Victoriana - Excerpt

 

Florence stood just as still and quietly as she could. her thighs and her back ached abominably, but she daren't move a muscle. Lady Ponsonby was most insistent when it came to her servants being seen but not heard. Her attempts at immobility were helped by the fact that she'd been strapped into a Grecian Bender earlier that morning by her Ladyship in order to quell her 'natural fidgeting'.

"I'm doing you a favour, Smith," she told Florence. "Rather than dismiss you from my service, I'm actually helping you to be a better under-maid. What do you say to that?"

Thank you, your ladyship. I'm most grateful, your ladyship," Florence managed to reply.

It was a most uncomfortable arrangement. It was the first time she'd had to suffer the indignity of the Bender, It was a framework of some light metal that encouraged better posture, apparently. It made her stand erect but tipped forward at the hips so that her bottom and her breasts were both thrust outwards. Her arms were bound at the wrists and she held a tray in her hands so that she maintained a permanently servile, eyes-down, posture.

The Grecian Bender put an enormous strain on the wearer, but it was still one of her ladyship's favourite methods of control. She had others of course, more painful perhaps, but nothing quite so humiliating as far as the maids were concerned. It was clearly evident, especially to guests and visitors that the maid in question had failed in her daily duties and was being very publically corrected.

Despite Lady Ponsonby's advanced years, she was one of the cruellest Aristo's that Florence had ever come into contact with. She seemed to derive a certain amount of pleasure from ill-treating her very extensive collection of servants. The Ponsonby family, of which she was the matriarch, were extremely wealthy even by the standards of the Aristo's.

The family seat that Florence worked in was absolutely huge. She lived there on a semi-permanent basis. She shared a tiny room up in the eaves of the house with one of the other maids. There was a lumpy single mattress on an ancient iron bedstead for them to share. A cupboard, a small set of drawers, and a mirror. The floor was wooden and creaked alarmingly whenever it was walked on.

The room let in a little light via a small window that was set too high in the wall to see out of. In summer it was unbearably hot and humid, and in winter it was bitterly cold. There was a clanking, rattling old radiator on one wall that gave off the approximate heat of one candle. At the end of the draughty hall outside their door was one bathroom which was shared by the other six maids who lived with them on the top floor.

The whole arrangement was, as if they needed it, yet another reminder of their place in the hierarchy of the house. The under-maids were the lowest of the low, even among the dozens of servants that looked after the daily needs of the Ponsonby's. And, despite that, the maids were truly grateful to the aristocratic family that fed them and put a roof over their heads. After all, things could be so much worse. There was always the workhouse.

"Are you listening to me, Smith!?" Bellowed the irascible old woman.

Florence flinched nervously. There she was, dreaming again when she should have been paying attention.

"Yes, your ladyship. I...I'm very sorry your ladyship," Florence was extremely sorry, her inattention would most certainly be punished.

"I declare that you young girls are the flightiest, silliest bunch that it has ever been my misfortune to have to deal with. Put your hands out this minute! I'll teach you to keep your silly little bird-brain on the job in hand."

Florence shuffled awkwardly to a nearby table. Her knees were bound together by a strip of canvas, which effectively hobbled her movement. She carefully placed the tray on it before shuffling back to her mistress and holding out both hands, palms turned upwards as she had been taught. Florence really hated having her hands caned. It was not only a horrible, juvenile, schoolroom-type punishment but it really hurt as well. Especially as she was still required to maintain a firm hold on her tray or the next hour or so.

With a slight, self-pitying sniff, she looked up at Lady Ponsonby. The old woman's eyes shone quite brightly as they often did when she was punishing her staff. Florence feared and disliked her, as all the maids did. But never in her wildest dreams would she ever consider refusing a direct order from her mistress. She knew from bitter personal experience that any show of dissent would result in Hendry, the dour Scottish head butler, being summoned from his office to deal with her.

Hendry's method of dealing with dissent was always the same, skirt up, knickers down and as much application of his leather belt as he considered necessary to quell the spirits of 'an unruly little girl', as he'd referred to Florence the last time their paths had crossed. He wasn't even a cruel man, she'd decided, just one who was utterly dedicated to the service of his employers. She shuddered, she certainly didn't want another application of the tawse.

The old woman smiled down at her showing a collection of yellowing, slightly decayed teeth. She tapped Florence's right hand gently with the tip of a long cane.

"You know I don't necessarily want to do this, Smith. But I am of the opinion that this sort of thing can only help you improve."

She tapped a little more before raising the stick and bringing it down sharply on Florence's proffered hand. Florence howled, she'd tried ever so hard to forget just how much it hurt to be caned across the delicate palms of her hands.

"What do you say, Smith?" Asked the sadistic old woman as she tapped Florence's left hand.

"Th...thank you, your l...ladyship. For helping me to become a b...better maid."

Five more times the wicked little stick rose and fell, three to each hand. After each one, Florence was required to repeat that humiliating little catechism.

'Thank you, your ladyship. For helping me become a better maid'.

As if somehow, being beaten was good for her. As if Lady Ponsonby was going out of her way to inflict pain on Florence for her benefit. Florence would never have dared raise her eyes to look her mistress in the eyes, and the Bender wouldn't have permitted it anyway, but she could just imagine the old woman's look of gloating pleasure. Punishing her maids seemed to be the only happiness she derived from life nowadays.

When it was over, Florence shuffled back to the table and retrieved her tray. Owwww! Her poor hands stung terribly as she gripped it. There wasn't actually anything on the tray, it was empty. But as she resumed her position with her back to the wall, midway between two doors, she was clearly available. Opposite her and to her right and left were three more under-maids, dressed in an identical fashion to her.

All three of them were also subject to the rigidity of the Grecian Bender. And, like Florence, stood silent but alert waiting for the possibility that they might be called by a family member or a guest to provide whatever sort of service was required. But, more often than not, they were left to stand unnoticed and unused in their respective positions. And there they would stay, immobile, hardly daring to breathe or blink an eye until they were relieved by another under-maid sometime in the unspecified future.