common was sure I should suit her. I would have the house-work to do and must mind a five-months’ baby. If I was a nice person, I would be happy in the situation. She could not give over \u00a312. The number of women with babies to mind seemed very numerous. The wife of a colonel wished to know if I would do the pocket-handkerchiefs and stockings each week for herself and three daughters, besides attending to the known duties of a house-parlourmaid. Somehow, I was convinced that this was more than I ought to undertake. Mrs. Black, of Hyde Park Gate, required a housemaid who must be a good dressmaker. She requested my photo with full particulars. No agent need apply. Windows and a little washing to be done. (Did Mrs. Black forget that there is a law against allowing women-servants to wash windows?) Mrs. Smith, living near Oxford Circus, wanted a trustworthy, reliable, clean girl to do the work of a private house. She had a domesticated daughter, three sons and a husband, and would want the washing done at home. Wages \u00a31o, or \u00a312 with no beer. Just where the clothes would be dried after the washing was done at home was a source of conjecture in my mind, and I doubted my ability to put a proper gloss on the shirt-fronts of the three sons and the husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kind and thoughtful letters were numerous. Mrs Burns, living in a flat near Portland Place, wrote that she desired a house-parlourmaid who, in conjunction with the cook, would do the work of the flat. I could have a separate bedroom, and she would do everything in her power to make me feel that I was not without friends and home. A very nice letter came from Thames Ditton, which ended by saying “If you think my situation at all what you are seeking, will you give me some references? and, as I am a stranger to you, I will send references in return.” This was the only instance in which the employer spoke of giving references, although I was always required to furnish them. Just why a “character” should be demanded on one side only is beyond my comprehension. Why should not the give-and-take plan be followed in such cases? Is not a mistress likely to prove as unmanageable as a servant?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An enterprising City man wrote that he was looking out for a young lady who would invest capital to build up a toy trade in a neighbourhood where there was no opposition. He would be pleased to hear if I was disposed to come to terms. Then I opened a letter couched in this language:\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dear Miss, \u2014 Seeing your advertisement, I am moved to write and say that I admire your pluck and am glad to know there is at least one young woman with sense enough to see that there is no disgrace in domestic labour. I would like to marry a girl like you, if you are not too old or ugly, which I do not believe you are. Please state age, complexion, height, temperament, and personal appearance, and tell me if you would accept for a husband an honest mechanic, aged 28, and earning \u00a3200 a year. If so, give me your address, and I will come and see you with all honourable intentions. It is much better for a girl like you to be married and have a protector than to be a housemaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my opinion, the writer of that epistle is a prize in the matrimonial market, and I should be glad to give his name and address to any young woman who can answer his requirements and thinks she would be able to appreciate the situation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were several replies from bachelors and widowers wanting “companion-working-lady house keepers.” They all assured me that there was very little work to be done. Mr. Alexander Macfarlane, of Glasgow, wished for particulars in regard to age, experience, and qualifications for his situation as house-parlourmaid. He stated that he was a single gentleman, whose establishment consisted of cook-housekeeper, kitchenmaid, and house-parlourmaid \u2014 all English. Each servant had a separate room. He desired to know if I had any experience in valeting, if I understood lamps, and how my knowledge of silver-cleaning and waiting at table had been gained. I must give particulars as to last two situations, and reasons for leaving them. What allowance would I require in addition to wages for finding myself in beer, tea, sugar, and washing? He requested my photograph, which he would return at once, and, if appearance and qualifications were satisfactory, he would arrange for an interview.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In spite of Mr. Macfarlane’s insinuation that I might need an extra allowance for beer-money, I conceived the greatest admiration for him, because he was the only man who took me at my word, and offered me a place as a regular servant. In reply, I wrote him some particulars, stating that I was a teetotaller, had never been out to service, and could only give reference as regarded my respectability and honesty, but felt competent to undertake the work he mentioned, including the valeting. His answer was straightforward. He feared that a young woman of my bringing up and education would not find it pleasant to work in his house under the supervision of a cook-housekeeper. It would be better for me to go in a small family where there was a lady at the head of the household. If he heard of any place he thought suitable for me, he would write immediately, as he felt interested in me and desired to help me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Would that there were more Alexander Macfarlanes in the world!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

About half the letters contained stamps for reply, and I conscientiously wrote to every person who enclosed a stamp. The story I told of my circumstances was a simple one and as near the truth as I thought politic to make it. I was an orphan and almost alone in London, well educated, but my education was such as did not fit me for anything in particular. I could not obtain employment in the City, as I did not write a good hand, and, not understanding the languages or music, found it difficult to get a position as governess. Nothing was left me but domestic work, which I understood perfectly. I thought it no disgrace to be in service, and had determined to get a place as housemaid or parlourmaid, asking no favours and desiring only wages for services rendered. I gave the Camberwell address, and signed my letters Elizabeth Barrows. In some cases I received no answers, but about fifty appointments were made for me to call in various parts of London. Mrs. Clifford-Morris, who was spending a few weeks in Brighton, asked me to call on her husband, a solicitor, in Chancery Lane, who could then give her particulars in regard to me. She thought she could employ me as useful help in her flat when she returned home. In her several letters she addressed me as “My dear Miss Barrows,” and the sympathetic, delicate manner in which she treated me quite won my heart. I did not call on Mr. Clifford-Morris, as I felt that to enter the service of his wife, knowing that I should remain only a short time, might put her to inconvenience in her household arrangements for the winter and be but small return for her kindness to me. Yet I determined to try to find her such a person as she wanted, and I still hope that I may be able to send her someone who would appreciate the home she has to offer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the morning of Friday, September I, I started out in answer to some of the appointments made for that day. My first call was on a Miss Martin, who was at the head of what she described as a “high-class private hotel” in Mayfair. The manservant who admitted me, asked me into the drawingroom, but, realising that henceforth I could no longer lay claim to the title of “young lady,” but must consider myself only in the light of a “young person,” I thought perhaps it would be better for me to remain in the hall, so I sat down on the hat-rack in orthodox servant-girl fashion, and tried to compose myself for the interview. Miss Martin, a pleasant-faced spinster of about forty, soon made her appearance, and asked me up to the drawing-room. She led me to a window, looked me over, and then shook her head, kindly but firmly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“My dear, you are too little!” was her first exclamation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But I am strong, neat, willing, respectable, &c.” I insisted. “Please do not despise me because I am small.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Martin still looked doubtful; then she commenced to tell me of all the work a housemaid would be expected to do, and afterwards showed me through the house, with a view of discouraging me. I felt that I must say something to convince her of my capabilities, so I ventured to suggest that I could dust the chairs in a much better way than they had been done, and explained to her a new and improved method of making beds. I also informed her that I was able to remove the numerous candle-grease spots with which the carpets were sprinkled, by the application of brown paper and a hot flat-iron to the injured parts. Miss Martin’s face began to light up, and I could see I was making an impression. I went on and discussed learnedly the proper way to polish looking-glasses and shine the tiled fireplaces, while her enthusiasm increased. When I was leaving I gave her the name of my reference, and she promised to write me her decision. What was my disappointment that evening to receive a letter saying she had not written to the reference as she could not help thinking I was too small and delicate to do the work! It seemed that, as soon as my inspiring presence had vanished, she remembered only my diminutive stature.<\/p>\n\n\n

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From Mayfair I went to Grosvenor Square, and met a most formidable-looking lady of the house. She did not ask me to sit down, but commenced at once to read me off a list of the duties to be performed by the parlourmaid, when, suddenly giving me a very scrutinising look, she advanced towards me, and lifting her hand warningly, ejaculated, “No fringe allowed!” I sprang back, and instinctively put my hand to my forehead as a protection, fearing she might brandish a pair of scissors before me and barber me then and there. What! put back my fringe! I had entirely overlooked the fact that many servants were not allowed to wear a fringe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I couldn’t part with it, ma’am,” I answered in humble and trembling accents. Then I made a frightened retreat, and walked in the direction of Regent’s Park. No fringe, indeed! Was it possible that one of my own sex could be so cruel as to wish to deprive me of my halo? Besides, my caps were not becoming without a fringe. Liberty! Independence! I began more fully to understand the meaning of the words, and I wondered if, after all, I should not end by joining “The Independent Young Ladies’ League.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I rang the bell of a large house in Marylebone Road, and was admitted to the presence of Mrs. Green, who had wired me to call that morning. She was an elderly woman, tall and stately, with a kind face which quite reassured me. She asked me to sit down and then to stand up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I am afraid you will not do. You are so short. You see, a parlourmaid must have long arms in order to reach things on the table, and a housemaid should also be tall; else how can she put the linen away on the top shelves and wash the looking-glasses in the drawing-room? Why do you not try to get a place as nurserymaid or governess to small children?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not feel at liberty to say just why I did not do this. I only said that I knew so little about children that I was afraid to undertake so great a responsibility.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well,” said she, “you would not suit for my house \u2014 the work is too hard for you \u2014 yet I must try to help you. It is so sad for a girl to be alone in this great city. I was just eating my luncheon. Will you have a nice chop and cup of tea? In the meantime I will see what I can do for you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was not hungry, but I went with her to the dining-room while she finished her meal, and answered as truthfully as I could the questions she put concerning myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Can you sew?” she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My thoughts turned involuntarily to the many times I had tried to learn the art of needlework, which had resulted only in pricked fingers and a bad temper. Once I remembered to have been able to get through a little patchwork. Dared I say that I could sew? Then I answered, “Yes, ma’am, a little,” inwardly praying that she might never discover how very little that “little ” was. She went to her desk, wrote a note, and handed it to me sealed. “This is a letter to a friend of mine in South Kensington, a lady who keeps a high-class employment agency. Go to her this afternoon, and she may be able to get you more congenial work than that of an ordinary servant. Take the Underground. Here is your fare.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To my horror she slipped a half-crown piece into my hand. I protested that I had a little money, and could not think of taking it, but she insisted, and I felt I could not refuse it without exciting her suspicion. “Good-bye. Write me how you get along. I shall always be interested in you,” and with a motherly pat on the head she dismissed me. I wandered along Marylebone Road with the letter and the money, feeling like a culprit. Might I not be arrested on the charge of obtaining money under false pretences? Would the excuse that I was a journalist, doing evil that good might come, protect me from the law? The coin almost burned a hole into my glove. Just then a woman, grinding a small organ, passed me, and I thrust the money into her hand and rushed away before she could overwhelm me with thanks. I broke the seal of the letter, and read:\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Dear Mrs. , \u2014 The bearer interests me. Her case seems a sad one. Can you advise her how to get work? I know you won’t mind the trouble of doing anyone a kindness. She seems so forlorn, alone in a large city.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

God forbid that I should ever grow pessimistic, and think womankind cold and heartless, when such women as Mrs. Green live in the world! Surely, future generations of working girls will rise up to call her blessed!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I spent a week in my search for a situation. Among the people I met, a Thackeray or a Dickens would have found abundant material for many characters in many books. I called on bachelors, widowers and widows, ladies of title, members of the upper and middle classes, actresses, literary women, and boarding-house keepers. They all agreed that it was the proper thing for educated girls to go out to service, and that a great change must be brought about in the class of domestics to be employed. However, the majority of them found some objection to giving me a trial. A woman on Cambridge Terrace offered me a place as parlourmaid in a house where twenty lodgers were taken, and I would have accepted it but for the fear that at the end of the week’s trial she was to give me I would be too much reduced in flesh and spirit to linger long on the earth, for each of the twenty lodgers must have his or her meals carried up-stairs on a tray. Another boarding-house keeper was so sorry I had not;\u00a3100 to invest in the business, as she would have liked to have taken me into partnership. In Gloucester Road a Mrs. Weldon, living in a small house, with only herself and husband in family, said she liked my appearance and manner, but that I did not give her enough particulars concerning my private history and family affairs. I thought her suspicious manner of treating me far from delicate, especially as I gave her the name of a well-known London lady as reference, who, I informed her, had known me from childhood. Had I been an ordinary applicant for a situation, I should have attempted to give her a lesson in politeness and considerateness for the feelings of others. It is neither consistent nor just that a young woman applying for a place as servant should be subjected to such a catechism as that through which this woman put me. It is quite as honourable for servants to listen at keyholes as for mistresses to attempt this prying into personal secrets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At last I found an engagement. Mrs. Allison, residing in a large house in the neighbourhood of Portman Square, wrote to inform me that my reference was satisfactory, and she would give me a place as housemaid. She ended by saying\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I think I shall be able to smooth over many of the rough places for you, and give you a comfortable home.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She would expect me on the evening of September 14. During the interval I made a close study of a little book entitled “Servants’ Duties’ and endeavoured to make myself proficient in all that pertained to my chosen work. I became quite an expert in the use of the words “ma’am” and “sir.” At the appointed time I presented myself and my handbag at the door of the Portman Square mansion, ready to enter my first situation as housemaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 1<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 3<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER III.
“ELIZABETH BARROWS,” HOUSEMAID.<\/h2>\n\n\n
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My ring at Mrs. Allison’s door-bell was answered by the parlourmaid, who, without any explanations on my part, seemed at once to recognise me as a colabourer, and led me to the servants’ room on the fifth floor. I was immediately struck with the cheerless and comfortless aspect of the place where I was to sleep and, perchance, to dream for a week or longer. Three iron bedsteads stood in a row, and in front of each was a strip of ragged carpet. There were two chairs, a green chest of drawers, with a rickety-looking-glass on top, and two green washstands, with two bowls and pitchers. When I saw these latter articles, it occurred to me that I had been told three servants were to occupy the room, and I began to wonder whether I would be obliged to share my washbasin with the cook or the parlourmaid. I did not like the prospect of such a contingency, and I was far from being convinced of the truth of the saying that “whatever is, is right.” Still, I was philosophical enough to understand that, whatever must be, must be, and I commenced to unpack my few belongings. Annie, the parlourmaid, had indicated the drawer in the green chest which was to be my individual property, so I put away my caps, aprons, collars, cuffs, and the blue print dress I was to don the next morning. Over the mantel hung a brightly-coloured motto. It read, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” The verse was very a propos and inspired fresh courage in my trembling heart as I tied on my prettiest apron and went to the glass to adjust my cap. Then, after a final satisfactory glance into the mirror, I descended to Mrs. Allison’s sittingroom on the second floor. I found that lady dusting the various ornaments on her writing-desk with a yellow silk duster.<\/p>\n\n\n

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She smiled propitiously upon me, and said, “Good-evening, Elizabeth. Go right down to the kitchen. Annie will tell you about the work.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied; “but please call me Lizzie I like it better.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Very well, Lizzie.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the extent of our conversation. Mrs. Allison had no words to waste on her servants. Indeed, I was glad of it. When I had first called on her, she listened respectfully to the story I had to tell, took its truthfulness for granted, and said she would do the same thing in my circumstances. She asked no unnecessary questions, and I was prepared to like her because she had not attempted to pry into my family secrets nor to deprive me of my fringe. I had explained to her that, although I might be above the ordinary servant in education and bringing up, I did not wish it to make any difference in her treatment of me. In this matter she had respected my wishes, and I felt that I was in a fair way to find out just what were her relations with the young women who were employed in her household in the capacity of domestic helps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the kitchen I found Annie standing before the fire grilling mutton chops. She explained that a new cook would be there the following Monday, and that she was to prepare the meals until then. Eyeing me critically, she exclaimed, “Did she tell you to wear caps with streamers?” I guessed that “she “referred to the mistress of the house, and informed her that I was wearing streamers on my own responsibility. She thought my style was much prettier than her own French caps, and declared her intention of purchasing some like mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Been out to service before?” was her next inquiry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No; this is my first place.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’ll find it’s not so easy as it looks,” she remarked, with a very superior and knowing air. “We’re on board wages till the cook comes,” she continued. “There’s your allowance on the shelf.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered that at home some of our own servants had often referred enthusiastically to certain times when they had been put on board wages and the money they had been able to lay by at the end of the week. I walked with elastic steps towards the shelf to which Annie pointed, and picked up 1s. 6d. Then my hopes went down about 90 degrees in the shade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Is this to buy breakfast?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie tittered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, I should say it was to buy breakfast, dinner, supper, and afternoon tea,” was her announcement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who would have believed it ? To be sure, I had never sat down and calculated to a nicety just the quantity of eatables is. 6d. would buy ; but still I doubted my ability to make it go that far, especially when I learned that pepper, salt, mustard, vinegar, and sugar were also included in the meals. I began to have great respect for that is. 6d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw that Annie was inclined to be friendly, which was a source of great satisfaction to me, for I knew there must exist a spirit of camaraderie between myself and fellow-servants, else I should never be able to accomplish what I had set out to do\u2014that is, discover the ins and outs of domestic service. I was fully prepared to enter into the joys and sorrows of the kitchen, and with that in view I tried to be as agreeable as possible to Annie. She had noticed nothing peculiar about me, with the exception of streamers. If my manner of speech was different from hers, she did not observe it, but took me for one of her own kind. Annie’s attitude toward me was not in any way intended to add to my self-conceit, and any intellectual bearing I might have thought I possessed did not apparently show up to advantage in the garb of cap and apron.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later in the evening we made the round of the rooms. Annie gave me explicit instructions as to how to tidy them up, turn down the beds and make the washstands ready for use. When this work was done, I was more tired than I had ever been in my life. What with emptying out the washbowls and refilling the pitchers, I had gone up and down two flights of stairs eight times, carrying heavy water-cans and pails. To the kitchen we again descended, and, while I wiped the dishes, Annie entertained me by telling me something of the family with whom I was to live. There were Mr. and Mrs. Allison, three daughters, and two sons. Two of the young ladies were at the seaside, and would return with their maid on Saturday. The staff of servants included cook, parlourmaid, housemaid, and ladies’ maid. Annie had formerly been housemaid in the family where she was now parlourmaid, so she was able to instruct me as to my duties. She opened a little cupboard off the kitchen and brought out a basket of underwear and stockings. It was the housemaid’s basket, and I was to spend my evenings in attending to the mending. I looked aghast at the contents. How should I, with my slight knowledge of needlework, attempt to darn the woollen socks of the gentlemen of the house? Just then Annie was called to the hall to answer the whistle of the speaking-tube, and returned to say that Mrs. Allison would see me in the study and give me a list of the work I was to do the following day. I welcomed this news as a present deliverance from the mending problem, but when I got that list from Mrs. Allison, I felt that my doom was sealed. It seemed to me that the responsibilities put upon my shoulders were tremendous. I was to rise at six in the morning, and my first duty was to shake and brush Mr. Allison’s trousers, which I would find hanging on the doorknob outside his room. I was about to inform Mrs. Allison that I did not engage as a valet, and was not up in the art of brushing trousers, when I suddenly remembered that I was not a “young lady “now, but a “young person,” expected to do with her might whatever her hands found to do. Did not the motto in my bedroom so inform me ? I made no remarks, and listened for the second duty, which was to brush Mrs. Allison’s dress and carry all the boots to the kitchen for Annie to polish. I was glad of the latter clause, for, had I been told to shine the boots, I think I should have despaired. Afterwards I would sweep and dust four flights of stairs and five halls, clean up and dust the study and drawing-rooms, and carry a can of hot water to each person, knocking on the door to wake him or her up. I concluded that when I had accomplished all these things, I should have done a good day’s work; but were my ears deceiving me ? What was Mrs. Allison saying ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Then you may eat your breakfast! “<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I was to achieve all those Herculean feats on an empty stomach! Well, if that was the case, I certainly ought to be able to perform wonders after I had breakfasted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Allison continued with her list, never noting my perturbed countenance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“After you have breakfasted, Lizzie, you must help Annie with the dishes, then make the beds, clean up the washstands, fill the water-jugs, sweep and dust the bedrooms, attend to the candlesticks, and put everything in perfect order in the sitting-rooms. You will get this done by eleven o’clock.” (On that point I was tempted to contradict her flatly, but I knew discretion was the better part of valour, and preserved silence.) “From eleven till three,” went on my mistress, “you will turn out one or two of the rooms and eat your dinner in the meantime. At four o’clock I want you to be dressed with clean cap and apron. Then you will get the servants’ afternoon tea and clear it away, and you can fill up the time until supper with needlework.” (That needlework still relentlessly pursued me.) After supper I was to make the round of the rooms again and sew until a quarter-past ten. Then I might go to bed, a consummation devoutly to be wished for!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After hearing the “list,” I bowed politely to Mrs. Allison, said, “Very well, ma’am,” and joined Annie in the kitchen. She greeted me with a fiendish grin, and said, “Did she say anything about the scrubbing?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Scrubbing! Must I scrub?” I almost shrieked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’ll think so, when you get at it! Why, you have to scrub a bedroom all over every day, and sometimes two! You see, you must turn out a room each day, and there’s no carpet on the bedrooms; only a narrow rug- before the bed. On turning out day, you must shake the rug and scrub up the floor and the paint. It do make your hands and arms ache, I tell you. It’s too bad you took such a hard place for your first time in service! “<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said this rather pityingly. No wonder! I pitied myself. It was ten o’clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Come,” said I, “let us go to bed. I’m so tired! “<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, you’re a greeny, sure enough! When you’re in service, you can’t go to bed when you like. Master Tom is out, and hasn’t a key. We’ll have to let him in. You might do some needlework while we’re waiting.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I put my head down on the kitchen table and silently wept.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At eleven o’clock Master Tom came in, and we went to our bedroom. I noted that the bed had neither springs nor hair mattress, but I slept, nevertheless, and all night long in my dreams came visions of much-worn scrubbing-brushes and basket upon basket of gentlemen’s undarned socks. Suddenly I heard a loud noise like the clanking of a cow-bell. I jumped up, and went to Annie’s bed to demand the meaning of the horrible racket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why, it’s six o’clock; that’s all. The missus has an alarm-bell connected with her room. She sends it off every morning to make us get up.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was dressed in an instant, and with my written list in hand, started off to attend to order number one. The trousers and the dress were duly brushed, the stairs and halls swept and dusted, and each person supplied with a hot-water can. Then I went into the study, which was a large room. There were dozens of ornaments on the desk and mantel, which it seemed an endless task to dust and rearrange. My head ached for the want of food, yet I knew that I had not only the study to finish, but two large drawing-rooms to attend to. I noticed that the drawing rooms and the study were the only really cheerful rooms in the house. All the comforts and pictures and ornaments were crowded together in these rooms, and to do them up properly was no easy piece of work, but they were on the list to be done before breakfast. At 8.30 I had finished them, however, and went to the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie informed me that the servants’ cupboard was in a veritable Mother Hubbard state, and, if I wanted anything for breakfast besides tea and bread, I must go and buy it. I took my is. 6d. and went out to shop, and, remembering that my own home was only a short distance from the place where I was “in service,” I ran around there and filled my basket with provisions, while my is. 6d. remained intact. Annie’s face beamed when she saw the wonderful purchases I had effected, all with is. 6d., and I then and there established the reputation of being a good provider. She insisted that she must share the expense, and wished to know the price of each article, which I gave her as follows:\u2014 One pound of strawberry jam (whole berries), 2d. per pound; two pounds of best mutton chops, 6d.; three pounds of fresh tomatoes, 3d. for the lot; four rashers best streaked bacon, \u00bdd. per rasher; large piece of beef for roasting, 5d. Annie declared she never knew you could buy things so cheap, and wanted the addresses of the shops I patronised. It is unnecessary to say that I had forgotten their location, and it is also needless to explain that from that time, until the cook came, I was delegated to do the marketing and hunt up these daily bargains, much to the diminishing of the contents of the larder at home. That morning we breakfasted off mutton chops and tomato sauce, while the family up-stairs were content to start the day with one egg each and a slice of toast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That first day “in service” lingers in my memory as a sort of nightmare. The whole house seemed arranged in such a way as to make the work as hard as possible. The bath-room was on the top floor, and, as all the water must be carried from there to the bedrooms below, it was no small matter to fill the water-pitchers. Then, in washing, every member of the family seemed to have taken particular pains to spill as much water about as possible, and everything had to be removed from the washstands before they could be put in order. All this might have been prevented had the bowls been filled not quite so full and a little care been exercised. Everything was thrown down where it had been used, though it was just as easy to return these various articles to their proper places. The linen cupboard in Mrs. Allison’s room was guarded by an immense couch, on which were piled dozens of boxes containing dresses, which must all be removed before I could get fresh towels. Then the couch had to be pushed back again, and the boxes heaped on top. All the bedrooms were gloomy and devoid of comfort, to say nothing of ornaments. The floors, as Annie had informed me, were not carpeted, and served to bring forcibly to my mind the scrubbing I should have to do. Eleven o’clock came, and I had not finished the bedroom work. There were all the candlesticks to scrape off. One of them, a handsome bronze figure of Minerva, it took me just one hour to get clean. The armour, draperies, and petticoats of the goddess were plentifully sprinkled with candle grease, which soap and water failed to eradicate, so there was nothing to do but scrape it off with a hair-pin, all of which took much valuable time. “What, an hour spent in cleaning a candlestick!” some sensible housewife may exclaim. I can only tell her to get a bronze Minerva and see if she can do it in quicker time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At half-past one Annie and I were eating dinner, when a whistle sounded through the speaking tube.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes, ma’am,” I called, ready to take Mrs. Allison’s order.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Lizzie, you did not close the schoolroom window. Come up and attend to it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went to the schoolroom, on the top floor; it was five flights from the kitchen. The lady of the house sat at a table reading a magazine. I closed the window and went down to finish my dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was an instance of the way Mrs. Allison tried to “smooth over the rough places” for me and make my situation as comfortable as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 2<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 4<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER IV.
ROUGH PLACES “SMOOTHED OVER.”<\/h2>\n\n\n
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When I had spent two days in Mrs. Allison’s service, I began to wonder what the “rough places” would have been like had she not attempted to smooth them over. She certainly could not have accused me of being a slow worker, and I did not “dilly-dally” over my duties, yet on Friday and Saturday I found it impossible to make time for “turning out” the rooms, however much I hurried. I no sooner finished tidying up the bedrooms than the washbowls were again filled to overflowing with soapy water and needed further attention. When I had brushed one dress and hung it in the wardrobe, another flannel gown or coat would be hung out on the banisters. “Such little things! “someone may say. Yes, that is true. A dress may be brushed in five minutes, and a washbasin emptied and wiped out in less time, but these small things call a servant away from her more important work and put her behind for the whole day. On Saturday morning, when I was washing out the dusters in the housemaid’s cupboard, Mrs. Allison presented me with a pair of her husband’s old kid-gloves, saying they would be “nice to wear when brushing the grates.” I uttered a silent prayer that the cold days might not come during my stay, and put them away for the use of my successor. The carrying of coals, building of fires, and emptying ashes are doubtless the hardest part of the work which falls to the women servants in a house where no man is kept, especially in families where every member insists on being comfortable and having fires in the bedrooms. However, Annie informed me that at Mrs. Allison’s the bedrooms were not heated in the winter. Still, with each sleeping-room there was connected a sitting-room, where fires were kept, besides two grates in the drawing-rooms; all of which work fell to the lot of the housemaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I soon became accustomed to my work, and was really surprised at the readiness with which I put into practice all I learned from my little book on “Servants’ Duties,” and, although I knew my stay was only a temporary one, I interested myself to discover the easiest and quickest ways for doing the work. After sweeping the stairs the first morning, I found that the small banister brush used for that purpose in most London houses was not a convenient or suitable implement, as it was impossible to get into the corners with it, so it was necessary to use two brushes in the operation. I felt sure that a whisk broom would better meet my requirements, and requested Mrs. Allison to get me one; but she was not inclined to give any help in the way of labour-saving appliances, so I used my own little broom which I had taken with me for brushing my coat. After that the corners were beautifully clean. I would recommend this sort of brush to all housekeepers, not only because of its easy application to the corners, but for the reason that there is no awkward, heavy piece of wood about it, making that disagreeable knockety-knock every time a step is brushed, thus saving wear and tear on the nerves of the housemaid and allowing the members of the family to continue their morning sleep undisturbed by the racket. In the same way, for sweeping both bare floors and carpets, the long-handled straight broom, known as the ” American broom,” seems to me to be ever so much more convenient and easy to manipulate than the English brush broom, which} like the banister broom, will not go into the corners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All the stairs of the house were covered with felt, the hardest floor-covering in the world to keep clean. Besides the daily sweeping, I was obliged to rub them frequently with a damp cloth in order to remove the accumulated dust and lint. The halls and passages were of stone, with rugs scattered about, which proved to be perfect traps for dust and dirt, and showed conclusively that properly carpeted halls were, in the long run, a great saving of labour. There were gas-pipes in every room, needing only the addition of fixtures to make them ready for use, and thus dispense with the numerous candlesticks that were to be refilled every day. In the halls, on the stairs, and in every room of the house, from the kitchen to the fifth floor, candle-grease was plentifully sprinkled, and my brown paper and hot flat-iron were in constant demand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It seemed to me that, by expending a little thought and money, a vast amount of unnecessary time might be saved as regarded the continual tidying up of bedrooms, &c. For instance, why should beds first be made up with the blankets and coverlets over the pillows, and then partly remade in the evening when the beds are “turned down”? An easier and much neater way would be to turn down the sheets at once and place the pillows on the outside. Thus only one handling is necessary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If mistresses would devote more thought to this saving of labour, they would find they were at the same time lessening their household expenses by preventing an unnecessary outlay in servants’ wages, for where work is made light, and quick methods employed, fewer servants are required.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Saturday a charwoman came in to help make things ready for the new cook. She was a type of the charing sisterhood\u2014big, red-faced, and noisy, with a tendency to order about the servants of the house. She scrubbed and scoured up everything in the basement, yet always stopped just short of finishing what she began. Every stewpan and pot received a rub and a dig with a knife, and was put back on the shelf with some of last year’s grease or soot on it. To make things clean on the outside as well as on the inside seemed never to enter her head. The immense spit used for roasting was brought out, and by its looks I judged that the old cook had never troubled herself to wash it during the last six months. It was subjected to the process of scraping and pounding, which was enough to render it utterly useless ever after. It, too, was put back in the scullery, clean in spots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That scullery! What a revelation it was to me, and how I resolved that when I got out I would use my influence to abolish sculleries for ever ! I know that the majority of cooks insist upon having what they call a “place for doing the dirty work,” but why should there be this dirty work, if things are done properly each day ? To wash dishes and pots and kettles only hot water, plenty of soap and soda, and a dishcloth are necessary, and, if properly attended to after each meal, there is no reason why they should be put on the shelf with black soot sticking to them. I noticed that the charwoman and Annie seemed to have but one idea in their dishwashing\u2014that of getting things put out of sight, no matter in what condition. When Annie brought the trays down from the dining-room, glasses, silver, knives, cups, meat-platters, and vegetable dishes were heaped together on the table in a miscellaneous mass, and, with the merest attempt at scraping and no effort to sort them, they were thrown into the water which was immediately covered with a scum of grease and tea or coffee grounds. I took advantage of an opportunity to put my scientific method of dishwashing into practice, but failed to make any impression on Annie’s mind, for she returned to her old way at supper-time. I first put all the glasses together, then emptied everything from cups and saucers, and placed them in a neat pile. Then the spoons, knives and forks, plates, meat and vegetable dishes, were cleansed of leavings and grease, and put in other piles near the dishpan, while all pots and kettles were cleaned out as thoroughly as possible with a knife, and hot water poured into them to soak off the remainder while I washed the best dishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These preliminary arrangements did not take more than five minutes, and then I was ready to proceed with dish-washing without the annoyance of greasy dish-water. The silver and glasses were washed and dried before I went on with the cups and plates, for I knew that, unless they were polished while they were hot, they would look smeared and dirty. I am aware that many servants insist on putting dishes away to dry on a rack, without applying a towel until they are ready to lay the table; but I have never seen a clean and well-polished dish that was so handled. If dish-racks were abolished along with the sculleries, mistresses would find less reason to complain of the tables being laid with smeared and nicked dishes. Nothing can be more aggravating and unsightly than an expensive set of china with cracks and bits chipped off the edges; and what little experience I had in the kitchen went to show me that ail this could be prevented if dishes were washed, dried, and put away immediately after each meal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie and I ate dinner on Saturday with the charwoman, who munched away at her bread and meat with her sleeves rolled up, exposing very fat, red arms. In the afternoon I was ordered to assist her in moving an iron bedstead from one room to another. She insisted that the bed could be pushed through the door without being taken apart, while I was of a different opinion. She did not look a pleasant person to cross, so I followed her instructions. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, and, try as I would, I could not manage to lift the thing from the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Come on there, Liz! can’t ye heft a bit?” she exclaimed impatiently. For the moment I forgot my cap and apron, and remembered only my outraged dignity and aching arms. Fortunately, ere I delivered myself of a scathing rebuke for her familiarity, a streamer flapped in my face, a timely reminder of my altered condition and circumstances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thus the Allison family were spared the interesting scene of a combat between the housemaid and the charwoman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bed finally had to be dismantled and taken apart, and the charwoman seemed to regard me as the cause of all the trouble. At tea-time she had somewhat relented, and offered to share her pitcher of bitter ale with me. (Mrs. Allison, I may mention, showed the good sense not to supply the servants with beer, and, if they drank it, it was at their own expense.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Better take it, young woman,” said she, as I refused the glass she pushed towards me. “Ye’ll need a strengthener if yer housemaid in this place. I’ve chared here five years, and I know the housemaid they had before Annie came worked herself into the ‘ospital in less than a year’s time. She’s done for now, is Annie. Got housemaid’s knee with all the scrubbing.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I decided to investigate into the cause and cure of this ailment, and took out a small note-book I carried in my apron pocket, and wrote down a few shorthand notes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What’s them queer marks?” asked Annie, edging around to my side of the table and looking over my shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I explained that I was trying to learn stenography with a view to bettering my position in life later on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie smiled her approval of the project, and thought I should be able to earn as much as thirty shillings a week if I got a place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The area gate bell rang just then, and Annie begged me to answer it, because I had finished tea and she had not. I started out, and got half-way up the stairs, when, looking up, I saw our own butcher’s boy holding out a joint for me to take into the kitchen. “Hello, another new ‘un!” he observed, and then, fearing he would recognise and betray me, I bolted backwards and into the kitchen, explaining that I had hurt my foot, and asked Annie to get the meat. From that time I lived in terror of being; asked to go on hasty errands, when I would not have an opportunity to remove my cap and apron. It was not that I was ashamed of the badge, but simply that I did not care to be recognised in the guise by any friends or neighbours I might meet. I was always careful to wear my coat and hat when I posted the letters in the evening, much to the disgust of Annie, who insisted that I wasted too much time in “primping.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday night the missing members of the family came home with their luggage and their maid. The boxes were heaped in the front hall and partly unpacked there. Mrs. Allison said that Annie and I were to carry them up-stairs the next morning, and I lay awake half the night wondering how I should be able to manage it without breaking any bones. Sunday morning we were allowed a half-hour’s extra sleep; but, to my astonishment, Annie informed me that the same round of work must be done as on weekdays. The stairs and passages, bedrooms, sitting rooms, and drawing-rooms were to be swept and dusted, and I was busy until twelve o’clock as on former days. Then we had the various boxes to carry to the fourth floor, During the process Annie assured me that the weight seemed to be all at her end of the boxes, and I felt she had every reason to complain, though I tugged away with might and main. Women servants are not fitted for doing this sort of work, and in the case of families where no manservant is employed outside help should be brought in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The gentleman of the house stood by, and saw us carrying the boxes and heard me remark that the cabman should have attended to them the previous night, but he seemed to be unimpressionable. Annie informed me that the evening before she had been obliged to assist the cabman in getting them from the top of the four-wheeler.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At two o’clock, as a meal for seven persons had to be cooked, Mrs. Allison asked me to wait at table while Annie stayed in the kitchen. I dressed in my very best for that auspicious occasion, for it was my debut as a waitress. Annie gave me instructions beforehand, so that everything went off very creditably. Only once did I pass things to the right of the individual instead of to the left. No dishes were broken and nothing spilled over. I stood back in the corner of the dining-room awaiting orders from the head of the table, and many times had difficulty in repressing a smile as I listened to the table-talk. The first thought that occurred to me as I carried the heavy iron trays up the stairs was, “Why do not housewives spend a few pounds and have lifts put in, connecting dining-room and kitchen, thus saving all this running up and down stairs?” The trays were immense iron things that were in themselves very heavy without the addition of china and eatables. There are light tin trays to be had that answer every purpose, and I almost felt like suggesting the fact to Mrs. Allison after dinner, but I remembered her refusal of the whisk broom and desisted. It was half-past four when the dishes were cleared away. I began to feel anxious about my Sunday afternoon off, for I had received a letter, forwarded from the Camberwell address, telling me to call on Mrs. Brownlow, in Kensington, at six o’clock Sunday, as she thought she could employ me as parlourmaid. At five I asked permission to go out, which was granted. I found the Kensington lady a most charming person, and made arrangements to enter her service as parlourmaid the following Thursday evening, though how I should get rid of my present place I had not then decided. I was determined to try at least two situations before giving my experiences to the public, and I began to feel that my story of Mrs. Allison would not be a pleasant one to relate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I returned at seven, and found Annie busily engaged in answering the door. It was Mrs. Allison’s day at home. I helped to prepare the tea and cakes, later we served supper to the family, and at nine had our own bread and cheese. So this was a Sunday in service. I had two hours’ rest; Annie had none! I remembered a command I had been taught in my youth which had to do with the keeping of the Sabbath, and said something about manservants and maidservants. I am not a Sabbatarian, but I contend that in the name of reason, and on good general business principles, every man and woman should have one day’s rest during the week, be it Sunday or some other day. The round of sweeping should be omitted on Sunday, only a light dinner prepared, and a part of the servants be allowed to spend most of the day in their rooms, in church, or in the park, according to their inclinations, and the servants who must remain on duty during Sunday should be given a resting day during the week. I know it is asserted that most mistresses give their maids a whole or half-holiday each week, but my investigations have led me to believe that this is often neglected, and, whether or not it is so, the Sunday duties should be made as light as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monday evening the new cook made her appearance, and our board wages ceased. I did not do any marketing, thinking that henceforth we should be provided with suitable meals. For breakfast, Tuesday, bread and butter and coffee were placed on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Is there no meat or potatoes?” I questioned Annie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No, the missus never allows us anything in the morning but bread and coffee.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was already tired with my morning’s work, and, having been told I must “turn out” two rooms that day, I knew that, without a proper breakfast, I should not be able to get through. I would speak to Mrs. Allison about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Better not,” said Annie; “the last cook fried some fish for breakfast one morning, and she got notice.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Annie,” I said, “I’m afraid this place is going to be too hard for me. I don’t think I’ll stop after my week is up.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But you can’t leave without giving notice. If you do, she’ll make you pay her a whole month’s wages; and, if she makes you go without giving notice, she must pay you a month’s wages,” explained my co-worker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But suppose I do something she doesn’t like and she discharges me?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why, then, you’d have to go; but she wouldn’t give you a character.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went to Mrs. Allison’s room and knocked at the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Mrs. Allison, do you not allow the servants anything for breakfast but bread and coffee ? I thought there must be some mistake,” I said, as she opened the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No, it is not a mistake,” was her reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But I must have a good breakfast or I simply cannot do the work, so I will go out and buy some meat myself.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Very well, do so,” she answered as she shut the door. An hour later, I was making her bed, when she entered the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Lizzie, I have been thinking it over, and I have decided that you and I won’t pull,” was her announcement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No, I don’t think we will, Ma’am,” I replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Then, if you will wait until I get suited,” she continued, “you may go.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told her I was sorry I could not accommodate her, but that I preferred to leave Thursday, and she went off in high dudgeon, saying that any common servant would show her mistress the courtesy to remain until she was suited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thus it came to pass that I was discharged from my first place without a character because I, like Oliver Twist, had the audacity to “ask for more.” But I had three more days to work for Mrs. Allison, and I looked forward to Thursday with fear and trembling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 3<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 5<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER V.
WITHOUT A “CHARACTER.”<\/h2>\n\n\n
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When I informed Annie that I had been discharged, she exhibited the greatest concern, for to her mind my condition was a pathetic one. How should I get another place without the character Mrs. Allison would refuse to give ? She argued that it was always better to part friends, even with bad mistresses, for without a character no girl could get a situation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I made a note of this for future reference, and since I left service I have found it a useful bit of information. If many much-tried but good-natured mistresses would only remind impertinent and neglectful maids that future situations depend upon present good behaviour, a great stride would be made toward a solution of the servant problem. On the other hand, the time will come when references will be demanded from the mistress as well as the maid. Then the Mrs. Allison type will not be so numerous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Poor Annie! She was holding one hand to her head and another at her side, while she discussed this question, displaying her unselfish interest in my welfare. She had lost four hours of legitimate sleep the preceding night, but was up at six in the morning as usual. What wonder that she felt tired and ill! I counselled her to go to bed and rest awhile. She looked at me again with the superior air she had worn on the evening of our first meeting. “When you’re in service, you can’t go to bed if you’re ill,” was her answer, as she carried the tray of silver and glasses into the pantry, and commenced her first day’s work as bond-fide parlourmaid. She had only a servant-girl’s headache, brought on by remaining awake till after one o’clock in order to open the door for the daughters of the house, who had been to the theatre! “But how avoid such occasional contingencies ? Shall the young ladies be allowed a latchkey?” asks a horrified mother of grown-up daughters. Well, of course, to my unconventional mind, the latch-key would be the simplest way out of the difficulty; but I would suggest that it is the duty of the ladies’ maid and not of the parlourmaid to wait up and serve supper after the theatre. The parlourmaid must rise early in the morning to begin her daily round of work, and therefore should be allowed to go to bed at a proper hour, while in the case of the ladies’ maid it is, or should be, different. If she is up late, she should be allowed to sleep later in the morning. Of course, in large establishments of a dozen or more servants these matters are better arranged; but in households like Mrs. Allison’s, where the strictest economy is practised as regards the number of servants employed and the amount of wages paid, little or no attention is given to this important subject.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mathilde, the Swiss maid, was a person who well appreciated her own value and took advantage of her position. She was a competent dressmaker and hairdresser, who, for reasons known only to herself, elected to give her services to the Allison family for the small stipend of ^20 a year. Realising that cheapness and competency rarely go together, Mrs. Allison knew that she would be unable to fill Mathilde’s place at such a price, and decided it was best to humour that young woman’s whims. Mathilde was of a sleepy nature, and could not be induced under any consideration to sit up after 10.30, so either Annie or I must remain down-stairs till all the family were in. It was Mathilde’s duty to help me make the best beds, and while thus engaged I noticed that she had a patronising way of treating me. She was particularly inquisitive in regard to my previous life and occupation, and I told her a highly-entertaining story concerning myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The new cook was a welcome acquisition in the kitchen. Annie was especially glad to have some of the responsibilities taken off her shoulders, and the domestic machinery began to run a little more smoothly. My labours, however, were in no way lightened, except that I had nothing more to do with dish-washing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie’s duties were to rise at six o’clock, attend to the lamps, sweep and dust the large music room, carry some boiling water to Mrs. Allison, lay the table, wait at all the meals, clear away and brush up afterwards, answer the door, and assist with the needlework. Her duties seemed neither so numerous nor so complex as my own, but when I explain that from half-past nine in the morning until eleven at night the bell rang on an average of every ten minutes it will be seen that her time was well occupied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mary, the cook, was tall, fat, ruddy-faced and good-humoured, and seemed inclined to make me her especial protege. She expressed regret when I told her I was to leave the next Thursday, and gave me the address of a lady in Belgravia who she thought could offer me an easy place. At dinner she was greatly exercised over the news that neither beer nor beer-money was allowed in the kitchen, and blamed herself for her stupidity in forgetting to ask about so important a matter before she took the place. Beer, she declared, was essential to her health and happiness. Then she beamed upon me, and, handing me a pitcher, asked if I would run around the corner and get some bitter ale, as she could not leave the joint that was roasting before the fire. I did not wish to offend her, nor did I quite like the idea of going to a public-house; but finally, as I stood there halting between two opinions, journalistic enterprise got the better of dignity. I threw on my hat and coat, and, with the despised pitcher in hand, made my exit from the area gate, determined to penetrate into the mysteries of the bar-room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I entered there came an odour of tobacco that nearly overwhelmed me, but I went forward to have my pitcher filled. There was over a score of men and women standing or sitting about on the long benches, drinking, smoking, and gossiping about what “she said,” what “he said,” and what “I said, sez I.” Some of the men were in livery, and I was the only one of my sex without a cap and apron. A number of those present I recognised as servants in neighbouring families. They seemed in no hurry to return with their beer, and, judging by their hilarious state, many of them had been there some time, and various family secrets were divulged by one servant to another. I left the place with my pitcher of ale, which I tried to hide by means of a large morning paper and the cape of my coat. I had seen the result of allowing beer-money to servants, and I appreciated more keenly why so many of the letters I had received in answer to my advertisement had ended with the words “No beer.” I found that the public-house was made a sort of rendezvous for the men and women servants of the neighbourhood, and housework lagged behind, while with pipe and beer they gossiped and dragged out family skeletons for the edification of their fellow-servants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This question of beer-money is a much more serious one than many housewives imagine. I am speaking now from a purely business standpoint, for I am not a distributor of temperance tracts nor a member of a prohibition union. I can see no reason why beer or beer-money should be demanded by servants as one of their lawful rights. If, when their day’s work is done, a glass of ale will help to take away “that tired feeling” with which they must necessarily be afflicted, I would not be the one to deprive them of their comforter; but I do insist that the mistress of the house should not be called upon to furnish the beverage, nor should they under any circumstances be allowed to go to the public house to procure it. A business man in the city is not expected to furnish a daily allowance of beer to each one of his clerks; and, if domestic service is to be raised to a proper standard, this matter of beer-allowance must be dispensed with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mary was what is commonly called a plain cook \u2014not a “professed” one, as she confidentially informed me; and when I noticed her way of preparing potatoes I decided that she was a very plain cook indeed. Her only ideas seemed to be either to boil them and send them up whole, or sift them through a colander, from which they emerged in dirty, rice-like flakes. She added no milk, butter, pepper, or salt, and I began to feel sorry for the family who were obliged to eat the \u2014to say nothing of my own personal longing for some of the sixteen delicious dishes into which I knew potatoes could be made. Mary began at once to save up all the drippings from the roasts, and did not heed my remark that dripping was good for frying. She demanded to know whether I wanted to rob her of her lawful perquisites. When the bone-man came around, I believe she was richer to the extent of sixpence, while Mrs. Allison was poorer by a much larger amount.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I soon discovered that the cook had a prejudice against washing frying-pans, which, each time bacon or fish was cooked, were hung up in the scullery with the cold grease sticking to them, all in readiness for the next time they were needed; and it was only a matter of chance if the fish-pan was not used the next day for frying eggs. Another discovery I made was the reason why so many pieces of beautiful china soon get unsightly with the enamel all marked by an intricate network of dark cracks. It is done by putting the dishes into the oven or on the stove to heat before being taken up to the dining-room. This can be avoided by immersing the plates, meatplatters, and vegetable-dishes in very hot water and drying quickly just as they are ready to be sent upstairs. The heat of the oven not only cracks them, but imparts a peculiar odour not likely to increase one’s appetite at dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the cook came, the three beds in the servants’ room were occupied, and, to my immense relief, Annie and Mary shared one washbowl, and left me in solitary enjoyment of the other. When we went to bed sleep did not come so easily as it had at first, for an exchange of opinions on various subjects was the order of the first hour or longer. Mary was curious to know all about the personal characteristics of each member of the family; but Annie was uncommunicative, and told her, if she stopped long enough, she would find out for herself. I was treated as a sort of heroine, Mary praising me for my pluck in asking for better breakfasts, which she declared her own intention of doing soon, and Annie always bewailing my characterless state. Mrs. Allison had advertised for a new housemaid, and Annie regaled us with an interesting description of all the girls who applied for the situation. At last a housemaid was engaged to come in the next Saturday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why does she not come Thursday, so Mrs. Allison will have someone to take my place at once ? I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, a girl don’t like to go to a place as soon as she’s engaged. A nice servant never does it,” answered the cook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“And why not, if it will accommodate the mistress?” I demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well,” said Mary, “I can’t tell ye. I don’t know as there’s any pertickler reason, only they don’t like it. Why, the missus wanted me to come a week ago, saying she was so put to without a cook; but I wouldn’t do it. I don’t approve of hurrying things like that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the dim candlelight I could see a self-satisfied smile on Mary’s face, and I questioned her no more, concluding that servants, as well as other people, had a right to do things “on general principles” without assigning, or even having, any reason for their actions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I don’t think I’ll stay here after this year,” remarked Annie, as she began to unbutton her boots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why not?” I asked. “Don’t you like it?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Of course I don’t. Nobody could like such a hard place. But that isn’t the reason. I’ve been here over a year now, and two years is long enough to stop in any place, good or bad. You get used to doing things the way to suit one missus, and, if you stay too long, it’s hard to learn to suit other missuses, so I believe in changing round \u2014that’s my opinion.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saying which, she threw her boots in the middle of the floor, and put her head under the pillow, instead of upon it. She always slept that way, and I suspected that it was done to soften the clanging of the alarm-bell which rang out fiercely at six every morning. I did not always follow Annie in her line of reasoning, and I could not quite understand her objections to stopping a long time even in a good place; but I put it down to the fact that she, like the cook, acted sometimes “on general principles.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie, on the whole, was a good servant. She took pride and interest in her work, and had at first impressed me as being very conscientious. My faith in this latter quality was a little shaken by an incident that happened one day in the drawing-room. It was before the cook came, and she was helping me to wash some of the more expensive pieces of bric-abrac. I sat on the floor with a pail of water and a cloth, cleaning some ivory and marble figures. I put a small statue of Mercury into the pail, took it out, and beheld that it was headless. I was bewildered, for I had been particularly careful in the process, and I knew I could not have knocked it against the pail. As I sat with the head in one hand and the body in the other, Annie startled me with, “The missus is coming! Hide it quick, or she’ll see it! “<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Of course, I shan’t hide it,” I retorted, angrily; and then Mrs. Allison came towards me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Lizzie, that several of these figures have been broken and glued together, and ought not to be put in hot water. Lay it aside] and I will mend it again.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Annie looked crestfallen and ashamed. Mrs. Allison spoke pleasantly to me in those days. That was before I had offended her by asking for better breakfasts. Afterwards she sent me to “Coventry,” and -never looked at me except with forbidding brow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up to Wednesday I had escaped the scrubbing, for, when I turned out the young ladies’ rooms the day before, I carefully arranged that twilight should come on before I got to that part of the work. Then the occupants were obliged to dress for dinner, and I would be in the way. Besides, the floor must not be damp when they went to bed, so they smilingly informed me that I need “never mind” about it. From that time I was their true friend, and when Miss Allison lay on the bed the next day with a jumping toothache I took my bottle of Pond’s Extract to her and insisted that frequent applications would help her. In the evening, when she and Miss Blanche went to the theatre, I whistled for a hansom and helped them in with all the good grace imaginable, stepping up in front and closing the doors very carefully, so as not to catch their dresses. I even ceased to use “language” in my heart when pretty Miss Blanche, who had operatic aspirations, went from room to room screaming “a-a-ah” up and down through all the different keys. Both of them always wished me a cheery ” Good-morning,” even after I was discharged, and I have only the most pleasant recollections of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When, on Wednesday afternoon, the decree went forth that I should take up all the rugs in the drawing-room and scrub the floor, I felt that the evil day could no longer be put off, though how I was to carry through my commission was more than I knew. I dared not confide my ignorance to anyone, for when I engaged with Mrs. Allison, I assured her that I had never been a servant, but had learned how to work at home, which was true enough\u2014at least, I thought it was, for I knew the chapter headed “Housemaids,” in the book on “Servants’ Duties,” by heart. But that chapter had said nothing about scrubbing. I suppose the literary lady who wrote it lived in a house where there was no scrubbing to be done. Thus I was utterly in the dark as to how to go at my task, and was obliged to follow my own ideas on the subject. I took from my cupboard two pails, one half full of soapy water, the other containing fresh water for rinsing, and with flannel and brush I started out to do or die, or both. From the conversation with the charwoman, I had gathered that it was proper to go on one’s knees for the operation; but she had said that a former servant in this family had got housemaid’s knee by kneeling on the cold floors. It was not part of my plan to contract the disease, and then I was afraid of soiling and wetting my print dress, which I wished to keep fresh and neat-looking for my next place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In scrubbing that drawing-room I kept two ideas in mind : first, to ward off housemaid’s knee; second, to keep myself and costume out of the wet. So pinning up my frock, I took the brush and assumed a squatting position, hopping about from place to place. I scrubbed a square yard at a time, then rinsed in clean water and dried it, congratulating myself the while that I was something of a Columbus in my way. I had nearly finished, when, glancing toward the folding doors, I saw Mrs. Allison looking at me, her large black eyes burning with anger. Had I been on the ground-floor, I am sure I should have jumped from the window and precipitately departed from my situation, so dangerous did the lady of the house appear.<\/p>\n\n\n

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“Well, a pretty servant you make, I must say! Any girl with half a grain of sense would know how to scrub. You haven’t even got general intelligence!” was the announcement that burst from her. Now I had always been told that I had a large bump of combativeness and was able to hold my own in a dispute; but this time I was speechless, feeling that my position really was untenable. I had nothing to say in my own defence; but a sense of the ridiculous overcame my prudence, and I smiled blandly in Mrs.Allison’s face. She uttered a contemptuous, impatient “Oh! “and left me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hurriedly finished the room, put the rugs and furniture in place, and, perched on the top of the step-ladder, polished the looking-glasses with tissue-paper. The steps were more than twice my own height, and when I attempted to lift them from one part of the room to another I found it a case of “when Greek meets Greek,” and was obliged to pull them along after me as best I could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That evening Annie again broached the needlework subject, fearing, I suppose, that I would go on the morrow and leave her to clear out the mending-basket I had postponed it as long as I well could, without admitting point-blank that I was unable to cope with the task, so I determined to do unto Annie as I would have her do to me under similar circumstances. I remembered to have seen my mother put a wooden ball into the toes and heels when she darned stockings, and I asked Annie for the darning-ball. She had never heard of such a thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But I must have one, or I can’t darn them,” I insisted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She brought me an oval-shaped soda-water bottle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Maybe that’ll do. It’s sort of round,” she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought it would, and, feeling that “well begun is half done,” I attacked the enemy, and darned to the best of my ability. If the wearers of those stockings got bad feet on account of the lumps and seams, I can only say I am very sorry, and pledge my word to avoid mending-baskets hereafter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Thursday I washed out all the dusters and made my cupboard as tidy as possible preparatory to taking my departure. Mrs. Allison did not speak to me again after the scrubbing episode. When at six o’clock I informed her that I was ready to go, she silently handed me six shillings, which was really liberal, for she only owed me five shillings and fourpence halfpenny. I thanked her and said good-bye, but she did not answer. I do not doubt that long before this she has realised the bad taste she displayed in thus showing her temper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my story of my life at Mrs. Allison’s house I have spoken of her only as a mistress. Some of my friends who know her personally have assured me that, socially and intellectually, she is a most charming woman to meet. I did not go into her house as an enemy or detective to pry into her private affairs. Although many opportunities were given me for doing this, I refused to take advantage of them. I was a journalist seeking information on a certain subject. She happened to answer my advertisement, and was the first person who offered me a place, which I accepted. I have given an account of my experiences at her house as a servant; that is all. Mr. Allison, who is a man well known in the professional world, was always pleasant with me; Mr. John Allison, the eldest son, treated me politely, but always with dignity; while the nice ways of Master Tom won my admiration from the first. Miss Kate, the youngest member of the family, went to the country shortly after I arrived, and I saw little of her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I left Mrs. Allison’s house I went to a jeweller’s and left the six shillings she paid me to be made into a bracelet. Then I jumped into a cab and was driven to Mrs. Brownlow’s in Kensington, where I was to enter another situation; this time as parlourmaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 4<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 6<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER VI.
PARLOURMAID TO MRS. BROWNLOW.<\/h2>\n\n\n
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MRS. BROWNLOW’S residence was a pretty little house in Kensington, with the name “Elsmore Lodge “done in gold letters over the highly-polished dark green door. The brass bells, knocker, and letter-box shone out like new mirrors, and, as I stood waiting for my ring to be answered, I could see my reflection in the door-plate. The great wide hall into which I was admitted by the housemaid seemed to have been newly carpeted for the winter, and bright-coloured rugs were strewn about the floor. The housemaid, who informed me that her name was Alice, told me that Mrs. Brownlow had gone out to dinner, and had instructed her to show me to. my room. I had already, on the preceding Sunday, been shown through the house by Mrs. Brownlow, who said that, of course, I must see the house before I could tell whether I would like the situation; but Alice thought I had better take another look over the place, and to humour her I followed her from one room to another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On either side of the front hall there was a large room, one the dining-room, the other the library. The dining-room was covered with Japanese matting, with a large crumb-cloth in the centre, and other rugs scattered about. The furniture was of beautiful old English oak and leather, and many pictures of game, fruit, fish, horses, and dogs hung on the wall. In a corner Alice called my attention to a lift, connecting the kitchen and dining-room. She explained that, before laying the table, I was to put all the china on the lift and draw it up, and that the cook would send up the meats and vegetables just as the family sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’ll have to toe the mark if you keep this place,” said she confidentially. “Missus sent the last parlourmaid away because she didn’t make the glasses shine and broke so many dishes. Just before she left she broke a big punch-bowl and a lot of cups, and never told. Missus found it out a few hours before she went, and took out a part of her wages for it. It was a shame, wasn’t it?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why, no, I don’t think so. What right had she to break the dishes and not say anything about it ? And, besides, if it was her fault, she ought to pay for them,” I answered, for the moment putting myself in Mrs. Brownlow’s place and feeling that I should have done the same thing under similar circumstances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A very unpleasant look gathered on Alice’s face as I said it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh! so you take the part of the missus against the servants, do you ? I don’t.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From that time I knew I had an enemy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We went into the library, which was decorated in Oriental style. There were pictures, books, newspapers, magazines, two writing-desks, and a large music-box in a corner, which, after Alice had set it in motion, played me a merry welcome to my new situation. Up the wide staircase, padded and carpeted so that no footfalls could be heard, we went to the drawing-room on the first floor. The room was not so elegant nor so large as that at Mrs. Allison’s, but it was pretty and homelike, with the appearance of having been furnished more for comfort than display. Mrs. Brownlow’s bedroom came next\u2014a veritable bower of pink. The dressing-table, I noticed, was at the side of the window, and not in front, as is the usual custom. Adjoining this room was the sewingroom, which, Alice said, would also be used by the maid as a sleeping-room, as Mrs. Brownlow had made some changes in order to give me a bedroom to myself. On the next floor was the bath room in which was a gas geyser, a bedroom for Miss Brownlow, the daughter of the house, Mr. James Brownlow’s room, and two servants’ rooms. The room occupied by Alice and the cook was a large, comfortable place with red ingrain carpet on the floor. There were two toilet-tables and bureaus combined, with separate washbowls, soap-cups, &c, bright pictures on the walls, and no religious mottoes. Then I went into my own room, a snug little place which Mrs. Brownlow had just fitted up for me. It was very cosy, had fresh carpet, and a nice clean set of single bedroom furniture. The little bed had a good mattress and springs, and was covered with a spotless white quilt. Under the mantel there was a small gas-grate. Alice told me there were no coal-fires in the house, and that even the cooking was done by gas. Each room had a gas-stove in the grate, and it was only required to strike a match to light the fires. She added, however, that, for some reason, Mr. Brownlow did not quite like the gas-fires, and was negotiating with a stove company to build and put up a large furnace in the cellar, and thus heat all the halls and rooms by registers, after the American plan. On my first interview Mrs. Brownlow had told me that the servants were allowed to have fires in their rooms in the morning and evening, and when changing their dresses in the afternoon, provided they were always careful to turn off the gas when they went to bed or left the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I put away the few clothes I had brought with me, Alice stood waiting for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Where’s your box?” she asked, noticing my very small handbag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It is at my lodgings in Camberwell. I thought I wouldn’t go to the expense of bringing it here till I knew whether I would suit Mrs. Brownlow. I’ve never been in service before, you know,” was my answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the basement, Alice took me about and showed me the various china cupboards, and the pantry where I was to wash the glass and silver. As none of the family were at home to dinner, I had no waiting at the table. At eight o’clock we had our own dinner, which consisted of a joint, potatoes, brussels sprouts, and a boiled pudding. There were four of us\u2014Sarah the cook, Janette the French maid, Alice, and myself. We had plenty of dinner, which was well-cooked and nicely served, and I learned that usually the family and the servants had the same food. The table was spread in a comfortable little room off the kitchen, and the knives, forks, and spoons were not of the peculiar brassy variety supplied to the servants at Mrs. Allison’s. Sitting opposite to Alice, I had a good opportunity to study her. She was tall, with a pretty face and trim figure, but she had the appearance of being treacherous and dishonest, and I wondered how she had managed to remain in her situation so long. Janette I liked very much better, and the cook seemed a pleasant, good-natured sort of woman. After dinner Alice went up-stairs to tidy the rooms, and I remained in the kitchen until about half-past nine. I watched the cook wash up the dishes, and saw that she did the work after the manner of Annie and the cook at Mrs. Allison’s. The cooking utensils were not washed at all, but put up on the scullery table to remain until the next morning. The dishes rattled together in the pan, and chip after chip came of! through her careless manner of handling them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Mrs. Brownlow returned, I was asked to go to her room. She was particularly kind in her manner of treating me, not in a patronising way, but as one woman talking to another who was less fortunate than herself. Although she evinced more interest in my previous history than had Mrs. Allison, she asked all her questions with tactful delicacy. She said she was anxious that I should think of her as much in the light of a friend as a mistress, although she paid me money for the work I was to do, and expected it to be well done. She explained that in employing me she was making an experiment, and, \\{ she found it a successful one, she would make an entire change in her staff of servants, and engage girls of education to take the places of the cook and housemaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I have given you a bedroom alone,” said Mrs. Brownlow, “because I thought you would find it much pleasanter to keep to yourself. You will probably want it quiet for reading and writing in the evening and on Sunday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I fully appreciated Mrs. Brownlow’s thoughtfulness in regard to the bedroom, although I could not help regretting that, under the circumstances, I would not be able to hear the night gossip of the cook and housemaid. Before leaving I was given the following list of the parlourmaid’s duties :\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Rise at seven o’clock, and be ready for the servants’ breakfast at 7.15. Afterwards sweep and dust the front hall and drawing-room, lay the table for the nine o’clock breakfast, wait at table and clear away, attend to the glass and silver, light gas-fires in drawing- and dining-rooms, sweep and dust the dining-room, clean the lamps, lay the table for one o’clock luncheon, clear away, prepare for dinner and wait at table. After each meal shake the crumb-cloth, and answer the door during the day. Always to be dressed in time for luncheon.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Besides this daily round, a part of each day in the week was to be given to some special work, such as turning out the drawing-room, dining-room, cleaning silver, &c. On Saturday I was to assist the housemaid in airing and repairing the table and bed linen, the needlework of the family being done by the ladies’ maid. I was to have an afternoon off each week, and be allowed to go to morning or evening service on Sunday, if I desired. On Sunday it was arranged that each servant should have half the day to herself, and the cook had every Sunday afternoon off, a mid-day dinner being served, and either Alice or I preparing and clearing away the eight o’clock supper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Brownlow’s list did not terrify me as Mrs. Allison’s had done, for the amount of work required was not unreasonable, and there was no starting with the day’s work without breakfast. Mrs. Brownlow told me she had experienced considerable trouble in regard to the cleaning of knives, blacking of boots, and scrubbing the front step, each servant declaring it was the other’s place to do these things, until finally she had procured the services of a member of the Houseboy’s Brigade, who came every morning to do this work, while once a week a larger boy from the same place washed all the windows in the house. It seemed to me most disgraceful that there should have been rioting in the kitchen over a few knives and boots. With such a small family and convenient house, three servants should have done the work easily. I told Mrs. Brownlow that I was perfectly willing to clean the knives and the boots, but she only smiled and said\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“We will wait a few weeks and see how things turn out.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, comfortable as my bed was, I did not soon go to sleep, for Mrs. Brownlow’s kind face and gentle manners were always in my mind, and I began to think over a plan by which I might supply her with a good servant when I left, provided, of course, everything should prove satisfactory on both sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At 7.15 the next morning we sat down to the kitchen breakfast, which consisted of fried bacon, potatoes, toast, and coffee. I complimented Sarah on her tasty way of cooking, and she smiled benignly, saying that she had been a professed cook for ten years, and hoped she did know something about her business. William Johnson, the brigade boy, came in about 7.30, and the cook, remarking that she supposed he was as hungry as usual, put a large plate of bread-and butter and a cup of coffee before him with the knives and boots. I had seen hungry boys before, but I really never came in contact with a growing boy who had such a capacity for bread and coffee as William Johnson. In six minutes he had disposed of five large thick slices of bread and three cups of coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Don’t you have any breakfast before you go to work?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes’um, at half-past five, but I gets hungry again,” was his reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In half an hour I was ready to sweep the drawingroom, while Alice started to clean the stairs and landings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“The other parlourmaid always swept the front hall first, and I think it’s the best way,” she observed as I opened the drawing-room door, with broom and dustpan in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I should say that was a very bad way,” I answered. “What is the use of my sweeping the front hall while you sweep the stairs and landings above ? Some of the dust would drop down, and you would dirty it as fast as I cleaned it. You sweep while I attend to the drawing-room, and I’ll do the hall afterwards.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked very snappish, and declared she did not approve of new-fangled notions, and what was the difference anyhow, so long as I could say I had done it ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In laying the breakfast-table I found that all the glasses were smeared and covered with finger marks, while the silver looked as if it had never been properly washed. There was egg or paste, or something of the kind, between the prongs of every fork. I was aware that in many instances parlourmaids overcame these difficulties by using their aprons as towels; but, not quite approving of that plan, I sent the things down on the lift and washed them again. After breakfast, looking on my list, I saw that Friday was the day for cleaning the silver. Mrs. Brownlow informed me that Clara, my predecessor, had always left the powder in the crevices of the plate, declaring she could not remove it, however much she brushed, and added, “I hope you will find a way of getting it off.” After rubbing it I washed and brushed it in hot water with soap and ammonia, which removed every particle of white dust. Mrs. Brownlow was so pleased with the result that she avowed her intention of making me her deputy-housekeeper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You see,” said she, “I am so interested in my painting and music that I do not like to keep my mind too much on household matters, but I do want everything clean and nice.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not tell her how fully I appreciated her situation, nor of my unfitness for the position of housekeeper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I attended to the lamps, they looked as if they had not been well trimmed and cleaned for the past few months. The “wicks were crooked and crusted, while the ventilating burners were completely filled up with lampblack and dirt. After vainly trying to remove it with a pin and brush, it occurred to me that the only possible way to get rid of it would be to boil all the burners. So I put them in a saucepan on the stove, with plenty of hot water and soda, and in an hour they came out bright and clean. As I was putting the chimneys in a basin preparatory to washing them, Alice made some excuse to come into the pantry, and said she never had seen such goings on as stewing lamp-burners and putting chimneys in water, which was sure to break them. They should be cleaned with a cloth and chimney-brush. As I paid no attention to her, she soon left me, and expressed her opinion to the cook of “them smart girls that knows so much.” At dinner I had the satisfaction of overhearing Mr. Brownlow remark to his wife, “That girl’s a jewel! See the chimney how it shines, and not a particle of odour about the lamp!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was with considerable consternation that I attempted to open the first bottle of wine at the dinner-table. I had practised parlourmaiding to some extent before I left home, and had proudly acquired the knack of folding serviettes in the shape of a slipper, but try as I would I had found myself unable to manage a corkscrew. Had I been permitted to go into the hall with the bottle, I think I might have accomplished the feat a little more satisfactorily. The cork broke off, and at last I was obliged to push the remainder of it into the bottle, and a part of the contents came whizzing up in my face. After that accident it seemed to me everything went wrong, and I several times had to stop and ponder over which was my right hand and which my left, and put myself exactly behind the person I was? serving before I ventured to put down a plate or a knife and fork. I could have wept for joy when I heard Mr. James Brownlow remark, “Mother, I don’t mind opening the wine hereafter. I think it is rather hard work for a girl.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next day, after I had opened the door for a visitor, Mr. Brownlow met me in the hall, and said,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Lizzie, do you know the difference between a friend of the family and a bill-collector?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes, sir, I think I do,” I replied, remembering that in my own experience I had often found a very painful difference between the two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, now, you must not let any collectors get into this house for the next month. I’m in Paris, see ? Don’t wait till they tell you what they want, but you must be able to spot them on sight, and say at once I’m not in London. That last girl of ours got me in more trouble by her stupidity in letting tax-gatherers and dressmakers and tailors in the house. Said she didn’t know how she was going to tell what they wanted when they wouldn’t give their business. To be a good parlourmaid you must be a mind-reader, and you look as if you could do something in that line.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I bowed my acknowledgment of the compliment, and promised to do my best. I knew that in order to fulfil my part of the compact I must bring to play all my native powers of discernment. If I had had small tradespeople to deal with, my task would have been an easy one; or, if all bill collectors had been accommodating enough to wear pot-hats, I might still have experienced no difficulty. Mrs. Brownlow had told me, when she engaged me, that, after the first month, she would increase my wages^and had let drop a hint that her husband, a stockbroker in the City, was at present a little short of money because of the hard times in America, where he was largely interested in certain securities; so I had no difficulty in understanding Mr. Brownlow’s objection to a particular class of visitors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Half an hour after my conversation with the head of the house the bell rang, and I opened the door to a tall, handsome-looking man, having all the appearance of belonging to the gentry. It was only about 10.30, and I could not believe the man had come to make a party call at that time in the morning, so when he asked for Mr. Brownlow I said, “He’s gone to Paris; but will you please tell me your business?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, no, it’s not necessary; I’ll see Mrs. Brownlow. She will do quite as well.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, I had been warned against men who would not tell their business, and I said, “She’s gone to Paris, too, and won’t be back for a month.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, it’s a fine performance; that’s all I’ve got to say,” was his answer, as he turned to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Won’t you leave your name?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No,” he replied, rather savagely, and walked out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I congratulated myself on my prowess, and went up-stairs to describe the man to Mrs. Brownlow, when I discovered that I had turned away the wrong man. Still, I was not disheartened by my first failure, and after two or three days’ practice I became quite an expert in that line. The experience I thus gained was not only of immense service to Mr. Brownlow, but will probably prove of great value to me personally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a few days I had become quite accustomed to my duties, and I felt that the position of parlourmaid at Elsmore Lodge was not a hard one. Mrs. Brownlow was one of the most considerate women I had ever met, and tried in every way to make her servants comfortable; but neither the cook nor Alice showed any appreciation of her kindness. Both of them were continually on the defensive, and seemed to believe that mistress and servant must necessarily look upon each other as enemies. Sarah cooked well, but her extravagance was appalling. In spite of Mrs. Brownlow’s order that all the small pieces of bread should be used up for puddings and dressing, Sarah allowed them to remain in the bread-box until they moulded, and then threw them away; while sugar, potatoes, and cold meat disappeared with the most astonishing rapidity. Alice aided and abetted her in every possible way. I began to wonder if, after all, good treatment was appreciated by many of the girls who went out to service, and I decided that it did not always follow that a kind mistress made a good servant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 5<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 7<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER VII.
MY LAST DAYS IN SERVICE.<\/h2>\n\n\n
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DURING my stay at Mrs. Brownlow’s I discovered that domestic labour, arranged in a reasonable manner, was not in itself difficult work. Not having a taste for household duties, and having had no experience except that gained by practising some of the parlourmaid’s duties at home and a week’s observation and work at Mrs. Allison’s, I was not, of course, so well equipped as a well trained domestic servant would have been; but, in spite of these drawbacks, I did the work quickly and neatly, and Mrs. Brownlow informed me that none of her former servants had suited her so well. She began at once to plan how she might dispense with ordinary domestics, and replace them by young women who would take a genuine interest in their work and render her something more than eye service. Sarah was an excellent cook, and there was no fault to be found with the food as it was prepared for the table; but she was afflicted with a very common complaint among cooks, laziness, and was continually talking about the need of a kitchen-maid, although the whole basement was conveniently fitted up, and the cook’s duties were so light that her mistress did not feel disposed to hire an assistant for her. Mrs. Brownlow had consented, at the cook’s request, to have only one set of meals prepared, except as regarded the servants’ breakfast, the kitchen breakfast coming earlier, as a matter of course. At eleven they were allowed a light luncheon, and at half-past one, after the family had lunched, the servants ate the same food as was served at the dining-room table, and for the night dinner it was arranged that they could dine immediately after dessert was served. Although these changes in the usual routine of servants’ meals were made to please the cook and lighten her labours, she did not show any appreciation of the favour, and positively refused to scrub the doorstep, clean the knives, or black the boots\/which she declared was not “her place,” while the housemaid insisted that she did not “bargain for that business.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Brownlow was a woman of gentle, even temper, who took for her motto, “Live peaceably with all men, if it be possible,” and so to preserve anything like the semblance of order in her household, she hired the brigade boy to attend to these things, and was constantly putting herself to trouble and expense for the sake of her servants. She had a decided talent for artistic work, and was interested in music, and, as she explained to me, she did not care to devote her whole attention to the management of her house. Her daughter, a young lady of about twenty, had but recently made her debut in society, and had literary aspirations, as she one day confided to me. She did not wish to turn housekeeper, and the French maid did not understand enough English to act as deputy for her mistress. If the servants had been of the sort who would perform their duties conscientiously, Mrs. Brownlow need have devoted only one hour each morning ta overlooking the housekeeping; but, as it was, they took advantage of her kind and easy way, and the two chief qualities displayed by the cook and housemaid were indolence and extravagance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why do you not wipe the hot-water cans before you set them in the hall?” I said one morning to Alice, who had been distributing the water at the different bedroom doors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Because it’s too much trouble,” she answered, with a toss of her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But you will ruin the carpet,” I insisted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, it’s not your carpet, so you will please mind your own business,” she retorted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, what could be done with a girl so perfectly devoid of honour ? I asked her how she expected to keep a situation, and how she could get a character, if she did not try to please her mistress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, I’d make a time if she wouldn’t give me a character,” was her answer, as she went to the next floor dripping water over the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she did “make a time;” for the very next day Mrs. Brownlow, losing all patience with her because she would not turn the mattresses or even take the quilts entirely off before making the beds, said, “Alice, I cannot put up with your careless habits any longer, and I wish you would look for a new situation. I give you notice to-day.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alice replied, “I’ll go to-day if you 11 give me a month’s wages and let me have a character.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It will be impossible for me to give you a character, unless it is a very bad one,” answered her mistress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then the “time” commenced. Alice threatened her with all the dreadful consequences imaginable \u2022 said she knew certain things she would tell all over’London, and accused Mrs. Brownlow of taking the bread out of her mouth. She did not become quiet until Mr. James Brownlow came in and gave her what he described as a “dressing down,” when she slunk away to the kitchen, whimpering about the cruelties of mistresses, and giving her opinion in no gentle terms of certain kinds of parlourmaids.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, she did not leave that day, probably deciding that it would be better to remain her month out with the hope that she might, after all, obtain the'”character” to help her secure another situation. On Sunday she took her half-day off, going out immediately after breakfast, and I did the bedroom work that morning. Everything was much more convenient and comfortable than it had been at Mrs Allison’s. Two of the rooms being on the same floor with the bathroom, the filling of the water-pitchers was an easy matter, and I had only to go down one flight of stairs to carry water to Mrs. Brownlow’s room. With the assistance of Janette I was through all the work by eleven o’clock, and was able to rest until it was time to lay the table for the two o’clock dinner. In the afternoon I remained in my room, attending to some newspaper correspondence, and writing a long letter to the Editor of the Weekly Sun. I requested him to look up for me a superior young woman, thoroughly domesticated, who would be willing to take a situation as parlourmaid in Mrs. Brownlow’s house when I left the following Thursday, as he knew I must do. I gave a full description of the family, the house, and a list of the duties expected of the parlourmaid. Then I made arrangements to have a telegram sent me on Wednesday requesting my presence in the City that afternoon on important business, which would appear to give me a plausible excuse for resigning my situation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night I slept the sleep of the just, and awoke Monday morning feeling fortified against all the attacks of Alice, my enemy. We were engaged all day in preparing for Mrs. Brownlow’s reception, which was to be given in the evening. Two extra servants were hired to answer the door and assist in waiting on the guests, who began to arrive about half-past nine. At twelve o’clock I was serving punch and sweets in the drawing-room, and was getting on famously, when I heard someone exclaim under his breath, “Well, my eyes!” and, looking towards the speaker, I recognised an acquaintance, a well-known London publisher. In spite of my consternation, I was rather amused at the look of bewilderment on his face; for he knew nothing of the experiment I was making, and two weeks before I had entertained him in my own home. My cap and apron had not disguised me as much as I had hoped, and, knowing the proclivity of the male sex to gossip, I began to pull my wits together to plan a way to prevent a catastrophe and save myself from detection. When I went to the dining-room for further supplies, I hurriedly wrote on a slip of paper, “You don’t know me, understand,” and, returning to the drawing-room, I slipped the note into his hand as I passed him a plate of sandwiches. Then he was seized with sudden convulsions of laughter, which nearly made me lose my equilibrium, but I felt sure that he was a true friend and would not tell when he understood my position. Later I opened the door for him, and as he passed me he whispered, “What’s it for?” and I answered, “A book for you to publish,” whereupon he left the house and jumped into a hansom, humming “Oh, my Mary Ann.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I seemed to be fated to have romantic adventures at Elsmore Lodge. Tuesday night I went to bed at the usual time, 10.30, and I thought I had only slept a few minutes when I was awakened by the ding-a-ling of the front-door bell. Lighting a match, I discovered that it was three o’clock. The house was perfectly quiet except for the bell, which seemed to be summoning me down-stairs unto dreadful things I knew not of. To say that I was afraid to go to the door only mildly expresses my feelings. My room was a back one, so I could not first look out of the window and inspect the bearing of the visitor. Finally I plucked up a small amount of courage, donned my dress and slippers, and with a night-lamp I started down-stairs, trying to shame myself into bravery. Was I not a journalist ? Ha I not bearded many a lion in his den, and should now tremble at being obliged to go to the door at three o’clock in the morning ? It was of no use; the further down-stairs I got, the more my knees knocked together from very fear, and I had to admit to myself that I was nothing but a very timid woman,, after all. Then I thought of a way by which I could view the ringer of the bell at a distance before opening the door, and I went into the library, noiselessly unbolted and drew up the window, and looked out. There on the step stood Mr. James Brownlow, ringing the bell with one hand and with the other vainly trying to insert the key in the lock. I took in the situation at once. He had been at the Savage Club. I quietly closed the window again and opened the door, uttering not a word and trying my best to look respectful and sedate. “Thank you. Don’t mention it to anybody,” he said, passing up-stairs, while I fastened and bolted the door. So there I was, with a secret on my soul, and not allowed to tell it to anybody! How I should have enjoyed repeating the story to one of his brother Savages; but that was impossible, so I had to content myself to keep it until I got out of service, knowing that then I could unburden myself to the public.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I became quite an expert in laying and waiting on the table, and I grew proud of my skill in making it look beautiful with bright china and silver. When I took off the table-cloth I was always careful to fold it in the same creases. I used a brush in cleaning out the crevices of the cut-glass tumblers and dishes. I made such an improvement in their appearance that they elicited the admiration of all the family, especially of Mr. James Brownlow, who took frequent occasion to compliment me on the improved condition of things in general, and even went so far as to say that he thought the most sensible employment for all poor girls was domestic service, for which work I seemed particularly fitted. I did not feel at liberty to argue the point with him at that time, nor did I attempt to disabuse his mind of his very pleasant impression. I only thought that if I, in the face of so many difficulties, was able to satisfactorily perform the duties of a parlourmaid, what could not a girl with inclination and training do?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Mary Brownlow took quite a fancy to me, and one day broached the subject of my being her personal attendant and companion\u2014a sort of private secretary for her while she was engaged in writing various newspaper and magazine articles, which, so far as I could determine, were generally returned to her in the stamped envelope she enclosed. I told her it was impossible for me to hold such a position, that my handwriting was neither beautiful nor easily read. Then she suggested that I should learn typewriting and take dictation from her, while I was obliged to use all my self control to keep back a smile, wondering what her astonishment would be if she could see me a week later writing up my experiences at her home on my own beloved typewriting machine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, I could never learn, I am sure, and I would not like to be a secretary. I’d rather be a parlourmaid,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the kitchen everything went at sixes and sevens. Alice, although less impertinent in her treatment of her mistress, vented her spite on me, and tried to the best of her ability to drive me mad with her constant insinuations that I was to blame for her discharge, and threatened to pay me up for it some day. She said she had lost two of her handkerchiefs the day before, and vaguely hinted that I used some just like them, till, what with the loud talking, bickering, and general uproar, I feared my head would completely give way. As it was, I was seized with a violent headache, which Mrs. Brownlow observed, and sent me up-stairs to lie down, while Miss Mary Brownlow \u2014 dear heart!\u2014tried to doctor me with the laying on of hands and brown paper saturated in vinegar. It was her own remedy, and she recommended it very highly. It really did me good, and at luncheon I was up and about again. A few hours later, when we were having our tea, the door-bell rang, and I jumped up to answer it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Go out in the area, and see who it is before you go up. Maybe it’s only a tramp,” said the cook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But perhaps it’s one of Mrs. Brownlow’s friends, and suppose she looked down into the area and saw me. Do you think that would appear nice?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, do as you like. I only tried to save you steps,” was her ungracious reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This going to the area to view a visitor from a distance is a very common practice among parlourmaids and menservants. I have often noticed it at houses where I have called. There cannot possibly be any excuse for it in a well-ordered house, yet I have seen it among servants of the very best people. I was discouraged with trying to instil right principles of action into Alice’s and Sarah’s minds. It was sowing seed on stony ground. The motto which they seemed to think was the proper one between kitchen and drawing-room was “War to the knife.” The morning after the entertainment Alice chipped off a piece of a very handsome and expensive cut-glass dish, and said nothing to Mrs. Brownlow about it, although I begged her to do so. It placed me in rather an awkward position, for I did not wish to gain the reputation of being a tale bearer, nor did I think it right for Mrs. Brownlow to remain in ignorance of the affair. In the afternoon she came down to the pantry to show me about rearranging the glass and china cupboards, and noticed the broken dish at once. She knew that she had sent Alice down-stairs with it, and, of course, concluded she had broken it; but when Alice was questioned she stoutly denied it, saying it was whole when she put it in the cupboard. But her mistress had occasion to remember other incidents, and, although she refrained from openly accusing Alice, I could see that she knew who was the culprit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cook was a very intelligent sort of person, well versed in her profession, and, had she cared to do so, she might have made a valuable servant. When she felt so inclined, she was able to manufacture the most delicious little side-dishes from small bits of meat, fish, or other things left over, though she oftener chose to present such things to her sister, who was almost a daily visitor in the kitchen. Sarah gave me occasional hints in regard to certain household work. She showed me how to clean the water carafes by the use of shot, how to restore gilt frames by rubbing them with turpentine, and she also informed me that I could keep the silver bright for a long time by placing a lump of camphor in the silver chest. I noticed that she always kept an oyster shell in the tea-kettle, which, she explained, collected all the sediment that usually gathers in such kettles and often makes the water look muddy. If she had only done as well as she knew, she would have indeed proved to be “a treasure.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wednesday, a telegram addressed to “Elizabeth Barrows “came to Elsmore Lodge. It was from my solicitor, and read, “Come to my office at once. Important news concerning your father’s relatives. Must go to Liverpool.” Thinking to prepare Mrs. Brownlow for my resignation, I showed her the message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Perhaps it is good news for you. How nice that would be! though I would not like to have you leave me,” she said, and then told me I might go to the City at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went to the office of the Weekly Sun. There I met a sensible young woman, named Lucy Atkins, the daughter of a physician with whom one of the members of the staff had been acquainted. She was refined and quiet, but tall and strong in appearance, and she assured me that she was particularly well versed in all matters connected with domestic work. I promised to use my influence to get the situation for her. I returned to Mrs. Brownlow, and told her I had received news which necessitated my presence in Liverpool, and that I was likely to come into the possession of a small yearly income, which would do away with the necessity of my remaining in service. Had it been possible, I should have preferred to tell the whole truth to Mrs. Brownlow; but I knew that could not be done for the present, and I was obliged to invent an excuse for leaving her. Then I told her that, appreciating her kind treatment, and knowing what a comfortable situation a girl might find with her, I had endeavoured to get her another servant in my place\u2014not a servant of the ordinary kind, but a woman of intelligence, thoroughly domesticated, and able to perform the duties much better than I had done. Mrs. Brownlow was kindness itself, and the whole matter was quickly arranged. I telegraphed for Lucy Atkins to call, and she came that evening for an interview. The next morning she brought her box and entered upon the situation, and I spent the day in showing her what I knew of the work. It happened that she had two friends, a widow and her daughter, who wished a place together, the mother as cook housekeeper and the daughter as housemaid or parlourmaid, and Mrs. Brownlow wrote, asking them to call on her with the object of taking them into her service if she was suited. When I was ready to leave, Mrs. Brownlow offered me my week’s wages, which I refused to take, asking her to give the money to some other girl who would need it more than I. When I said good-bye, she told me to call on her as soon as possible and tell her all about myself and how I was getting on. I said that I would do so, and I fully intended to keep my promise, and explain the whole matter to her in the near future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 6<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Chapter 8<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER VIII.
THE MERITS OF DOMESTIC SERVICE.<\/h2>\n\n\n
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listen<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

WHEN I left Mrs. Brownlow’s I went at once to Camberwell to give up the lodgings I had been supposed to occupy, and to instruct the lodging-house keeper as to what course she was to pursue in case further inquiries were made concerning “Elizabeth Barrows.” I found four letters awaiting me, each one offering me a situation if, after an interview, my appearance and qualifications were satisfactory. But I was obliged to give up all ideas of remaining longer in service, as there was other work requiring my attention. For the next few days I took advantage of every opportunity to interview mistresses and servants, trying to discover the rights and wrongs on both sides of the question. Now, having given much time and thought to the question of domestic service, I am brought to ask myself, “What have I learned by my two weeks spent in service?” I had first become interested in the subject through a conversation with a Camberwell sewing-girl, as I stated in my first chapter, and then I had always contended that domestic work was not in itself degrading, and that there was no reason why the women of the lower classes only should go out to service. I wished to find out for myself if there was anything incompatible between refinement and domestic service, and I went out as a journalist, seeking information, with the intention of giving my personal experiences. I did not start with the idea that all mistresses were tyrants and all servants badly-treated slaves, and I do not set myself up as the champion of the “poor servant-girl.” I am just as much inclined to take the part of the long suffering mistress. In fact, from what I have seen, I have come to the conclusion that there are as many ill-treated mistresses as servants in London. I found Mrs. Allison to be an unjust and unreasonable mistress, demanding more work of her servants than she had any right to expect. With such a large and inconvenient house as hers, she needed to keep at least two strong, healthy housemaids to do the work properly. Had I, in my unfitness for the position, been the only one who had been weighed in the balance and found wanting, I should not thus take occasion to advise her; but Annie, who was a girl accustomed to hard work from her childhood, had been obliged to exchange her place as housemaid for what she thought might be the lighter duties of parlourmaid, and her predecessor had worked herself into the hospital. Remembering this, I feel that I am right in saying that Mrs. Allison is not considerate in her treatment of her servants, neither as regards the work she requires of them nor the kind of food with which she supplies them. I am not now referring to the board wages she allowed, but to the meals which she ordered the cook to prepare for them. A breakfast of bread-and-butter and coffee is not a proper one for a servant. In fact, I do not believe anyone could accomplish satisfactory work on such fare, unless blessed with a very delicate and limited sort of appetite. The noon dinner at Mrs. Allison’s was not so bad. It usually consisted of a joint, potatoes, bread, and pudding, but that was the only good meal her servants were given. For supper they had bread and cheese, day after day and week after week. It is not an excuse for Mrs. Allison to say that thousands of girls would be glad to have bread and cheese all the year round. I am aware that many women are starving in London, but that does not justify a woman in neglecting to look after the wants of those in her employ. Mistresses, hiring servants, promise to pay them a certain wage and board. Shall they give their housemaids a piece of dry bread and say, “Take and eat it, and be thankful; remembering that many girls are very hungry in the East-End and have not even a crust” ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Brownlow, on the other hand, was kind and considerate with her servants. She gave them too much liberty, and thought more of their comfort than of her own well-being. Her house had been fitted up with a view of making the work light and easy of accomplishment, and three servants should have done all the work and had plenty of leisure for rest and recreation. Alice and the cook were most ungrateful and neglectful, and did not in any way endeavour to please. So in the face of all this, it can readily be seen that I have no reason to pose as the defender of the London servant-girls; neither am I prepared to condemn them all, and try to push them out of their situations and fill their places with another class of women.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, with this vexing servant problem becoming more and more important every year, it would seem that something should be done to bring about a change. There are many young women now employed as servants who are a disgrace to their trade. They have no capacity for domestic work, and are perfectly devoid of ideas as to the best way of performing their duties. Besides having no reasoning faculties, they have no sense of honour, and seem to be unable to appreciate their unfitness for such service. Just what they would be able to do, and do well, is something I have not discovered, if, indeed, there is any room at all for them on this planet. It may be that they originally had a talent for something; but, if so, it must long ago have been wrapped in a napkin and buried deep down in the earth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then there are girls who are eminently fitted for housework\u2014those whose quiet inclinations would lead them to domestic labour as a means of livelihood, except for the foolish idea that in doing so they would demean themselves. So, down in the East-End, in the City, and in every direction of this great London, they are wearing out body and soul with sewing, writing in offices, factory work, and doing other things where the hours are many and the wages small, but prating ever of their “liberty” and “independence.” If they get sufficient food to keep them alive and a mere covering for their bodies, it is all they can ever expect; for they are ordinary, commonplace sort of women, these toilers, and do not look forward to being experts. Many of them would make good cooks and housemaids\u2014some of them have a special talent for just such work\u2014but they do not think of going out to work. Why? Because they must give up their “liberty.” And in what does their present liberty consist ? So far as I can see, it seems to be liberty to starve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are young women\u2014daughters of genteel, but poor parents\u2014living at home, a burden to their families, doing nothing to lighten the care of their overworked fathers, sitting idly by the window doing fancy work, perhaps, waiting and watching for what ? \u2014a husband. There do not seem to be enough husbands in England to go around, and to many of these girls the desired deliverer never turns up; they live on their perfectly useless lives, a burden to everyone about them. Why have they not been trained to some sort of work and qualified to take care of themselves? Some of them would make excellent cooks and houseworkers if they had proper training. Perhaps they already know how to perform certain household duties, but to earn money by doing that work for other people they imagine would be degrading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now I come to a very important phase of this subject, that of the necessity for thorough training for domestic work. I know that the orthodox belief is that all women are naturally domesticated\u2014that they come into the world expressly to be wives, mothers, and housekeepers\u2014and when an occasional woman seems not to get the opportunity to take such a position, something has gone wrong in the universe, and the laws have all got entangled. From what I know of womankind, I am convinced that many women are in no way fitted for domestic work, and would only be miserable if they attempted it, although their incapacity for household work and management does not necessarily prevent their being excellent wives and mothers. I will admit that many girls do have a special talent for cooking, sweeping, and dusting; but even they need to be drilled and instructed, just as a person who is a natural artist, musician, or writer needs training for the work. It all the domestic arts were taught in private and public schools, an opportunity would be given to aspirants in this line to go on and perfect themselves; while, of course, those whose tastes did not lead them in such direction, should not be obliged to take up the study. The cooking schools that have already been started in London are accomplishing a vast amount of good, but free schools for instruction in every department of household work are much needed. In advocating these schools I do not undervalue home-training. Many young women have ample opportunity to go down into their own mothers’ kitchens and take lessons in domestic economy; but there are hundreds of girls who have no homes and are unable to do this, and it is for them especially that such schools are in demand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It may be argued that with the influx of a higher class of women into domestic service, all the present servants will be thrown out of employment, and thus, while doing good to some, a great evil will be done to others. This is not likely to be the case, because the demand for good work is much greater than the supply, and there is room for both. Those men and women who insist that a person employed by them must necessarily be beneath them, and constantly show them deference as to a superior order of beings, will doubtless always cling to the present class of servants; and then ladies who are already suited, and have no reason to dismiss their servants, are not likely to make a change. Thus it will be only the bad servants who will find it impossible to secure situations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another difficulty that may present itself is that it would be unpleasant for girls of refinement to be thrown in contact with servants of a lower grade in the same household. The only way out of this difficulty would be for every lady to employ only one class of domestic help. I can understand how an educated girl, obliged to work in the companionship of such girls as Annie and Alice,would find her position a most unhappy one. As a journalist out on an adventure, I was interested in studying them, and in that way my association with them was not so unpleasant; but, had I remained a servant at Mrs. Brownlow’s or Mrs. Allison’s, the society of the other servants would have made me utterly miserable, and they would have cared no more for my companionship than I for theirs, as we had little in common. Ladies employing domestic helps would realise this, and so choose the kind of women they wished to have in their houses. I can see nothing in the work itself that would make it distasteful to girls of genteel birth and rearing who have domestic tendencies. In a house properly fitted up with the conveniences and comforts of modern life the work is not drudgery, and I think there is as much demand in this line for education and scientific thought as in the majority of other callings. Now, I am not asking that all London be torn down and rebuilt to make room for a new order of servants. Houses like Mrs. Allison’s might be made convenient by the expenditure of a few pounds in putting in lifts from the basement to the first floor, and fitting the bedrooms with hot- and cold-water pipes, which would do away with the necessity of carrying heavy trays and water-cans up and down the stairs. By doing this, the number of servants required would be reduced to almost half, so that it would be a matter of economy to make these improvements. The method of heating the houses might also be changed with great advantage. The insertion of hot-air furnaces or gas-grates would not entail much expense. There would not only be less work for servants, but a great stride would be made in the matter of cleanliness. It would not be necessary to heat the whole house up to the boiling-point, as Americans are accused of doing. The heat would be more easily regulated than with coal-fires, and, when the change was once made, there would be a large saving in the price of fuel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In advocating this change in domestic workers, I do not, by any means, announce myself as being in favour of what is now known as the ” lady-help.” All the “lady-helps “I have met have been too much afraid of soiling their hands and hurting their dignity to accomplish good work. Quite recently one applied at my home for a situation, and her first demand was that she should be made a “member of the family.” I explained that such a thing would be impossible, and she showed the greatest amazement when I informed her that on my ” at-home” day she was expected to wait on my visitors, not to chat with them, and when told that she must serve the meals, instead of joining us at the family dinner, her anger knew no bounds. She went off in a huff, saying that she would not be a servant to her inferiors. It is this ridiculous way of looking at things that has created a prejudice against “lady-helps.” Such help is an impossibility in a well ordered house. The educated woman who engages as a domestic must understand that there is no question as to her inferiority or superiority. If she. works for a woman who is far below her socially and intellectually, she may retain her self-respect just the same. Her employer\u2014I would abolish the terms “master” and “mistress “in this connection, as savouring of slavery days does not ask her to become her companion or a member of the family. Such an arrangement might prove very unpleasant on either side. It is simply a business arrangement, a question of employer and employee. In answer to my advertisement for a situation, I received a few letters from women who wished me to be a “daughter “to them; but, as I had not advertised for a mother, I considered such propositions in very bad taste, and felt sure that no intelligent women would have written me such letters. The educated housemaid would be employed for the same purpose as the uneducated one. Her business is to sweep the floor, make the beds, and do other household work, just the same as the other class would do. No, not the same either, for she should do her work better. The educated parlourmaid will not sit down at the family dinner; she is hired to wait at the table. Her employer is under no obligations to invite her to sit in her boudoir or introduce her to her friends. She is paid money for value received. Each must respect the other. That is the whole thing in a nutshell. I believe that if educated women would take up this matter in a proper way great good would come of it, not only to themselves, but to the “working-girls ” of London.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And what shall be done about the cap and apron, the “Yes, ma’am,” and the “No, sir”? If I were in service the matter of cap and apron would be of little importance to me so long as the costume was becoming. I cannot see why exception should be taken to such a very pretty bit of headgear as the ruffled cap. The girl in the cap looks much neater than the one without it, and it seems to be particularly appropriate for domestic work. During my two weeks in service my self-respect did not diminish in the least. Yet I think that if some members of the new order of house and parlourmaids insist on the abolition of the cap, they will find as many ladies who will not make it a question of prime importance. Surely, no one going out as a cook would object to wearing a head covering which is merely indicative of neatness while preparing the food. So far as the apron is concerned, a sensible girl will see at a glance that it is a positively necessary article of apparel, and is no more a “badge” of anything demeaning than is the small silk or white apron often worn by ladies when doing fancy work. As for the ” ma’am” and the “sir,” I think we might dispense with them without much loss, so long as proper respect is shown on both sides. A lady employing a person whom she knew was her social and intellectual equal would naturally expect to make certain changes in little things like this, and the improved kind of service would, I am sure, more than make up for the loss of a “Yes, ma’am.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What about “followers”? Shall young ladies employed as domestics be obliged to walk on the street or go in the parks in order to meet their friends and sweathearts? Certainly not. They must have the use of a comfortable sitting-room, where they may receive visitors on certain afternoons or evenings, the number of their callers and the length of their stay being kept, of course, within the bounds of reason. The present class of servant-girls have much cause for complaint on this score. To stipulate that a girl shall have no visitors is as unkind as it is unreasonable and dangerous. A young woman servant is quite likely to have friends of both sexes, and it is probable that she is “keeping company.” To compel her future husband to hang over the area-fence whistling for her to come out, or to oblige her to go to the park and sit on the benches in order to have a talk with him, is not only inconsiderate, it is almost indecent. She should be allowed to receive him once a week or once a fortnight in the servant’s hall. It is not difficult to arrange this matter satisfactorily if reason is shown on the part of both employer and employed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, taking service as it is at present, I think that the position of a domestic servant with a reasonable mistress and in a conveniently-arranged house is far superior to that of the sewing girl, the factory-girl, or the struggling stenographer and bookkeeper in the City. There are hundreds of places like Mrs. Brownlow’s, where employment can be found for girls who are not receiving the much discussed “living wage,’ and for those girls, surely, domestic work is preferable to their present employment. There are kind, thoughtful, and considerate women in London who would appreciate good servants and pay fair wages for work well done. There are also, I know, hundreds of girls who are especially fitted for rendering this service. I wish they could be brought to view this subject from a philosophical standpoint, and I would use my influence to convince them that all labour, well performed, is elevating, not demeaning; that the woman who bakes a loaf of bread properly, polishes the family plate so that it may be mistaken for a mirror, or scrubs the kitchen table white and clean, giving her heart and best talents to the work, is as worthy of respect and praise as the painter who depicts on canvas the glories of the sunlit landscape, the poet who weaves his thoughts into verse, or the sovereign who reigns on a throne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 7<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Home<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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“Almighty Dollar”<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Investigative reporter Elizabeth Banks goes undercover to work as a Victorian maid.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":15,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-chapter"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":226,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14\/revisions\/226"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/earlywithdrawal.net\/victoriana\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}