Page 101 of The Maid's Secret

So it was for me when at the age of seventeen, pregnant, I left the only home I’d ever known. In my suitcase, I packed my roomiest clothes, the blank diary from Mrs.Mead, a little bit of cash, and the Fabergé egg, which neither Papa nor Mama knew I’d taken with me.

There was no fanfare at my departure. I said a curt goodbye to Mama, but Papa refused to see me off. A black car arrived and a chauffeur I’d never met before drove me hours away to a sagging, unmarked farmhouse in the nondescript countryside, where I was greeted by Mrs.Lynch, the stern-faced matron who ran the place. She had straight black hair and slits for eyes. Judgment was writ so large on her face that it was no surprise when her first words to me were “So you got yourself in trouble.”

Though I wasn’t yet showing, she stared at my midriff as thoughthe devil itself was lodged in my womb. I expected Mrs.Lynch to take my suitcase and show me into the farmhouse, but she walked right past me to the chauffeur’s window, where he handed her an envelope, which disappeared into her bosom.

The car drove away, and wordlessly she marched toward the house as I followed, suitcase in hand. The house was clean and spare, with wood finishings polished to a high shine, homemade white eyelet curtains on every window, and wooden floors that groaned as though the burden of feet upon them was too much to bear.

I was escorted to a room upstairs, Mrs.Lynch pointing out the door and then turning on her heel to leave. But when I opened that door, the room was occupied.

“Mrs.Lynch,” I said. “This is the wrong room. There are three girls in here already.”

She looked at me wryly. “Did you expect a private apartment complete with maid and room service?” She laughed, a sound bereft of all joy. “Yours is the fourth bunk, farthest from the window. The girls don’t bite—unless you deserve it.” She turned and walked away.

I crept into the room and stood there as three wide-eyed young ladies, their pregnancies much more advanced than mine, assessed me from head to toe.

“So you’re the new one,” said a girl with a moon face and big blue eyes.

“Miss Moneybags the Turd,” said a short, curly-haired girl as she crossed her arms against her sizable belly.

“Look at her suitcase, all prissy and proper. Are you Mary Friggin’ Poppins?” asked the third, an olive-skinned girl in a dress so worn, I could see the silhouette of her skinny legs clear through it.

“I’m Flora Gray,” I said, putting down my suitcase to curtsy. “Pleased to meet you all.”

The moon-faced girl came to my side. “Don’t let them scare you,” she said. “They’ve just never met a princess before.”

“Oh, I’m not a princess,” I said.

“The hell you aren’t,” said the spindly girl, as she pointed at my silk blouse.

“I’m Amelia,” said the moon-faced girl by my side. “That’s Bridget,” she said, nodding toward the curly-haired girl, “and that’s Dolores,” she added, gesturing to the spindly one with olive skin. “This is your bunk.” She picked up my suitcase and brought it over to a worn bunk bed, pointing to the mattress on top.

“Lovely,” I said as I looked around for a closet or a chest of drawers, but there was none. The other girls didn’t seem to have possessions, and I noticed that while clean, their shoes looked as worn out as the girls themselves. They’d all lost their sheen and shine.

I knew instantly that I didn’t belong. I’d never met girls like these, or if I had, I’d ignored them, believed I was above them. I soon learned that none of these girls could read. They hadn’t even made it through primary school, forced by circumstance and necessity to work from an early age. Their families were nuclear only in the sense of combustion, and they’d been handed off to some relative or “family friend” who’d shown them little care and who’d rendered them powerless and penniless.

I couldn’t believe Mama had sent me to such a place. At first, I thought there must be some mistake.

Mrs.Lynch greeted me at breakfast in the dining room the day after my arrival.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked. “Everything up to snuff?”

“Actually,” I said sheepishly, “the room is a tad drafty, and the mattress is quite worn. The springs are poking through. I don’t suppose you could spare another blanket and pillow?”

“Of course!” she replied. “While I’m at it, why don’t I get you a free stay at the Ritz. I hear the staff check for peas under the mattresses so your beauty rest isn’t disturbed,” she said, punctuating this with a mock curtsy that made all the girls laugh.

As you can guess, no extra blanket or pillow ever appeared, and I was not moved to the Ritz, or anywhere for that matter. In fact, mypillow soon vanished, and only a week later did I see it again, on top of the manure pile by the barn. I slept with my head on my suitcase, and when no one was watching, I stuffed the Fabergé and the diary into my mattress, safely hidden under the popped coils.

My only solace at the farmhouse was Amelia, the moon-faced girl. She was kind and gentle, clearly underprivileged, but a walking heart. She kept me safe from the others. And she truly believed I was a princess. Nothing I could say would convince her otherwise. She begged to hear about my life, and I shared with her.

“I lived in a manor house,” I said. “With Mama and Papa.”

“Was there a butler?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And a maid?”

“More than one,” I answered.

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