Matilda the Maid Ch. 01: Arrival

MATILDA AT DYMOCK MANOR

CHAPTER 1: ARRIVAL

The sun had set when the farmers' cart dropped Matilda off at the gates of Dymock Manor. The long gravel drive up to the imposing mansion stretched out in the darkness, with the first stars glimmering through the cloud cover. The cart clattered away, taking its load of hay and apples back to the farm, leaving her along. She pulled her thin shawl around her shoulders, shivering slightly in the oncoming chill, and blinked back the tears in her eyes. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry.

She set off up the drive.

As her worn, rough shoes crunched the gravel, her stomach rumbled. It had been weeks since she had eaten properly. Once father had died, mother had no choice but to sell the family farm. It had been snapped up by their neighbour, Mr Jones, and now her mother was working as his maidservant for a couple of pennies a month and a bed in the stable eaves. Matilda had hoped to stay on: she had offered to work any job on the farm, to do anything Mr Jones wanted if she could stay with her mother. But when her mother had come back from making that offer to Mr Jones, she had been tight lipped and angry.

"There's no way a daughter of mine is performing the kinds of tasks Mr Jones was asking for, Matilda. No, sir. You may be eighteen now, but you'll be married before God before you let any man at you in that way," she blustered, crossing herself.

Matilda didn't quite know what her mother meant by this. She knew, ever since she had first flowered, that the menfolk looked at her differently. Her shapely breasts, thin waist and even her apple-shaped behind all gave them a kind of hungry look. Whilst father had been alive, she had felt safe. But now...she wasn't so sure. Mother told her not to trust men, who would take her honour as soon as look at her. Matilda didn't know where her honour was kept, but resolved to keep it safe and not to trust any of the men on the farm.

And so, the morning after Farmer Jones's mysterious proposal, she was packed off across the county to Dymock Manor on the back of the farm cart, a curling page from the local gazette tucked into her smock. "Maidservants wanted," the advertisement read. "Obedience of more importance than experience." The advertisement said to ask for the housekeeper, Mrs Smyth.

Matilda has always been a good girl. She always did what she was told. She had spent most of her eighteen years on the farm, and had never been beyond the village before - but now she was forty miles from home, approaching Dymock Manor, to start her new life in service.

When she reached the house, she made her way round to the servant's entrance, and knocked timidly on the door. Footsteps approached, and the door opened onto a dimly lit hallway. A tall, thin man stood there, a sneering expression on his face. He looked at Matilda's upturned face as though she was something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe.

"Yes?" he said, impatiently.

"P-please Sir," stammered Matilda. "I'm here for Mrs Smyth. The Gazette said she was wanting a maid." She held out the page with the advertisement. He took it between finger and thumb, inspecting it as though it were something repellent.

"Wait here," he snapped, and shut the door in her face.

Matilda stood there, shocked and frightened. What if this was the wrong place? What if the position had been filled? Where would she go? What would she do? She had a ha'penny to her name, and that wouldn't get her very far at all.

The door opened again. A stern-looking woman of about sixty stood there, framed in the doorway. She was dressed all in black, her slate-grey hair pulled back tight from her lined face. A bunch of impressive keys hung at her waist. In her hand, she clutched a short switch, like a riding crop. She examined Matilda from over the top of a pair of thin-framed spectacles.

"Name?" she demanded.

"Matilda, if you please Ma'am," said Matilda, bobbing in a curtsey.

"Age?"

"Eighteen, Ma'am."

"Have you much experience, girl?"

"If you please, Ma'am, I've worked in the farmhouse all my life. I can cook, and clean, I can sew and mend, and I'm ever so willing to learn Ma'am. I will do as I'm bid. I just need a chance, is all." Matilda's heart was beating hard.

The old woman considered her carefully, then seemed to make a decision. "Let's look at you, girl. Come into the scullery."

The old woman led the way down the passage into the scullery. It was a cold, damp room, with a drain grate in the middle of the floor. Mops and buckets stood in one corner; the wash boards and basins in another. A small wooden chair and table was set nearby. Sets of neatly folded clothes lay on wooden shelves against one wall. Matilda's observations were interrupted by the old woman.

"My name is Mrs Smyth. I'm in charge here. Will you do as you're bid, Matilda?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs Smyth, I promise."

"You'd better, girl. We have rules here, and I expect them to be followed. If you want to keep your place, and avoid your turn in there." She nodded at the pillory. Matilda's eyes widened in shock. Surely not? "Now, let's take a look at you. Take off your clothes."

Matilda was speechless. Undress? Had she heard correctly? She tried to form words, bewildered by Mrs Smyth's instructions. But the old woman's mouth narrowed into a thin-lipped slit.

"I won't ask again, girl. Take them off. All of them."

It was a test. It had to be. Matilda had promised to do as she was told, and the advertisement had required obedience. This was a test, to see if she was up to the job. She had to pass; there was no choice. But...nobody had seen under her clothes since she was a little girl. Those parts of her were private. They were secret. They were hers.

Matilda hesitated.

Mrs Smyth tapped her foot. "Now, girl."

There was something in that voice that meant business. An authority that could not be questioned. The moment for hesitation was over. A red blush rushed up Matilda's face from her throat to the roots of her hair as she quickly shrugged off her shawl and placed it on the back of the small wooden chair. She reached for the lacing on her rough woollen smock and untied it. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged it off her shoulders. It clung for a moment to her full, rounded breasts, catching on her nipples which were standing upright in the cold of the room. Then it was gone, collapsing down past her smooth, flat belly and long, thin legs before pooling on the floor round her ankles. She stepped out of it, and her rough shoes, folding the smock over the chair back and pushing the shoes beneath it. The tiled floor was cold beneath her bare feet.

"And those," said Mrs Smyth coldly, tapping Matlida's rough cotton drawers. "Quickly now." Matilda took a deep breath and pulled her drawers down, laying them carefully on the small pile of clothes that was all she owned in the world. And there she stood, completely naked, in front of a woman she had met only moments before.

"Hands by your sides, girl," snapped Mrs Smyth, tapping with her crop. Matilda obeyed. Mrs Smyth's eyes roved over her naked body, taking in every aspect of it. The pure white skin; her thick red hair, tucked up in a knot at the back of her neck. Her shoulders, and her full, round breasts with pink, hard nipples. Mrs Smyth reached out an old calloused hand and cupped them: first the left, then the right. Matilda held her breath. The old woman's touch was rough; it sent shockwaves through her skin. She began to tremble. The hand made its way down her flat, smooth stomach, pausing for a moment to press gently against the tight muscles bunched there. Mrs Smyth circled the young woman, her hand trailing round Matilda's side and making its way down to her firm buttocks. Then, without warning, the hand jumped away from her bottom and returned with a hard, firm smack.

Matilda cried out in shock and pain.

"That's for taking your time, girl. When I give a command, I expect it to be followed. Do you understand?"

A second smack landed on the other bottom cheek.

"Ouch! I mean, yes, Mrs Smyth, Ma'am."

SMACK! "You forgot to thank me."

SMACK!

"T...thank you Ma'am," gasped Matilda. What was happening here? What had she got into? Why was this cruel old woman spanking her as she stood, shivering and naked, in a strange scullery?

"Are you a good girl, Matilda?" came Mrs Smyth's voice from behind her.

"Yes, Ma'am," sobbed Matilda.

"You are pure?" asked Mrs Smyth.

"Pure, Ma'am?" replied Matilda, struggling to understand what she was being asked.

"Aye, pure girl. Has a man ever touched you...here?" and without warning, Mrs Smyth pressed her body against Matilda's back, reached her arm around, and grabbed the young woman's most private place, between her shapely legs.

Matilda gasped for breath as the old woman's hand clutched at the small tuft of red hair near her private place. It was as though electricity was pouring through her; every nerve ending was tingling.

"N-no, Ma'am. Certainly not. I have never been touched there," gasped Matilda. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Mrs Smyth stepped away and circled round in front of her again, looking her up and down.

"Good, girl. The Master insists my girls are as pure as snow. No man can touch you there. Do you understand me, girl?" Matilda nodded, too shocked to speak. Every part of her naked body was aflame with embarrassment. She could feel her face blushing crimson. The very thought of it was unbearable.

"You can start right away. Wait here. We'll get you cleaned up and put you to work. Listen well and do as you're bid, or suffer the consequences." With that, she scooped up Matilda's clothes, and swept from the room.