Chapter 5 - The Interview

“Mr Wood, I must apologise for my younger son’s failure to make an appearance at breakfast.” said Wickers, “Apparently he was not best pleased that you have been allocated a family bedroom while his guests are relegated to the smaller rooms. I shall have a word with him. He was probably drunk and, in any case, I doubt if many of his guests actually sleep in their designated rooms.” Percy Foskett had indeed arrived very late and in a foul mood, which he chose to take out on the butler.

The Earl continued, “The best way of demonstrating the philosophy behind this house is for you to come with me and listen in on an interview with a prospective kitchen maid. Madame Petit, the chef and Mrs Gray, the housekeeper, have each been arguing for an extra pair of hands in their domain. Chef was the victor, for who could refuse her. Follow me!”

The Earl led the still delirious writer to his private office in the southern wing of the house, where he revealed a couple of spyholes. “I shall watch from the front whereas you can watch from behind. John should be showing her in, in a few minutes. Keep quiet after she enters.”

Francis Chapple and Madeleine Petit entered the room and sat down: the Estate Manager at the main desk, and Chef on a stool at a lectern. She was wearing a white apron over a green dress which did not even reach her knees, with sheer black stockings below. Last night the parlour maids, though in black, were similarly attired. Frank was of course in full business gear.

That insolent boy, John, knocked on the door and announced “Ruth Middlemiss”.
Frank shook her hand but Madeleine kissed her on both cheeks and the lips. “She’s French” explained the manager to the shocked recipient. From her accent, Bill determined Ruth was from the North East. The interviewers began to question her about her skills. As the cook took notes she sat sideways and raised a leg revealing her bloomers with her silk enveloped crotch in the direction of the Earl. Bill wondered if the interviewee had her view blocked by the desk.

“And why were you let go without a reference from Hepscott House?” questioned Frank.
“The cook’s niece took my job, sir.”
“Really? Because now I ought to warn you I am extremely well informed and I have heard there was more to it.”
The girl started crying.

Madeleine got up to comfort her. “Non, we are not here to judge. Just be honest and we may help.” she spoke in her erotic French accent. In fact, both women’s voices were doing something for Bill and Wickers.

“I was a between maid, sir and madame. I wanted to be a cook because I loved to do it at home on the farm and when the cook’s helper left, I expected to replace her. I was jealous and got in a bit of a fight with her and …”

“Ah Lydia” interrupted Frank, as the bubbly blonde parlour maid pushed the door ajar and peered in.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I am scheduled to clean” explained the maid.
“Yes, of course” and Lydia entered the room with her cleaning equipment. “Please continue, Miss Middlemiss.”

“I won.”
“But my source says you did start the fight! The full story, now.”
“Oui. Tell us why you expected the position?” added the Frenchwoman.
“I did …”
“Go on” encouraged Chef.
“The House Steward told me if I performed a service for him, I would be promoted.”

“Oh I’m sorry, sir” said Lydia as she knocked a lidless ink bottle onto Frank’s lap. Frank stood upright.
“Here, let me clean it, sir” and she started rubbing his genital area with a cloth. At this point the Earl could see that Ruth was open mouthed with Madeleine’s arms on her shoulders reassuring her and letting her know, “We make no promises here. Your body is your own.”

“I’ll have to change them.” announced the victim of the accident. Bill, and Ruth, expected at least someone to leave the room at this stage. The Earl was laughing silently as, bold as brass, Lydia removed Frank’s trousers. Ruth looked at first, then covered her eyes but not very well. If she had wanted to leave the room, the pressure on her shoulders was stopping her.

Lydia left with the trousers and the somewhat stimulated questioner continued the interview in his buttoned-up drawers. “Let me be straight with you, Miss Middlemiss. To work here you must not divulge any events within this house. Servants are still servants but are treated as human beings. Unlike servants in less forward thinking households, they do not have to pussy foot around and are able to speak their mind most of the time. Male and female staff are allowed to mingle freely and are paid on the same suitably generous scale. In a moment, Madame Petit will release you. If you leave you have no chance of employment here.”

The Earl left his position, but motioned Bill to keep watching. Ruth did not run. However disorientated she was by events, she wanted to work at the Hall. She had not told them the whole truth, but now trusted them enough to keep their secrets. The Earl entered without knocking causing Frank to rise to his feet. The Earl said “Really Mr Chapple, at this time of day?” and closed the door.

That was the signal for the Estate Manager to pull a document out from a drawer and handed it to the applicant. It was a very explicit but simply worded contract. The Earl’s signature was already on it, Madeleine added hers and exited, while Frank went through it with Ruth until both made their mark. Then they jointly signed what Frank called “the public contract.”

Back in the Earl’s office, a smiling Wickers spoke to a fascinated Bill. “We do like to have our fun. We have to make sure our servants know what to expect. If they need any extra encouragement, the pay acts a strong incentive, but that is a somewhat vulgar topic and Frank will apprise you of the details.”

The noble then changed the subject. “As you may know, my wife and I have an open marriage.” Actually Bill was not cognisant of that particular titbit, but he still chose to nod rather than interrupt his host. “Enforcing society’s expectations of monogamous behaviour is the result of a lack of imagination, not too mention cruel. You should consider nobody in this house off limits as a lover, and I mean nobody. I wonder … when would be an appropriate time to broach Ruth about painting her as a milkmaid?”

“Erm?” Bill was trying to grasp the notion that the Earl had just given him permission to sleep with his wife? After all he had already been made love to by one of his daughters.
“Don’t worry Mr Wood, I was thinking out loud. I must divest myself of these vestments and become an artist. Enjoy yourself at Cockshoots.”
“Thank you, sir.”

Who knows what else went on in Cockshoots Hall?