Jonathan Swift said; vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others, so are you able to see the invisible, the blurred lines of interactions, the wink of an eye when you are not looking? It took some time to know the answer to a question I had never bothered to ask and it was a long journey until my eyes were opened, till the blind could see. Though I can still pinpoint back to the moment my tale of horrors began, it was not like any other day, I would be off on my own for the first time and felt in my bones there was something quite different in the smoky London air...

December 7th of 1888, what a cold day it was, the wind of the winter blew right through my thin outfit and my teeth battered against one another as I tried to say goodbye.

"Now dear remember all I've taught you," my mother kissed my forehead.

"I won't forget a thing, I promise," I stayed put in place as per usual with my pristine posture.

"Good, if you follow my instructions and your aunt's this new employer won't let you go and you'll earn yourself a good living. Remember people like us need this," mother looked into my eyes with her ever strong spirit as I got ready to leave her for the second time to go away into service.

"I know mother, now give me your blessing so I can be on my way, I do not want to be late on my first day."

"Come quick then," she gave me her hand and said onto my forehead. "God bless you and keep you child in all of His ways, and do not forget the Lord's prayer before bed time."

"I promise mother," I kissed her hand before getting in the carriage with what used to be my father's Bible on my hand.

The carriage did not carry me too far though the stark difference of the English slums to the posh Mayfair area was as if one entered a whole other world. Yet all of it fit inside London the great bustling city, and it was in Mayfair I had been accepted to a job of house maid in an upper class home. The only things I knew was the amount of my wages were more than enough to help my family and the woman who hired me, her name was Mrs. Hall, she was the housekeeper.

Mrs. Hall was a friend of my mother's sister, Mrs. Green who never married and also worked as housekeeper in a smaller country house. I was formally trained by my aunt in this smaller house; it came suddenly when the family lost a huge investment and dismissed four of its employees. Yet I was only unemployed for a month until aunt told my mother of the possibility of a job with Mrs. Hall, for their house maid passed away with pneumonia and they needed a replacement soon. It was but a whole of a month until they set my date to start the job meanwhile my mother, Theresa, worked as a seamstress to pay her dues and feed my two younger siblings.

My poor father, God rest his soul, had passed away about eighteen months ago, only days after my two year old brother died of the same infection, cholera. Mother hid her broken heart well when she went straight back to work in a local shop and found my only surviving brother, Daniel, who was thirteen at the time the occupation of chimney sweeper. She left Joan my three year old sister under my care until she could secure me a position somewhere which lands me right back at the beginning of this explanation, my aunt.

We all knew life could not be altered, the rules were clear for the lower class who lived in the dirty towns, you would die working, or sickness, or you could soon die of hunger. There was no lucky break for us, life could only be improved in the smallest of ways but while strikes went on I had learned to be thankful fearing of things to alter for the worst. My family and I knew who we were and where we were headed, in this we were united and in this was most of our earthly comfort in overcoming the London extremes. And so like the other families we grew up with nothing handed to us and it did not make us bitter but it did make me unmovable for the best and for the worst. My emotions were constant as the North Star, and a serious maturity was etched on the deep line between my eyebrows and folded hands, and nothing about it bothered or scandalized me.

It was odd to see in minutes most of the scenario had changed, girls were wearing heavy coats, leather gloves with detailed bonnets trailing their dresses behind them. Men had clean faces with their black top coats, bowler hats, shiny black shoes and pressed shirt collars. Soon the carriage stopped in front of the corner brick town house which was the most unkempt of the lot, some bay windows and an uninviting front porch where I walked up the stairs with my bags and knocked.

"Miss Alice Stewart?"

"Yes ma'am."

"The carriage was sent late my apologies, Gertie forgot to do it, she's been quite odd since the passing of ol' Becca well I guess we all've been. I'm Mrs. Hall" she smiled when she opened the door and the heat of the house warmed my face.

"My condolences Mrs. Hall and about the carriage I did not notice it." Instead of calling me straight in she talked on about the delicate situation I was employed under and it only made for a guilty conscience, to get a job upon the death of someone else was a terrible thing.

"Oh you are a proper young thing just like your aunt said you'd be."

"I hope so Mrs. Hall," the warmth of the house called me forward but I stayed outside until Mrs. Hall called me in.

"Oh I've made you wait out in the cold, come in girl it's a terrible winter out," she turned around for me to follow and I was quick to move my frozen feet on to the marble floor hall of the house for the first time.

"Thank you Mrs. Hall."

"Welcome to the Howard household, I hope you'll be here for a long time to come, Lord knows the other maid ran away quickly but in our defense she was rather silly with her haunted stories and all." Mrs. Hall surprised me with the news there had been another maid after Rebecca's death and I trailed behind her like a pet.

The home was decorated in the Victorian manner, dark wallpapers, stained glass windows covered by heavy curtains that were shut and many portraits hung on the walls above the stuffed furniture and few candlesticks were lit. The house was in mourning for Rebecca, as Mrs. Hall herself wore all black against her soft and thin old skin, though I could not recall a master who allowed an entire household to mourn a subordinate for more than two days.

"It is good you did not have to travel for long to get here."

"Yes it is."

"I hope your family is getting on fine."

"They are all well."

"Great so onto the staff of the house we have a cook, a valet and myself so not many names to memorize."

"Right ma'am and how big is the Howard household if I may ask? I was not told any details when I was accepted for the service."

"We only have one master."

"One master?" I was caught off guard, I had never worked for just one person before and did not know what to expect so Mrs. Hall obliged my reaction with a reply.

"Yes one very demanding master though I think him generous to not put us out of work, I guess he ought to know he is quite the hand full."

"Generous?" I tried to make sense of the characteristic in contrast to demanding and what it meant about the house's master.

"Yes but dear do not mistake his generosity for lack of strength, I can assure you the master is most severe if tangled with in any manner."

"Yes ma'am," a worried expression set on her face and I was warned down to my soul to not judge my employer anymore.

"Let me show you to your quarters, they've been recently separated we each have our own room, it is a great relief for those of us who are light sleepers." She led me up to the attic and stopped at the first door which was to be mine.

Inside the bedroom I settled my things on a chair and sat on the coziest bed I had ever had the pleasure of calling mine. The sheets seemed old but were not plain as expected, more of something too old to be used in a ladies room; the pillow was fluffed like a cloud and there were a couple of hooks on the wall to hang my clothes. After cleansing my hands on the water pot as to not spoil the pressed uniform, I changed into it for soon it would be dinner time and I was expected to serve it.

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Copyright: All Rights Reserved to A. Sena Gomes.