Sylvia Fletcher was a hard-working, successful entrepreneur.
For the past fifteen years, she had worked hard to build her women’s sportswear business from a fledgling internet-based business into the corporate empire it was today.
She had had almost no time to herself as she flew from convention to business meeting to factory inspection,
never stopping for a vacation or even a long weekend.
She worked herself half to death
and racked up a truly impressive collection of airline miles.
Now, at forty-two years of age,
she felt it was time to move on.
She had recruited and trained a team of managers that she felt she could trust to run her business even better than she had.
There was nothing to do but to finally enjoy the wealth she had accumulated.
She didn’t want to be idle in her retirement, of course.
She planned to fill her days with pleasant but challenging pursuits.
Her new home in rural Vermont had five bedrooms, despite the fact that she lived alone.
One was set up as an artist’s studio, where she would develop her painting skills.
Another would serve as a music studio, where she could practice the violin.
She hadn’t played since her childhood, but now that she had all the money she could ever spend, she decided that music needed to be part of her life again.
Her new house was surrounded by a walled garden, in which she intended to grow roses.
With enough time, effort, and practice, they might even be prize-winning roses.
The remaining bedrooms she would use as a guest bedroom and servant’s quarters.
Oh yes, she decided to splurge and hire a live-in maid.
She wanted to keep busy in the new phase of her life, but not with cleaning, cooking, or laundry.
To that end, she had called a service almost as soon as the movers had finished hauling her possessions into her new home.
There were a lot of questions and some negotiations, but within half an hour, the service informed her that a suitable candidate would be arriving the following day.
Sylvia was excited.
Living alone in such a large house quickly went from being a dream come true to being a little creepy.
She had a huge, well-appointed kitchen and full dining room, and yet she had never cooked in her life and didn’t even have any friends in the area.
She realized that she would have to get mixed up in the local high-society scene.
Maybe meet a few people and throw a diner party now and then.
In the meantime, she simply ordered Chinese and ate it alone in her bedroom, while watching television.
She signed contentedly before brushing her teeth and climbing into bed.
She wanted her new life to be active, but there was no need for it to stressful, she decided.
A little relaxation here and there would do her good.
Sylvia didn’t bother to set an alarm.
Sleeping in was another extravagance that she had decided to allow herself.
This came back to bite her the next morning, when she woke to the sound of her front doorbell ringing.
At first, she mistook the sound for a distant church bell, but as the sound repeated, it gradually penetrated her consciousness.
Muttering irritably to herself, she climbed out of bed, threw on a terry-cloth bathrobe, and trudged downstairs to answer the door.
She was more than a little surprised by what she found outside.
“Good Morning! Are you Mistress Fletcher?” asked the younger woman.
Sylvia stared for a moment.
She had expected the new maid to be dressed in the subdued work-clothes typical of domestic help.
This young woman had her blonde hair in pigtails, and wore a short black dress with a small, lacy white apron.
There was a small white cap on her head, Lacey fringes running down her shoulders, and white gloves on her hands.
She was so iconically maid-like that no one could think she was a real maid.
She looked more like a college student going to a costume party as a maid.
“…I’m Miss Fletcher, yes. I wasn’t really expecting you so early.”
“Oh my goodness! I didn’t wake Mistress did I?” asked the younger woman.
She seemed genuinely remorseful.
Her voice was high-pitched to the point of being almost squeaky, and she spoke with a West London accent.
It was an odd voice, but it didn’t seem affected
“It’s “Miss Fletcher”.” said Sylvia. “And I think there is some sort of misunderstanding.
When I said I wanted a maid, I was expecting an actual maid.”
The girl tilted her head quizzically. “I don’t understand what you mean, Mistr…Fletcher.”
“You’re dressed like you’re on your way to a Halloween party.” said Sylvia.
The woman glanced down at herself
. “This is my work uniform, Miss Fletcher.”
Sylvia cocked an eyebrow.
“I need someone to actually keep my home in good order. This isn’t some sort of kink thing.”
The woman scowled angrily, which frankly looked adorable.
“Of course, Miss Fletcher! How could you think otherwise!”
Sylvia sighed. This wasn’t what she was expecting, but she decided to let it slide for now.
The rate had been reasonable, and the service had made it clear that she could request a new servant if she was at all dissatisfied with the one she was sent.
“Very well, we’ll try it for now. Come on in.”
The maid skipped merrily across the threshold.
“Has Mistress eaten breakfast?” asked the maid, giving a little curtsy.
“No, and call me Miss Fletcher!” Sylvia didn’t want her annoyance to leak into her voice, but it had. She consciously leveled her voice.
“And what do I call you?”
“My name is Pamela Winters, Miss Fletcher.
You can call me Miss Winters, just Winters, Pam, Pammy, Pamela, or anything else you like!
You’re in charge!” She spoke quickly and eagerly, as though she had recited this speech many times and was excited to show it off.
“Pam it is then.
Kitchen is through there.
I’m going back to bed.” said Sylvia.
In truth, she had not even looked at her bedside clock before coming downstairs.
It could easily be noon.
Still, she reminded herself that there was no need to be self-conscious around a maid.
Oddly dressed or not, the young woman was clearly her social inferior.
She worried a little about giving a stranger free reign of her home, but its not as though she had anything really valuable lying around.
