Brigitte's turn to tell more of her story was interesting for her. She had never written much about her life except in letters home to her parents. After talking with them, she spoke with Martha, the housekeeper that hired her and Cook, who kept her well fed about what to write. Writing was something she enjoyed. On her travels, she had always found time to write some little thing, penning poems and stories or just describing the landscape. Settling on the first four years at the Beaufort Estate, she decided on a short autobiography.
~~~~~
I needed a job. Studying the classifieds every day and sending out resumes was just not getting me anywhere. It was a pretty odd resume: nanny, tree planting, pumping gas, waiting tables, cleaning houses, dishwashing. There were more, but none except the two years I spent as nanny, seemed very respectable. But I enjoyed every one of them. The people I met, the places I traveled to. In the summer, when I was tree planting, sitting outside with the rest of the planters in the evening was amazing. Someone brought a guitar, I had a little hand drum, another guy had a panpipe. We’d have a bonfire to keep the flies and mosquitoes away and roast wieners and marshmallows. It’s a pretty romantic memory - and there was romance on those evenings - but it had a glow around it that pushed away the drudgery of our work. But I digress, I needed a job now that I was back in Hartley with my parents. Twenty-nine years old with very little to show for myself. It was time to buckle down. But to what. After another unsuccessful job search, sending out resumes, walking the sidewalks and being rejected, I was so depressed that I was ready to go on the road again. Dad had been reading the paper as usual after supper one evening. “Brige. Did you see this job in the classifieds? You’ve circled several other places, but not this one. The Beaufort Estate. I know their chauffeur, Giles Thornton. He tells me the pay is good, with benefits, and everyone’s pretty nice out there. He doesn’t have much good to say about Mrs. Beaufort but he likes the pay.”
“What kind of a job is it dad?” Brigette had seen it, but it hadn’t held her attention. She wanted something in town.
“Well, there’s some housecleaning and being a ‘Lady’s Maid’. I haven’t heard that title for a long time, except on that Upstairs Downstairs series. What do you think, honey?”
“Well, dad, I might just as well check it out. I don’t have to take it, but if your friend says good pay and benefits, it sounds good.”
~~~~~
I called the Beaufort Estate….Digby and Martha interviewed me. I thought it was strange that a huge mansion had a butler, a housekeeper, a cook and a gardener and they were hiring me… all for one person: Mrs. Emelina Beaufort. Digby was all business. Hours and salary, vacation days and benefits. Martha was warm and chatty. She very diplomatically told me that ‘Mrs. Beaufort, only 47 years old!, is still in deep grief for Mr. Michael, her husband that passed not long ago. She can be quite a handful.” Everything seemed in order, Mrs. Beaufort’s condition didn’t bother me, that is until I was looking after her. Lady’s Maid was definitely the right title. I didn’t know that I’d have to wear a silly maid’s uniform. Even Miss Em - that’s Mrs. Beaufort - said they were silly. At the time though, if I tried to leave the frilly cap at home, Martha always had a spare. At least they were laundered with the Estate laundry, so I didn’t have to worry about any ironing. I found out later that Miss Em really didn’t care about the uniforms that much. It was her mother-in-law that tried to really have an upstairs downstairs environment. Getting back to the work, Miss Em really wasn’t very well. She ate like a bird or not at all, she only got out of bed for her appointments and functions, and her moods were all over the place. My experience waitressing and nanny to four unruly children really paid off. In the mornings, after she had had her tea in bed - Martha or Cook brought it upstairs - I served it to Miss Em as though she was royalty. Then, after she showered, I did her hair, nails and makeup, but it was like dressing a Barbie doll. I never knew what mood she was in. Many days, she didn’t care what she wore, other days she knew exactly what she was going to wear, right down to the jewelry and shoes, and then there’d be the days when she didn’t like anything. The dress was the wrong colour or made her look fat. The diamond earrings looked ‘wrong’ and she would fling them across the room. I think that the only thing that prevented her from crumbling were the appointments and functions that she attended. Miss Em tells me that I was her rock, but I just treated her with kindness because I could see she was a real mess inside. Oh, I was firm with her and didn’t let her railroad me. If she cried, I just let her cry, sat with her if she wanted and washed the tears from her face. When she got angry and started to shriek at me, I would just leave the room. In all the jobs I’ve had, the four years taking care of her tested every lesson I ever learned. The other part of my job description, housecleaning, was easy in comparison.
Then the COVID19 pandemic hit us and I had to leave Mrs. Beaufort. I worried about her and really didn’t know how she would manage. When we met again after several weeks apart, it was Miss Em that I met. The Mrs. Beaufort I knew had turned into Miss Em. Lovely and kind - and can dress herself. I still work for her, but I am now a Personal Assistant to her. I no longer have to do any housekeeping, because I accompany her to lawyers and accountants and help her make plans for the Estate. Both of us are still learning.
~~~~~
Brigitte read over her story, folded it, put it in an envelope and slid it into a pocket of her briefcase. “I’ll have Miss Em read it over tomorrow. Or maybe not.”
“Experience is the teacher of all things.”
~ Julius Caesar
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