Madame of The House

Arrival

Never had the house been so lively. Women in starched white uniforms dashed frantically about getting everything in order. Dusting shelves that had already been dusted, wiping tables that were clean, rearranging flowers that had already been fixed. The excitement in the atmosphere buzzed through everything. Today was the day we had all been anticipating. Anticipating whether we should dread this shift or accept it. Everyone knew that our usual routines and daily activities were about to change, the work would be far more abundant and a fresh sheet of tension would lie heavily on the mansion. The master of the house has decided to marry.

Not one of us has had the pleasure of meeting or even glimpsing the mysterious lady that has somehow bewitched our master. Harold, he let us call him by his first name but we all add a Mr. out of respect, was a kind but stern man. The 'no-nonsense' kind of man. He was a blessing to us all, extraordinary pay, food from his own fridge, sleeping quarters with the quality of a well respected hotel. Mr. Harold rarely had real friends over to the house, he only possessed a handful.

He did, however, host large dinner parties with potential business partners. Women slunk in, dripping in fine silks and jewels, dangling from the tailored arms of their husbands. It's sad really, they are accessories, ornaments of success in which the men show proudly to each other like children showing off a new toy. They are meant to show the dominance and wealth of their husbands, meant to do as they're asked, meant to be seen and not heard in the presence of their husband's company. I would not know what such a life is like. I own very little fine jewellery, except the ones Mr. Harold has bought me on special occasions. Simply out of kindness, sometimes I like to dream that he does it out of pure affection and fondness, but a dream it must remain. I am not the only servant to receive such gifts from the master and I never will be. Perhaps if I were rich, it would be me entering the house as his wife, I do have a soft spot for him. But that's something I will keep to myself. As servants, we witness things no one on the other side of the door will see. I do my best to ignore things I know I should never have seen, but it leaves you wondering. What does Mr. Harold do exactly? How is it that he manages, on his own, to maintain the well being not only of his many servants but his home, himself and I'm sure there are others he looks after. I don't know of him having much family either. His mother passed but some years ago and his sister lives in California.

In the terms of seeing things that were not meant for eyes other than Mr. Harold, he and I share a secret. Something I feel sets me apart from the others, and not because I hold it, But because he trusts me to do so. One day, while straightening his closet, an odd object fell from a coat pocket. I froze not knowing what it was or what to do with it. Picking it up I realized it was a remote, and being the curious and inquisitive creature that I am, I clicked one of the 4 unlabelled buttons. My heart flew to my stomach as, behind the coats a door that had been hidden clicked and swung outwards on it's hinges. I knew I should put the remote back, but nothing this exciting ever happened here, at least not out of the presence of the master. I stuck my head round first and a light clicked on itself. Inside were 4 tall oak cabinets from floor to ceiling. I stepped cautiously inside, afraid something would jump out at me. I pulled on the first cabinet door, and surprisingly it was unlocked, inside lay pistols, shotguns and machines I'd never seen, not even on a movie screen. The blood drained first from my finger tips and then the rest of me, as if I were being drained. A realisation flooded in replacing the warmth of my body and I closed the cabinet stumbling back. He cannot know I had been here. I shook my head hoping it was some sort of dream, hoping to erase the images from my mind like a shake board that children drew images with little white knobs, and shook it to begin again. But I received no such luck. My heart thumped and then stopped completely when the door screeched on its hinges, I whipped around to find Mr. Harold leaning against the door frame, a tobacco pipe dangling almost playfully from his curled lips. Tears stung my eyes. I was sure it was all over, he'd fire me or...get rid of me somehow like in the movies when someone was 'taken care of'.