Sally

Part 1

Not for those under 18 (or whatever the legal age for this sort of stuff is in your area). If you’re not that old, Boo! Go away now. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activities, especially non-consensual ones, then don’t read this. All characters and situations are fictional.

Copyright 2024 greyscribbler@yahoo.com

Archived on the Read Only Mind web site by permission of the author. This story may be downloaded for personal archiving as long as this notice is retained.

“Oh! Charlotte! If you weren’t in here with me, I’d swear you were out there.”

The Honourable Charlotte Rothermere looked up from the small book she was reading to see her friend Lady Amelia St. Clair half-hanging out of the window of her father’s coach.

“Amelia!” Charlotte cried, her eyes going wide as stared at the sight before her. “What are you playing at? You’re making a spectacle of yourself!”

“Slow down!” Charlotte’s blonde-haired friend ordered the coachman before pulling herself back inside the coach’s elegant interior. “Charlotte! You must come and see!”

Charlotte sighed, putting her book away and edging over towards the window. She and Amelia were fast friends. They had been for most of their eighteen years. But she couldn’t deny that her friend was far more excitable than she was. And prone to flights of exaggeration. Even so, Charlotte sometimes wished that she was as free-spirited as her friend.

“Slower!” Amelia called. Apparently finally satisfied with the speed of the coach, she pointed out the window. “There, look. On the corner.”

It was quite obvious who Amelia was indicating. Ahead, on the corner of the footpath where the road their coach was on met a cross-street, was a young woman. A single suitcase, yellow and slightly battered, stood by her side and she wore a modest grey dress, of a type that any respectable young woman of limited means might wear, long sleeved and reaching to the ground, a simple broad-brimmed hat on her head. There was a hint of decoration around the collar of her dress, but Charlotte could tell that it was crochet, not lace, adding to the impression that the girl was of modest means. She appeared to be simply standing there, as if waiting for something.

“Your eyesight is far better than mine if you can spot a resemblance from this distance,” Charlotte observed sceptically. The girl was about her height and, like Charlotte, had dark hair. But that was all she could see.

“She does look like you,” her friend insisted. “I’ll prove it. Stop!”

“What? No! We can’t!”

Ignoring her friend again and hardly waiting for the coach to come to a halt, Amelia opened the door and leapt out, her skirts billowing about her.

“Amelia!” Charlotte called, following her friend somewhat sedately. “Are you trying to make a spectacle of yourself?”

“Pish,” Amelia replied concisely. “Now come and see. You!” she cried. “You there!”

Charlotte froze on the spot as the girl turned in their direction. After a moment she remembered that breathing was a tolerably good idea.

“Oh,” was all Amelia had to offer. “I say.”

Regarding the girl wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror. There were the differences in their outfits for a start, Charlotte’s far more elegant and expensive, her hair in a stylish, complicated, do, the girl’s simply tucked under her hat. And they weren’t quite identical. There was something about the girl’s face that didn’t make it an exact image of her own. Although, if pressed, Charlotte couldn’t have said quite what. But the resemblance was striking, to say the least.

“Yes, miss?” the girl replied, demurely, showing no hint of surprise.

“I thought she looked like you,” Amelia whispered. “But I didn’t think it was quite that much.”

Charlotte didn’t know what to say. There was something disturbing about seeing someone who looked so much like her.

“What’s your name, girl?” Amelia demanded, quickly recovering her composure. Charlotte wasn’t surprised at how her friend addressed the stranger. If she’d had been pressed, she would have thought her look-a-like was probably older than her, maybe a year or so. But the stranger’s station in life was obviously lower than hers and Amelia’s, so girl it was.

“Sally, miss,” the girl replied, with a bob of her pretty head. “Sally Price.”

“And, Sally,” Amelia grinned, an idea obviously forming in her mind. “Do you have an occupation?”

“Yes, miss,” Sally answered. “I am a lady’s maid.”

Charlotte tugged urgently at her friend’s sleeve before whispering in her ear. “Amelia! You can’t be serious! You simply can’t! I know you like your jokes. I like your jokes. But this would be going too far. My father will have a fit.”

“Don’t worry,” Amelia reassured her friend with a pat on the arm before returning to Sally. “Do you currently have a situation?”

“No, miss,” Sally responded, ignoring, or not hearing, Charlotte’s continued entreaties.

“Well, Sally,” Amelia’s grin grew wider, paying as much attention to Charlotte as Sally had. “My friend here finds herself in need of a lady’s maid. I assume you have suitable references.”

“Yes, miss,” Sally informed her.

“Amelia!” Charlotte implored, dragging her friend aside. “You absolutely cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” Amelia replied, her eyes twinkling. “Can you imagine what a jape this is? What fun it could be? You are always saying that you wish you were more adventurous. Well, now is your chance. And you are in need of a lady’s maid.” Charlotte’s previous maid, Elsie, had recently left service to be married.

Charlotte swallowed, glancing between her friend and the girl waiting patiently on the street corner. “I suppose. If she has the proper references.”

“Well then,” Amelia grinned, obviously considering the matter settled. “Sally, this is the Honourable Miss Charlotte Rothermere. And she would like to offer you a situation as her lady’s maid. I am sure that she shall give you her address. When do you want her?” That last was addressed to Charlotte, but Amelia didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Ah! I know. You may begin this afternoon, after I and my friend return from our shopping.”

---

Charlotte crept into the house. Not that it was easy to accomplish a feat like that. Not when one of your own, or at least your family’s, servants opened the door for you. And other servants ran to take your parcels. But she managed it. Nervously, she glanced towards the stairs, wondering if she if she could make a dash for her room. It would probably only be putting off confronting her father. But it was awfully tempting. Maybe the girl hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Sally hadn’t given any sign that she’d noticed the resemblance to Charlotte, but it was impossible that she’d missed it. Maybe, away from Amelia’s demanding influence, the girl had thought better about taking up the offer.

“Charlotte! About time you were home! In here! Now!” Her father’s voice boomed down the hallway. Swallowing nervously, she headed in the direction of his study. She wasn’t certain that he was angry about Sally. The way he’d called her was his usual form of greeting.

“Ah!” her father declared a satisfied smile creasing lips that were half-hidden under his impressive moustache. “There you are. Good. So. Taken it upon yourself to choose a maid, have you?”

“Um,” Charlotte ventured. It was obvious that Sally had arrived. But her father’s expression gave her no clue as to whether he was pleased or not. “Well, it was Amelia’s idea and-”

“Not really the right way to do it,” Her father cut in. Charlotte wasn’t sure whether he’d actually taken in what she’d said. He often didn’t. “Should have left it to me and your mother. I wasn’t sure about the girl when she turned up. Hastings just about sent her away.” Hastings was their butler. “But I decided I may as well talk to her. Indulgent father and all that. And she does have good references. So I decided we’d give her a chance.”

“You, ah,” Charlotte ventured. “You didn’t mind how she looked?”

“Looked? Looked?” Her father’s brown creased in confusion. “What do you mean, girl?”

“That, she, ah. That she looked a little like me?”

“Does she? Well, you’re both girls and she has the same colour hair as yours. Now that you mention it. Can’t see how that matters.”

Her father had to have noticed more than that. Hadn’t he? Perhaps he hadn’t. Charlotte was used to him not paying that much attention to her. He wouldn’t be seeing that much of Sally, so maybe it didn’t matter.

“Go see your mother. I’m sure she’s made all the arrangements.”

Her mother was another matter. She had to have noticed. When it came to appearances, her mother noticed everything.

“I can speak to her at dinner,” Charlotte offered, thinking again of escaping up the stairs.

“She’s in the front sitting room,” her father announced, Charlotte left unsure whether it was a reply or he’d simply ignored her and continued his previous statement. Regardless, she recognised a parental command when she heard one.

“Ah, Charlotte,” her mother said when Charlotte entered the sitting room. Her mother, Eleanor, was seated in one of the room’s ornate lounge chairs, a picture of elegant repose, one hand holding a decorated fan which she was idly fanning herself with. Her long blonde hair, which she shared with Charlotte’s elder sister Georgiana, was arranged in a braid that was the height of fashion for women of her age. Charlotte was never sure whether she envied her mother’s and sister’s hair colour or not. Her own dark hair, and that of her brother James, came from their father. “That girl,” her mother said, a slightly distant look sweeping over her features for a moment before she focused on her daughter again.

“Yes mother?” Charlotte prompted, wondering if she should make a dive for the door.

“That girl. I’ve instructed Hastings to give her Elsie’s room, of course. I wasn’t sure about her, at first. There is something of a resemblance to you.” At least her mother had noticed. “That could prove an embarrassment. But the girl exists. And it would be a worse embarrassment if someone else employed a servant who looked somewhat like you. I did, of course, interview her at length. I.” That distant look returned, vanishing as Charlotte’s mother shook her head. “Quite some length. She does appear to know her duties. And she has excellent references. So we shall give her a trial. Only a trial, mind. In future, dear, leave such matters to your father and me. Now go and see if she can dress you tolerably for dinner.”

Sally seemed to have no problem with that, a complete outfit laid out on Charlotte’s bed, waiting for her, the girl herself busy packing Charlotte’s purchases away. In, the young woman noticed, exactly the right places.

“Does miss need my assistance in changing?” Sally asked, as she gave a very proper little curtsey. She’d obviously changed, now wearing a black dress in place of her previous grey one.

Of course I need help, Charlotte thought. She wouldn’t be able to undo her dress without assistance. Let alone unlace her corset and get herself into the one on her bed. But Sally had to ask. Anything else would be improper.

“Yes, please,” Charlotte replied, turning around so that Sally could undo her dress. Charlotte’s breath caught. Not that Sally had done anything wrong, if anything her fingers were proving nimbler than Elsie’s. But Charlotte knew that it wasn’t just her dress that would come off. There was her corset cover, her corset, her chemise. She should probably change her drawers as well. The weather was unseasonably warm.

She’d be naked.

Not that that, in itself, was anything unusual. She’d been naked in front of Elsie so many times. How else would her maid help her dress? It was just what it was. Amelia’s maid would see her naked. Her mother ‘s maid would see her mother naked. Not that Charlotte wanted to think about that.

But there was something about Sally seeing her naked that concerned the young woman. She couldn’t think what it was.

Charlotte realised she’d already stepped out of her dress, that Sally was lifting her corset cover over her head.

Was unlacing her corset.

Sally examined the corset carefully after removing it. “It shall need cleaning, miss.”

Charlotte wasn’t surprised. Not by the conclusion, or that Sally had examined the garment. It was, after all, part of the role of a lady’s maid to care for her mistress’ wardrobe. Yet there was something about Sally holding the garment.

Charlotte took advantage of the moment to pull her chemise over her head. Her breasts were exposed. Totally exposed. She had to fight her hands not to cover them.

What is the matter with me? She’d done this so often with Elsie.

It had to be that Sally was new. That was all it could be. She should stop being silly. Her lips pursed tight, Charlotte pulled down her drawers and grabbed the clean pair on her bed.

There, see? Not a problem.

She felt better as each piece of clothing was replaced. Sally did seem to have a decent idea of what she was doing, lacing up the corset without causing any pain, ensuring everything was smooth and well-fitted. She’d even chosen one of Charlotte’s prettiest dresses, a creamy confection, light and airy. Not one she often wore but just right for the weather. It might even earn her mother’s approval.

Which it did.

“We should see you in things like that more often, dear,” her mother commented over dinner. “Too often you choose things that are far too plain. Hopefully Amelia talked some sense into you this afternoon. I shall want to see your purchases tomorrow. If I do not approve we shall send you out again. With Sally. And I shall give her strict orders about what you are to purchase.”

Charlotte had a nasty feeling about what her mother’s conclusions were going to be. There were things Amelia had wanted her to buy that she just hadn’t had the courage for.

Sally was waiting for her when Charlotte retired after dinner, her nightwear laid out on her bed and waiting. Charlotte’s new maid had even chosen one of her favourites for this time of year, a line of small blue bows adorning the neckline, delicate embroidery decorating the neck and short sleeves of the night gown. It was more decorated than most of her dresses.

“Would miss like me to brush her hair?” Sally asked.

“Yes, please.”

Charlotte sat in front of her mirror, her eyes fixed on the image. In one way, it was perfectly normal. A lady, in her delicate nightwear and her maid, in a simple black dress. Something being repeated in all the fine houses across the city. Something repeated every night. Yet Charlotte doubted that in other of those houses did the lady and the maid look so much alike. The same dark hair. The same eyes. Almost, almost, the same face.

Sally took a lock of Charlotte’s long hair in her hands and started brushing.

“Miss has such wonderful hair.”

Charlotte wasn’t sure what to say about that. From what she could see, everything that could be said about her hair could be said about Sally’s.

The girl certainly had a delicate touch. It had never felt quite like this when Elsie had brushed her hair. Not that Elsie had ever done anything wrong, never pulled at her hair or hurt her when brushing. But Sally was so gentle. So soothing. Stroke after stroke.

“You just sit there miss. Just relax.”

Charlotte could do that, the stroke of the brush through her hair so calming.

“You must have had a long day,” Sally continued. “So very tiring.”

It had been. Not, Charlotte admitted, that she had anything to complain about. She realised how privileged her station in life was. But Amelia, however dear a friend she was, could be exhausting. And then there’d been dealing with her parents.

“Best you just sit there and relax.” Sally’s voice was so soft. Did her voice sound like Charlotte’s? As much as the girl’s face looked like hers? Perhaps it did.

“Stroke after stroke. Why you could almost be falling asleep. But you have to keep your eyes open. Do try.”

Maybe the girl’s voice did sound like Charlotte’s. She found it hard, Sally’s voice so soft, to tell the difference between the girl’s voice and her own thoughts.

“So tired. So sleepy. Falling down and down with each stroke. But you have to keep your eyes open.”

Stroke.

“Listening to my voice.”

Stroke.

“Falling down and down and down.”

Stroke.

“Hearing only my voice. So pleasant to just sit there. Hearing only my voice. So comfortable. So relaxing. So simple.”

It was. It was so simple just to sit there and have her hair brushed and listen to Sally.

“Every stroke pulls you further and further down. Until there are no thoughts in your head.”

There were no thoughts in her head. She didn’t need any thoughts in her head.

“You can trust me.” Sally’s fingers were running through her hair as well as the brush and it felt so good and there wasn’t a thought in Charlotte’s head.

Sally smiled, gently, and shook her head. Not that Charlotte noticed. She was simply staring at the image of an empty-eyed girl in the mirror. Sally was still brushing her hair. Over and over. It felt so good. But there were no thoughts in Charlotte’s head.

“Say, ‘I trust Sally’,” Sally’s voice was amused, almost light. Her lips, so like Charlotte’s lips, were so close to Charlotte’s ear.

“I trust Sally,” Charlotte repeated, her voice flat and empty, as Sally stroked her hair again.

“Say it again,” Sally smiled. “Say it until you mean it.”

“I trust Sally.” She had to say it. It wasn’t a thought. There were no thoughts. She simply had to say it. And each time she said it, Sally stroked her hair again.

It felt so good.

“I trust Sally.”

In the mirror, the girl’s eyes were so wide, empty, like pools of dark, still water.

Holding nothing.

“I trust Sally.”

Charlotte didn’t know how many times she said it. How could she? The wasn’t a thought in her head.

Eventually she stopped. She didn’t need to say the words again. She trusted Sally.

The girl paused in her brushing for a moment, regarding her erst-while employer quizzically. If Charlotte had been capable of thought then she might have noticed an expression cross the girl’s face. It was one she might have had trouble interrupting even if she could think. Part regret, part wistfulness. It didn’t last long, quickly replaced by a look of resolve.

“You love me brushing your hair,” Sally declared. “Whenever I brush your hair, you’ll return to this wonderful place. Where there are no thoughts. Just my voice.” Sally paused, as if trying to remember something. Then she smiled. “And if there is just my voice, it has to be telling you the truth.”

There was only Sally’s voice.

So it had to be the truth.

(To be continued)