The Earl Maid

By Susannah Donim

Rob is a shy and reserved young man, but an unexpected inheritance suddenly makes him the centre of attention. His wife helps him find a way of hiding in plain sight.

Chapter 8

So Rob is back but no more comfortable as the Earl than before. What’s to be done? He can’t be Martha anymore, can he?

It felt strange wandering around the Hall dressed as a man again. I had to re-adjust my gait to my original, very different centre of gravity. I had to concentrate on taking longer strides and break my habit of mincing, feminine little steps. On the plus side, being a full-time, hard-working cleaning lady had built up my muscles. I felt a bit like Superman. Now that I was no longer held back by Martha’s excess weight, I could move faster, jump higher, almost fly!

But I felt like half of me was missing, which in a sense it was – and not just my Martha padding. I had lost what little excess flab I had ever had, presumably because of all the hard physical work. My old male clothes hung off my reduced frame.

“Everything’s baggy on you,” Susie had said. “We’re going to have to buy you all new shirts and trousers.”

“Can we do it by mail order?” I suggested, plaintively.

Susie pretended not to hear that. She was planning an extensive shopping trip.

* * *

I contacted Bill straight after the Inquest and said I’d like to get involved in the running of the Estate again. He was a little cool with me, presumably for leaving Susie alone for so long with only Martha for company. Maybe he thought I’d been having an affair. So I told him as much as I could about Beckett’s threats. I said I’d hated not being around while Susie was being harassed by thugs, but she insisted I stay away. She was adamant that letting them beat me senseless wouldn’t solve anything and wouldn’t make her any safer.

I told him that we’d hired a private investigator to help us, and some of the information he had unearthed had enabled the police to arrest Beckett. I had come home then, but the angry villain had gone on the run and broken into the Hall, where he met his end.

I’m sure this partial explanation only left Bill with more questions. Why had I gone away again after I fought with Beckett, only returning for the Inquest? But he didn’t ask – it wasn’t his place to cross-examine his employer – and I changed the subject.

With Bill’s help I soon got back into the swing of managing the Estate. We were exceptionally busy right up to Christmas. Our tenants were keen to fix issues they’d been living with throughout the year, but now they wanted to get things ship-shape for the Festive Season, before the parties and the visits from far-flung friends and family.

I thoroughly enjoyed the work. It was mostly about helping people with domestic problems, which reminded me a little of my time as Martha, the cleaning lady. The only part I didn’t like was having to be the Earl in front of so many strangers. I felt a terrible fraud. As always, I hated having to mix with people I didn’t know, even though they always gave me a hearty welcome. I thought of hiring someone to do all the meetings for me. Then I could just plan for the future and manage contractors and building works remotely from my office.

As we had discussed, Bill gave in his notice, and we agreed he would leave on the 31st December. After that I would be on my own. He promised to be available if I was ever really stumped.

* * *

We hadn’t told my mother much about our bizarre lives during the last three months because we didn’t want her to worry about Beckett’s threats. We had had to stop making video calls to Atlanta, because that would have revealed to her that her son was now Martha, her old housemaid. We still kept in touch regularly. I just had to remember to switch to my increasingly unfamiliar male voice. I told her that our broadband was faulty and could no longer support video, and promised to get it fixed as soon as I could.

As October gave way to November I had gradually come to realise that Mum wasn’t going to return to the UK permanently. She started talking about moving in with Esme.

“She’s quite a bit older than me actually. Her son is buying the house for her. They don’t really need any contribution from me, but I insisted on paying my way. Hopefully the rental income from the cottage will be enough. I think they’re just glad that I’ll be there, so they won’t have to look after Esme themselves as she gets older. She says she quite likes being companion to a Dowager Countess, but I think it’s the other way round: the Dowager Countess is companion to Esme.”

I thought there might be a little more to my mother’s decision to stay in America, but I assumed she’d tell me when she was ready.

After the inquest, and I was back as Rob, we were again able to make video calls to Atlanta. Mum was delighted to see our faces at last, but was concerned that I had lost weight, and was there something wrong with my mouth? My lips looked swollen.

She also asked in her plain-spoken, unsubtle manner whether there was any sign of an heir to the Earldom. We assured her that we were thinking about it, but we still needed Susie’s salary for the moment. She let the subject drop for the time being, but we knew she would bring it up again when she joined us for Christmas, in just over two weeks.

* * *

Susie would be working right up till Christmas Eve, so I was alone in the big house, just as I had been as Martha. I carried on doing essential tasks such as shopping and laundry. It felt weird doing Martha’s work but not wearing her uniform. I kept seeing things I would have done had I still been the maid, and there was no one else to do them, so I did them. I put on an apron and I ironed, and I vacuumed, and I scrubbed, just as I had been doing when I was Martha.

As two maids Susie and I had made progress clearing the clutter in the top-floor bedrooms, but despite our dressing-up games (or maybe because of them) we hadn’t finished, so I thought I’d have another try. I found the ‘Keep’, ‘Definitely Dump’, and ‘Think About It’ piles unchanged since the early autumn, apart from having gathered additional dust. All three lots were still dwarfed by all the untouched junk.

It was slow going, because I felt I needed to check nearly every item with Susie before deciding its fate, so I made lists. I’d barely begun when I found the Christmas decorations: coloured lights for indoors and outdoors, long paper chains, and a huge artificial tree, which could only go in the Great Hall. Getting that lot downstairs and into the appropriate rooms killed the rest of the afternoon, and putting it all up filled the next three evenings for both of us.

When we finally switched on the lights, the Hall was bright enough to steer ships onto the rocks, if we weren’t seventy miles from the sea. I dreaded to think about the electricity bill, but visitors to the Hall – and we hoped there would be many paying guests – would expect to see lots of colourful Christmas cheer.

Happily, Society Christmas parties at the Hall kept us both busy. There were also the final rehearsals for the LADS pantomime. Charlie welcomed me back – I hadn’t seen him as myself for over two months. He insisted on giving us the best seats in the theatre for the last performance. I’m not usually a fan of pantos, but this was Aladdin and it was excellent. The young actor playing Widow Twankey – Nick Something – was especially good.

We also hosted the LADS Christmas party which traditionally followed the last show. It was usually at a hotel in town, but according to Charlie, everyone was thrilled that this year it would be at the Hall. The orchestra from the panto provided the music for the party. Susie was asked if she would present the prizes, and she graciously agreed. I hid in a quiet corner at the back, hoping I wouldn’t be called upon to speak.

Everyone asked after Martha and we told them she was off with her family till New Year. I didn’t much enjoy helping our guests as the Earl for the usual reasons. Playing the part of Martha had been easy and exciting; playing the part of myself was terrifying.

* * *

Two days before Christmas we were to collect Mum from Heathrow. We went in the big BMW, assuming she would be loaded down with luggage. She had indeed brought lots of presents – mainly souvenirs of Atlanta – but she hadn’t brought many of her own belongings. She announced that she would be with us for less than a fortnight. She had been invited to a New Year’s Eve party and really wanted to go. It turned out she had met a rich handsome man who was a sucker for the English aristocracy.

“And you’ve always been a sucker for rich handsome men, haven’t you?” I said over my shoulder from the driver’s seat. “You be careful now. I don’t want to have go after him with my shotgun.”

Mum giggled happily.

When we got home and were settled in the drawing room with Christmas drinks, my mother demanded to know everything we’d been doing since she left us in mid-September. Susie and I looked at each other and began. Mum listened with an open mouth and staring eyes, gulping her champagne cocktail in disbelief.

Her first reaction was the inevitable scolding for not telling her everything sooner, but she eventually agreed that it would have served no purpose. In fact, she congratulated us on how well we had coped, especially my mission as Martha the Spy. Amusingly she was much more interested in how I had been living as a housemaid and cleaning lady than about Beckett’s threats and subsequent death.

“I would have loved to have seen you as Martha!” she said. “Don’t you have any photographs?”

“Lots,” Susie laughed. “I took pictures of him all the time, mostly when he wasn’t looking. But you won’t find them very interesting, Julie. He looks exactly like Martha.”

She went across to the desk in the corner she used when working at home and took a small volume out of one of the drawers. It was a little photo album. She sat down next to Mum and they started going through it together.

“Here – this first one is of the two Marthas side by side. It was taken by one of the Pink Ladies. I saw it at their next slide show and asked if I could have a copy.”

“That’s amazing!” Mum said. “Which is which?” Susie was about to tell her, when she said, “Oh, Rob’s that one, isn’t he? You can tell by the lips! Is that why they’re all swollen now? You’ve had them done with collagen or something!”

Seriously impressive, my Mum.

“You look lovely in your maid uniform, Rob,” she said. “Very smart.”

“And I took this one of him – her – scrubbing the toilet in our bathroom,” said Susie, turning the page.

“Look at the size of her backside…! Er, I mean, I see Martha has put on a bit of weight over the years. Well, I suppose we both have.”

She didn’t seem at all surprised that her son, the Earl, was being a cleaning lady in his own house.

“When did you learn to do ironing, Rob?” she asked.

I left them to it.

* * *

Susie’s parents, George and Janet, made us five for a sumptuous Christmas Dinner – cooked by the Countess and the Dowager Countess together. Afterwards we repaired to the drawing room with ports and brandies.

I was looking through a pile of board games for some after dinner fun when my mother asked, casually, “So if you’re still working full-time, Susie, how on earth do you keep this place looking so good, now Martha’s gone?”

“Hey, we both work full-time,” I protested, “and we share the housework.”

My mother looked sceptical. My wife, who would lie her head off to defend me against strangers, didn’t feel any such need with family. She had also had a lot to drink. As I had discovered, she tends to tell the truth when she’s drunk.

“I do most of the cooking,” she said, “because I don’t want to live on pizza and takeaway Chinese, but Rob does pretty much everything else.”

“So you’re the housewife then, Rob?”

“I manage the Estate – that’s my proper job – but I do some stuff around the house, yes.”

“Laundry, cooking, cleaning – just like a housewife then?”

The two women in my life, my harshest critics, chuckled at my embarrassment.

“But I don’t want a housewife,” said Susie. “I want a maid. Martha – my Martha – was wonderful.”

Did that mean that she actually preferred me as Martha? I was concerned. We hadn’t told her parents about my career as a maid, and Susie was drunk, or getting there. Was the truth coming out now? In vino veritas? The look on my face must have told her she’d gone too far.

“Oh sweetie, I didn’t mean…” She paused to let her brain catch up with her mouth. “I mean, it doesn’t seem right that you, the Earl, should be cleaning and washing and ironing. It was fine when you were… I mean, for Martha to do it… but not… oh, I don’t know what I mean. Look, we need to hire a maid-housekeeper in the New Year. OK?”

I nodded. But I suddenly realised I didn’t really want some stranger coming in and doing my jobs.

* * *

We enjoyed the Festive Season together. For me it was spoiled only by having to attend a few functions in our roles as ‘local nobility’ and sponsors of various charities and other good works. I was all in favour of what they were trying to do, but my crippling shyness made me useless at the required social networking. The two Countesses were, predictably, brilliant at it, and I was determined not to spoil things. I stayed quietly in the background while they charmed the representatives of the local businesses and finance houses.

The end of the old year was soon upon us and it was time for my mother to return to her new home. We promised to Skype regularly and visit as soon as we could.

* * *

The first important event of the New Year was Martha’s wedding. Not many couples marry in January but if she waited much longer her baby would come first and she wanted him or her to be born in wedlock.

It was a traditional wedding in the church at Davey’s home village. They were lucky with the weather. It was cold but stayed dry all afternoon. There were even some short periods of sun, ideal for group photography outside the church.

The bride wore white. Neither she nor any of the guests were at all concerned that she was eight months pregnant. She had never looked lovelier (much better than I ever did as her). Susie was stunning in a knee-length lemon yellow brocade dress with a short jacket and matching wide-brimmed hat. It wasn’t a formal occasion with proper morning dress, so I just wore a new grey suit.

“You could have been a bridesmaid,” she said, as we watched the bride and her father proceed up the aisle to the altar.

“Huh?”

“As Martha’s twin sister.”

I laughed. Then I thought, actually that would have been fun.

We gave them a three-piece suite for their new home as a wedding present. At the Reception Susie also gave her copies of some of the photographs she had taken of me as her, making her promise not to tell anyone where they came from. As they leafed through them together, they were giggling like schoolgirls at my expense.

To my further embarrassment Susie and I were name-checked in the groom’s speech.

“Martha and I are honoured that the Earl and Countess of Hadleigh are here today,” Davey said with a grin. “I must say I had never dreamt the nobility would be attending our wedding.”

He paused, pointing us out. Davey was a lovely fella, but I had never hated anyone as much as him at that moment. Everyone looked at me, and Susie nudged me fiercely to make a quick response. I got shakily to my feet and admitted that I was just as surprised as he was.

“A year ago I had never dreamt I would be ‘nobility’, as Davey put it,” I said. “And believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. This time last year all I had to worry about was whether 5D had any chance at all of passing their Maths GCSEs. Now… well, let’s just say I have a lot more responsibility. The only good thing about it is being married to a Countess, this particular Countess, anyway.”

There was some good-natured chuckling, a better response than anything I had ever managed before when speaking on my own behalf. Susie had gone a little pink, I noticed, but she had a happy smile on her face.

“But we are delighted to be here,” I continued. “Martha is a wonderful lady, and Davey is a very lucky man.”

Cries of “Hear, hear!”

Susie was tugging on my trouser leg: a sure sign it was time for me to sit down.

“Well done, dear,” she whispered, “but brevity is the soul of wit.”

Davey thanked me warmly and carried on with his excellent speech. Waitresses moved quietly among us making sure all our glasses were primed for the coming toasts. I realised I would rather have been any of them (even the little fat one) than the Earl of Hadleigh. Was I weird, or what?

* * *

We stayed overnight in the hotel.

“You were very good today, Rob,” said Susie, as she started stripping off her beautiful outfit. “Very much the gracious Earl; nobility with the common touch.”

“Of course I have ‘the common touch’. I am common.”

“Well, your little impromptu speech was spot-on. I think you’re finally getting over your shyness.”

“I don’t,” I protested. “I can just about bluff my way through it now, as I did today, but I still hate every minute of being the Earl, on display, in front of people I don’t know.”

Susie sighed.

We got into bed. It had been a long day. We lay, entwined, neither of us feeling like doing anything energetic. We lay in silence, just enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d rather have a maid than a husband?” I said into the darkness.

“No! When did I say that?” Susie said, shaking free and propping herself up on her elbows.

“After dinner on Christmas Day. You were drunk, but I think you meant it.”

“What I meant was that it didn’t feel right to see my wonderful noble husband scrubbing toilets and vacuuming the sitting room, but I was perfectly happy for my lovely maid, Martha, to be doing it.”

“So it’s all about appearances then?”

“Well… yes… I loved Martha undressing me and washing my hair and scrubbing my back in the bath. It’s not the same when you’re my husband. At bedtime you’re only supposed to see me in my nightie and negligée, all clean and sweet-smelling and sexy, ready to be unwrapped. You’re not supposed to do the work that goes into it. That’s Martha’s job.”

“I sort of see what you mean. All the domestic chores, including pampering my mistress, were more fun when I was properly dressed as the maid. It doesn’t really make sense, but I suppose appearances do matter.” I sighed. “I have to admit,” I continued, “I quite liked my maid uniforms. It might just have been the novelty – I’ll probably get over it soon – but I found my knickers, skirt and tights very comfortable. Even my heavy-duty bra felt… nice.”

“Well, we’ll have to think about that when we get home.”

* * *

When we got back from the wedding there was a lot to do. I had to call on three tenants on the Monday. They were all immensely grateful that the Earl himself came to inspect their homes and made a great fuss of me, which of course I found profoundly embarrassing. It made me even more determined to recruit an assistant to do all these ‘home visits’.

I was talking to contractors and suppliers on the phone all afternoon. Susie wasn’t back from the office till seven. Neither of us felt like cooking, so we ordered takeaway. While we were eating, Susie raised the subject of hiring a housekeeper again.

“Can we really afford it?” I asked.

“Just about,” she said, “as long as we keep on hosting society meetings, LADS rehearsals, Open Days and parties. We need all those activities to keep us in the black. Anyway, it won’t be forever. I’m expecting Wainwrights to make me a full Partner in the next year or two.” She chuckled. “I probably couldn’t hope for that if I wasn’t a Countess.”

“Nonsense! You deserve it. You’re the best they’ve got.”

“Your loyalty is much appreciated, babe, but it’s rare to make Partner much before your mid-thirties. Hey, you’re trying to change the subject!” She put her hands on her hips in mock anger. “We need a new maid.”

“We need Martha,” I said. “We were incredibly lucky to have her, you know. Finding a trustworthy housekeeper who works hard and doesn’t steal the silver is really difficult.”

I meant the real Martha, but I suppose the comment applied to me as the fake Martha too.

“OK then, so why don’t you do it?” Susie said. “I know you like being a cleaning lady – almost as much as you hate being the Earl and the centre of attention.”

“You said you didn’t want to see me doing all the domestic chores.”

“I said I didn’t like seeing the Earl doing the cleaning. It seemed… inappropriate. I’m fine with it if you’re dressed as a maid – again.” She licked her lips. “In fact, I’d love it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that…” I said, although I couldn’t actually articulate an objection.

“Why ever not? We know you make a convincing woman – with the help of Transformations. No one spotted you as a man in the two months you were Martha, did they?”

“No,” I admitted, “but what about running the Estate? There’s a lot to do…”

“Well, you keep talking about hiring an assistant… Wait, I’ve an even better idea! You could be the Earl’s secretary in the mornings and do all the site visits for him, and my maid in the afternoons. I’m sure you could manage each job on a half-time basis. J & J do most of our heavy cleaning after the functions we host, don’t they? So you’d only have to look after our private living areas.”

“Actually, that might work…” I said, thinking desperately of arguments for and against.

“Right! You’re tongue-tied and uncomfortable in public whenever you have to be you, but you’re fine when you’re disguised as somebody else. You can’t be Martha anymore – people round here know she’s left and got married – but you can go back to Transformations for a new persona.”

She was thinking furiously now.

“Actually, whatever they do, you’ll probably still look and sound a bit like Martha – well, your version of her – so why not claim to be her younger sister? Then no one will be surprised at the resemblance.”

“OK, I admit it. I really enjoyed my time as Martha, or I would have if we hadn’t had Beckett and his threats hanging over us. I’m sure it was just a phase – I can’t imagine it as a permanent lifestyle choice – but I wouldn’t have minded if it had gone on a little longer.”

“OK, so why not just try it for a while? If you don’t like it, we can say that the new secretary/ housekeeper didn’t work out.”

* * *

But I did like it, and it worked out beautifully.

I’d told Fleur that Martha had a younger sister called Mary, so that’s who I would become. She would be a little better educated than Martha, and so would be qualified to be the Earl’s secretary as well as the Hall’s housekeeper.

We returned to Transformations and explained what we wanted. It was more embarrassing this time as I wasn’t being forced by circumstances to hide out in female disguise, so I had no excuse. But Annie and Vera were sympathetic and totally professional. Apart from the fact that my wife insisted on being present throughout the procedure, it was no worse than being measured for a new suit – OK, than being measured in the nude for a new suit.

“Now then, Mary, we’ll obviously have to sculpt new facial prostheses to make you look like Martha’s younger sister,” said Annie. “Same shape head, similar cheeks and double chin, but fewer wrinkles. Does that sound right?”

I nodded. “Except I think they’re supposed to be called ‘laughter lines’,” I said.

“Can we aim for late twenties?” asked Susie.

“We’ll see, My Lady,” Annie said, “but I suspect she’ll come out as early thirties at best. Now what about her figure? She’ll still have to be a little portly, I’m afraid, to compensate for her male waist and shoulders.”

It seemed I wasn’t going to be consulted about my appearance. What did I know anyway?

“Would it save us money if you just re-used the body prostheses she had as Martha?” Susie said. “Then we wouldn’t have to buy her new uniforms and underwear.”

“I was going to suggest that,” said Vera, reaching for a box with ‘Martha’ written on the side. She took out the familiar lumps of pseudo-flesh. “We couldn’t go much slimmer than these anyway. Perhaps we can knock a few pounds off her new ones when these wear out.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “How long do they last anyway? I don’t think you ever mentioned that.”

“It varies, depending on how you treat them, but a couple of years is about average.”

“Oh I doubt I’ll be needing them for that long,” I said, confidently. “This is just a little experiment really.”

“If you say so, dear,” said Vera, clearly unconvinced. She and Annie and Susie exchanged amused glances. “So you’ll come back here regularly for check-ups, right? Make the appointment as soon as you feel the adhesive start to loosen. I’ll remove the prostheses and make sure all is well underneath.”

“Then maybe you can spend a day or two as the Earl before coming back for waxing and refitting,” suggested Susie.

“I’ll give you some more solvent, just in case you have to change back in an emergency,” said Vera.

“I still have all your data,” said Annie, “so I’ll run the program to see what we can make you look like, while Vera shaves you and does your waxing.”

I groaned.

“Come on then, strip off, Mary dear,” said Vera cheerfully. “It shouldn’t be so bad this time. How long is it since your last waxing? A month?”

“Six weeks, at least,” I groaned again. “Double Scotch, please. One ice cube.”

I didn’t like my whisky watered down too much.

* * *

I was lying on Vera’s couch, practically naked, the hormone-laced cream just beginning to soothe my smarting flesh, when Annie returned with her laptop.

“I’ve done a couple of basic pictures, each with several hairstyles,” she said, opening the display.

She scrolled through pictures of several buxom young women all of whom looked like slightly younger versions of Martha.

“I see you haven’t had a haircut for quite a while, have you?” I shook my head. “Well, your own hair is easily long enough for a short feminine style. Shall I see if Sharon can do you later on? You’ll be much more comfortable without a wig. A new hairdo would also make Mary look different from Martha.”

“But I still have to appear as myself every two or three weeks,” I said.

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem,” she said breezily. “Talk to Sharon.”

And so it was agreed. Susie chose a face and hairstyle from the options offered. I sat patiently while Vera stuck my new face pieces on, and then her colleague, Sharon, did my hair. Between them they brought Annie’s picture to life. For half an hour I sat under a dome-shaped hairdryer with my hair in curlers and read an old Woman’s Own. I was enjoying an article about the spring fashions of five years ago when Sharon pulled me out. She started removing my curlers.

“This ‘do’ is pretty low maintenance,” she said as she trimmed and primped. “You won’t want to bother with colouring, so I’m just using a good conditioner. Twice a week you’ll need to put curlers in at night, to keep it bouncy.”

“It’s great,” I said, “but I don’t see how I’m going to look like a man with this.”

“Oh, I can fix that for you. We can slick it down with hair oil. I can provide you with convincing facial hair too – sideburns, moustache, maybe a goatee. I think you’d suit a beard.”

“Oh yes, Susie said, “I’d love to see what you look like with a beard.”

* * *

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be weighted down with Martha’s heavy boobs, thighs and buttocks, but having them stuck back on me was like coming home.

I still had some of Martha’s old clothes and underwear. She and Davey were putting her cottage on the market, and she had come back to collect her little Polo, and most of her belongings. We had offered to take any of her clothes that she didn’t want to the charity shop, but we hadn’t got round to doing that yet. She didn’t need any of her maid’s uniforms. Davey had a good job; Martha would never be a maid again.

I put on my bra and knickers, watching my new self in the mirror. As ever, my big breasts needed the support of a strong bra. The undies felt comfortable. They felt right. I had chosen a pair of the black trousers I had worn as a cleaning lady and a plain white blouse to go home in. When I saw my big round bottom in the unflattering pants, I felt like the woman I was had been away, but was back again now – and ten years younger.

“That reminds me,” said Susie, as I pirouetted in front of the mirror. “We need to get you some new things of your own. I found this website the other day, MyOwnCouture.com. They make bespoke women’s clothes. You pick out what you want from their online catalogue, send them your measurements, and they make dresses to measure. I thought I might try them out.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

At least I could avoid an endless trek round the shops. I wasn’t really interested in what she was saying, and wondered why she would be raising the subject here and now.

“They’ve just started doing Fancy Dress. I thought I might get you a French Maid costume.”

Ah, that explains it. I quite liked the idea, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing a French maid as fat as Mary, I mean me.

Ingrid came down to see us just as were getting ready to go. We assured her that we were completely satisfied, as always, with Annie and Vera’s work. She invited us along to her office for refreshments. I was still a little wobbly from the whisky I had taken as an anaesthetic, but we went along. When we were settled in the office, an elderly maid brought in a tray with cups of tea and biscuits.

“Thank you, Dolly,” Ingrid said. She turned to us. “Now, have you thought about your identity documents – driving licence, birth certificate, and so on? You’ll need those if you’re going to live as Mary for any length of time, won’t you?”

We admitted we hadn’t thought about it.

“We can help with that,” she said. “It’s perfectly legal for you to call yourself whatever you want, as long as you aren’t adopting another identity for the purposes of fraud. Unfortunately, you can’t have two valid driving licences or passports in different names, so you will have to decide on one or the other – either Mary Manners or Lord Marsham.”

“You’ll need to drive as Mary, won’t you, dear?” Susie said. “You can use my old Mini Clubman. I’ll stick to the Audi.”

So we asked Ingrid to make the arrangements. For the foreseeable future I would have no way of proving I was actually Rob Marsham. Not that I looked like any of his pictures now.

* * *

On the way home we went shopping for new clothes for me. I would have been happy to wait and get everything online, to avoid having to parade around a women’s boutique in my underwear. Susie agreed that we could get most of my outfits from MyOwnCouture.com but I needed some new things immediately.

Underwear was a priority. Very much against my better judgement, Susie persuaded me to try some shapewear, a ‘Plus Size Open Crotch Waist Trainer Underbust Body Shaper’, to be precise. The thing looked terrifying, and it was a bit of a struggle to force my wobbly artificial flesh into it, but it felt fabulous when we’d finally fastened it properly – very comfortable and secure.

When I told Susie how much I liked it she dragged me along to another boutique that specialised in ‘Spanx’ shapewear, where we spent far too much on a Fancy Booty Booster mid-thigh, high waist brief with matching bra, and a one-piece body shaper. Susie didn’t like the one-piece as much. She said it was ‘too secure’ and complained that it would take too long to get it off me.

All my new underwear was plus size, of course. My bountiful curves were properly secure now, though if anything, even more pronounced. Susie had the time of her life.

Mary the Secretary was a little upmarket from Mary the Maid and would be representing the Earl in meetings with tenants and contractors, so she would need smart skirt suits and high heels. That took up the rest of the afternoon.

When we got home, I tried everything on. Mary the Secretary eventually emerged. I saw a smart, efficient-looking young woman, borderline obese, I’d have to admit, but who carried her extra poundage like offensive weaponry in the battle of the sexes. There would be no ‘mansplaining’ for this girl! Just let some smart-ass building manager try bamboozling me with his superior male technical knowledge! He wouldn’t know what hit him.

Mary would also wear jewellery. Susie remembered that the family collection included a nice pearl necklace and earrings, not expensive but better than those I had worn as Martha. I didn’t need glasses, but Mary the Secretary would wear a pair (with plain lenses) to distinguish her from Mary the maid, and to make her look more serious and authoritative. I was really looking forward to my new role.

“It still surprises me that you don’t suffer from shyness when you’re Mary or Martha,” Susie said, when she saw me admiring my new self in the mirror.

“I suppose it’s because I’m playing a role,” I said. “Mary isn’t the real me. I’m just acting the part of secretary or maid or whatever. I’m comfortable as long as no one knows it’s me. The woman I’m pretending to be isn’t shy, so that isn’t how I present her.”

“Well, can’t you pretend to be an Earl who isn’t shy?”

“I only wish it worked like that,” I said sadly. “I thought I might have been starting to overcome it when I was Rob, the Maths teacher…”

“Yeah, if a crowd of cheeky thirteen-year-olds spot you’re shy, they’ll tear you to ribbons!”

“But then they made me an Earl and it was back to square one. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable being such a public figure. Sorry! I know it puts a lot more responsibility on you.”

“That’s OK,” said Susie. “I don’t mind being the Countess, as long as I have my faithful lady’s maid to lean on.”

“Always, M’Lady.”

* * *

When Eleanor Beckett wrote to Susie to ask if she could come and see her, we wondered what on earth she was up to, and were concerned that she was trying to make more trouble. But the only way to find out what she wanted was to agree. So we invited her to tea on a Saturday afternoon, to be served by Mary, the Countess’s new maid.

“But don’t you think you should meet her as the Earl?” Susie asked.

“Not at all,” I replied firmly. “She wrote to you, not me. The meeting will be between the old Lady of the Manor and the new one.”

“Actually, I was thinking about that. You realise that with Transformations’ help, you could be the Lady of the Manor if you wanted to be.”

“Of course, I couldn’t!” I laughed. “Everyone knows the Countess is slim and beautiful. They could never make my figure into yours – not unless you put on about thirty pounds!”

“I bet you could be the Dowager Countess though,” Susie said with a calculating look. “You’d probably overcome your shyness in public if you were her. It would be like all your other performances.”

“You think I’d be more confident with people if I’m disguised as my mother?” I asked incredulously.

“It would be great. We could share the load of all those agricultural shows and speech days. Repeat after me: ‘I declare this fête open’.”

She might even be right. Worth thinking about.

“I declare this fête open,” I said, in a Monty Python falsetto.

* * *

“I see you haven’t made many changes,” Eleanor said, looking around.

I put the tea tray down on the sideboard and began pouring.

“Well, there’s no spare money,” Susie said, “as Mr Smythe made clear to everyone. Anyway, it hasn’t needed it. The old Earl may have been a selfish spendthrift, but he certainly looked after his home.”

“Hah!” Eleanor snorted. “That was all my doing. I installed all the double-glazing. I had the rewiring done. I got the roof and floors fixed. I replaced all the old pipework and radiators and got a new boiler.”

I brought Eleanor’s tea to her and offered milk and sugar.

“Thank you, Mary,” she said. “She’s just like her sister, isn’t she?” she said to Susie.

She was speaking about me as though I wasn’t there, as people with servants do. I was getting used to that. I even liked it.

“I was very fond of Martha,” Eleanor continued, showing her heart was in the right place. “I must write to her. I hear she’s had a little boy.”

“That’s right,” Susie confirmed. “I’ll give you her address.” She paused while I brought her tea. “Thank you, Mary,” she said. “We’ll help ourselves to biscuits.”

Staying in character, I curtseyed and turned to leave. I loved being the maid and being able to avoid conversations like these with people like Eleanor.

“So you managed all the renovations then?” Susie continued.

“Yes, we lived with plumbers, electricians and carpenters for eighteen months. Then I redecorated throughout. And I had to squeeze every penny out of the old fool. It was like getting blood out of a stone!”

“I… I didn’t realise,” said Susie, abashed for pretty much the first time I had ever seen.

By this time I was closing the door behind me. I rushed to the kitchen and to the security control room in the old pantry. I sat down at the desk chair and switched on the system for the drawing room.

“My main reason for calling,” Eleanor was saying, “was to apologise for the ordeal my stupid brother put you through, and to assure you I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know he’d been to see you…”

“…and threatened us,” put in Susie.

“Indeed,” Eleanor said, a little red in the face now, “but the first I knew of it was when I heard the police wanted him, and he’d... well, you know.”

She paused, as if to gather her courage for what she intended to say next.

“Look, My Lady, I know I behaved badly at the reading of the will and immediately thereafter, but it was the shock, more than anything. His death was so sudden and my whole world turned upside down. I was also worried about my boy, who I am well aware has turned out too much like his father and his Uncle Jack…

“I suppose I tried to justify my behaviour to myself by thinking of the fifteen years Perry and I were together, and all the hard work I’d put in to make something of this place. To see it going to someone else…” She shook her head. “But I knew in my heart that I was never the Countess, only the Earl’s mistress. I had a good run, but he was never going to marry me. As he said in that awful letter, we hadn’t been… close for some time. If it hadn’t been for the boy, he would probably have thrown us out long ago.”

There was silence. Eleanor sipped her tea, making a noise that was somewhere between a slurp, a hiccup, and a sob. From what the High Definition camera in the opposite wall could show me, her eyes were very red now.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Eleanor,” Susie said, her voice full of sympathy. “It can’t have been easy.”

“I didn’t want there to be bad blood between us, My Lady…”

“Oh, please call me Susie!”

Eleanor smiled. “Thank you, Susie, and I’m so sorry about my horrible brother. All he thought about was money, and the idea that he should seek to commoditise my failed relationship with your late father-in-law… Well, it makes my blood boil!”

She certainly seemed sincere. Maybe we had misjudged her. The two of them chatted quite amiably for a little while. When Eleanor eventually stood up to leave, I reached to switch off the camera and end my eavesdropping. Suddenly she changed the subject.

“How is the Earl, by the way?” she said. “I understand that he would want to make himself scarce when Jack was threatening him, but I assumed he would be back now.”

“Oh, he is,” Susie said. “He’s probably out on the Estate somewhere. You know Bill’s retired? Rob wants to try and run the place by himself, so he’s pretty busy. But he is never far away if I really need him. Out of sight, but always close at hand…”

Eleanor smiled politely. I just hoped it wouldn’t occur to her how precisely Susie meant what she said.

* * *

With Transformations’ help Mary Manners now exists formally in her own right, with a National Insurance number, an HMRC reference, and a bank account, into which her employer, the Earl, pays her small salary.

In the mornings I work in Bill’s old office, when I’m not out and about on the Estate. The Earl insists on a smart, professional appearance as I am representing him when I meet with tenants, contractors and creditors. I usually wear a black knee-length skirt, a white blouse, and a black pussy bow, with nude-coloured tights and black three-inch high heel pumps. I also have a very fetching pair of black leather, mid-block heel, knee-high ladies’ boots for when I have to tramp across muddy fields with one of our farmers. They were a ridiculous extravagance, I admit. Green rubber wellies would have done just as well, but a girl’s got to have a few nice things to wear, doesn’t she?

I introduced myself as the Earl’s secretary and the new Assistant Estate Manager to most of our tenants and contractors by e-mail, attaching a head and shoulders photo. Some of the older tenants don’t use e-mail, so I went round to see them in person. As had always happened before, when I was in disguise – even one as extreme as Mary the Secretary – I experienced no trace of shyness or embarrassment. I was just a young businesswoman doing her job.

I’ve managed to launch a few of the smaller development projects Bill had in mind. I write letters on the Earl’s behalf, usually signing them ‘Mary Manners (Ms), pp the Earl of Hadleigh’. Of course, His Lordship has to sign formal documents himself, such as contracts with suppliers and bank loan applications, but I’m good at forging his signature. (We have a great relationship. He is very happy with my work.)

At lunchtime I change into one of a growing number of pretty uniforms and Mary the Secretary becomes Mary the Maid. We expected it to be rare that anyone who knew me as the former should ever come to the Hall and meet me as the latter. Indeed, it hasn’t happened yet but it probably won’t matter if it does. It would be easy enough to explain that neither secretary nor maid was a full-time job, so I do both, and my other employer, the Countess, likes to see me in uniform. (Boy, does she!) She particularly likes to see me in my vintage ones, like maids wore in Victorian and Edwardian times.

As Mary the Maid I help out at all our Society meetings, just as I did when I was my older sister. I would very much like to go out as a cleaning lady again with Fleur. I might manage, say, two days a week, if the Estate Management work quietens down; or maybe just two or three afternoons, if it doesn’t. I miss Fleur and am dying to know how she is getting on with Peter. Of course, she has never met Mary, so I will have to get to know her all over again.

As planned, I switch to Rob every three weeks and stay as him through a long weekend, before going back to being Mary, whom I now regard as my true self. While Rob, I try to put in a few public appearances to show that the Earl might be a recluse, but he isn’t dead. I still hate meeting people as my old self, but I can put up with it, as long as it’s only for a day or two.

I am happy and grateful that Lady Susie accepts me as Mary. She insists she loves me in both my personae, but I actually think she prefers Mary too. I base that on our sex life. We do make love when I’m Rob, and it’s great, but it’s serene, almost sedate. When I’m Mary, she watches me like a tigress, licking her lips, as I strip off my tight shapewear and slip on my sleep bra and nightie. When I finally join her in bed, I often wonder whether I’ll survive the mauling.

Not that I’m complaining, you understand.

 

Epilogue

I straightened my cap and smoothed my apron. I checked my nylons were wrinkle-free and that their seams were straight. Standards must be maintained.

I tottered into the drawing room on my high heels, curtseyed, and offered my mistress a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio from my silver tray.

“Thank you, Mary,” she said. “That’s just what I needed.”

“Shall I run your bath, M’Lady?”

“In a minute,” she said. “No hurry.”

“OK,” I said, abandoning deference for now.

I picked up the other glass and took a large, satisfying mouthful. I plonked the tray on the sideboard and flopped down beside Susie. I kicked off my heels and put my stocking feet up on the pouffe. She reached across, flicked my lace cap off and over the back of the sofa, and kissed me.

“Is that a new lipstick, Mary darling?” she asked. “It tastes of strawberries.”

“Yes, I thought you’d like it. How was your day?”

“Pretty good actually. I brought in a new client. That means I’ve beaten my target for the third quarter in succession. Wainwright said they would consider a full Partnership if I can do that for four successive quarters. Unfortunately, it means my target for the fourth quarter will be even higher.”

“You’ll do it. You’re brilliant.”

“And you’re the best maid – and husband – a Countess could possibly have.”

Her hand was making its way up my leg and under my skirt. I shivered with delight. Then I looked up. There was something I needed to say.

“What is it?” she said, reading my mind, as she always could.

“I just… well, every now and then, I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think this is a bit weird? That I’m a bit weird? Dressed like this? Living like this? I’m not being much of a man…”

“Are you happy?”

“God, yes!”

“Well so am I – deliriously. Listen, the way I see it, a man is a person who takes on someone bigger and stronger than himself to protect his wife from being beaten up and raped. It really doesn’t matter how he likes to dress or what work he wants to do.”

“But I’m a maid…”

“Yes, you are, and a very good one. It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. “You’re lots of people: the reclusive Earl; his sexy secretary; our cleaning lady; my lady’s maid; my husband… But you’re still my soulmate in all those roles. You’re the person I’ve loved since we were children. I’ll love you no matter what you’re doing or how you’re dressed.”

She suddenly stood up and pulled me to my feet. She looked me sternly in the eye. I felt a tear running down my cheek. I let it.

“So do you love me?” she said.

“Yes, M’Lady,” I said, dipping into a curtsey. “We do – all of us; and we always will.”

Her hands had found their way up my skirt again.

“I fancy making love to a sexy French Maid tonight,” she said, licking the inside of my ear. “Why don’t you get changed – after you’ve run my bath, of course?”

“Oui, oui, madame,” I whispered. “A votre service.”

So it appears my ‘identity drift’ is complete. I am now truly Mary Manners, thirty-five-year-old spinster, secretary to the Earl of Hadleigh and lady’s maid (and secret lover) to the Countess.

Every three weeks or so Vera and Sharon at Transformations disguise me as the Earl himself and I put in a few nervous appearances as him to assure people that he’s still around, but in reality he’s gone forever.