The Observations

by Jane Harris

  . . . The very sight of Morag now turns my stomach. I am sure the poor girl cannot help being so ugly but I do wish that she would disappear so that my gaze would never have to alight upon her again. She is truly a wretch. I will be glad to see the back of her.

  Here, I put down the book and went and looked out the window. There was nothing to be seen out there but the night sky, a few bluish clouds scudding across the face of the moon.

  Such terrible things missus had said about that girl. I was having a premonition. And my premonition was this. That I should read no more of this book, The Observations, because I might find out some things that would upset me. I think I may even have spoke out loud to myself, ‘Do not read on, my dear, do not read on.’ At one point I even went over and closed the book and made to put it back in the drawer. But then I thought away to Hell out of this, you may not get another chance to see what she has wrote about you.

  And so once again I opened The Observations and with trembling fingers turned the pages until I came across this title, Bessy.

  And then I saw that it was worse than I feared for underneath—in different ink that had been added later—were these words, The Most Particular Case of a Low Prostitute.

  But there I must stop for I have been writing for hours today, the hand is near enough dropping off me and they will be ringing the bell soon for supper.

  PART TWO

  7

  A Most Particular Case

  INTRODUCTORY NOTE. I beg it to be understood that what I transcribe here from Arabellas ‘Observations’ is intended only for the eyes of those gentlemen that have asked me to give my account and that these extracts should not be reproduced by anybody in any way shape or form whatsoever without prior application to me.

  I will transcribe only what I think relevant and leave out parts that have less bearing on this history for instance sections which itemise my measurements what have you, and the many detailed accounts of experiments where she notes how many stand/sits I performed or how I responded to her moods and strange requests &c. I ask the reader only this, to imagine the cold feeling of anguish that crept into my bones as I stood there in the missus bedroom and read what she did write about me.

  Extracted from The Observations, by Arabella R.

  Bessy

  (The Most Particular Case of a Low Prostitute)

  This subject came to us by chance, after the sudden departure of her predecessor. I employed Bessy in awareness that she had not much experience of domestic work, intending to ‘train’ her. Little did I know what dark secrets she had left behind her in Glasgow.

  PREFATORY REMARKS

  Age between 14 and 16 years (though claims to be 18!) Smaller than average height. The subject’s hair is brown, a little wild and lacking in arrangement. She is rather broad in the face, with a short nose, startling blue eyes and an expression that occasionally has a shifty cast. From time to time, she becomes blank-eyed, as though stunned—although perhaps she is only daydreaming. The most pleasant feature is the mouth, which one might almost say was pretty, although she is much given to pouting and sucking on her fingers, which lends her an unfortunate sultry appearance. She sings little songs as she goes about the place, songs of her own devising it seems, but I suspect that a bad temper may lurk beneath her superficially ‘sunny’ nature. There is something about her—I cannot quite put my finger on it—but she seems rather ‘deadened’ and lacking in some element—perhaps emotion?

  She claims to have most recently been employed as a housekeeper but I find this assertion, given her appearance and youth, unlikely. Initially, I presumed that she had wandered adrift from some kind of pageant or circus, because when she arrived here (en passant to Edinburgh) she was dressed in a brightly coloured satinet costume which was heavily adorned with bows and lace. However, I have since decided that she is not an acrobat or performer: she simply lacks discernment in attire. I have observed her over the past week and am now convinced that she is just a simple factory girl and her gaudy garments are what pass as ‘Sunday best’ clothes.

  I doubt that she has ever worked in service because she appears to have little grasp of how to go about the most basic domestic task. For instance, yesterday I found her scrubbing at the pale yellow rug in the parlour with a crumpled up piece of newspaper—effectively rubbing newsprint into the fibres and staining them a dirty grey! When asked to explain her actions she told me that she had dropped a few shards of coal onto the floor while sweeping the hearth and she was just ‘makin’ it tidy’. In other words, not only was she rubbing newsprint into the rug, she was grinding pieces of coal into it in addition!

  Such is the unpromising raw material with which I am presented: a coarse girl, with no domestic experience and very little common sense. Even Morag, despite her flaws, was familiar with housework. Surely (I can hear the reader exclaim), this new subject is beyond even my powers to bring under control? Is it not the case that, faced with such a challenge, I must finally come to my senses and admit defeat? I am willing to give some thought to these objections and, having done so, find myself bound to reply forthwith and as follows: that, on the contrary, it is my intention to domesticate the girl, within a period of no longer than three months, to a standard that would be acceptable in any household!

  I have written a letter to the address where she claims she used to work, explaining the situation and requesting of whoever receives it a character and any other information that they may have about her. Of course, she may just have invented the address, in which case there will be no reply.

  INITIAL DISORIENTATION

  With this subject, I began the process of experimentation on the very night she arrived by going to her as she slept. The air inside her room was unexpectedly warm and laced with an earthy, drowsy scent. I have smelt something like it before in the rooms of other maids. It is their personal aroma, issued forth in sleep, and very different it is from the scent emitted by those of more distinguished birth. I noted that this particular subject’s odour is also tinged with a pleasant sweetness, as of Parma violets (am not sure what can be deduced from this, if anything. Does it indicate a sweetness of nature? Or is this too obvious an interpretation?)

  By the light of my candle, I could see that she was sound asleep, breathing deeply, her dark hair spread across the pillow. I crept forwards for a better look. She looked so peaceful that I almost had a change of heart about waking her. But, coming to my senses, I decided to go ahead with my experiment as planned. I wanted to see how she would respond, after the disorientation of being awoken, to a range of different humours and I had settled for this occasion on ‘anger’ (the ‘harsh’ mistress); ‘impartial remoteness’ (the ‘fair but distant’ mistress) and then ‘indulgence’ (the ‘kindly’ mistress). In this way, as I believe I shall prove, the subject is made open to new influence and instruction.

  Shamming annoyance, I woke her abruptly and ordered her to follow me downstairs. The girl was most apologetic when she finally appeared in the kitchen. From the anxious glances she kept directing towards the loaf on the table, I deduced that she thought I was angry with her for taking more than one slice earlier in the day, something that I had noticed but not commented upon. Keen to get on with testing the humours, I reassured her quickly and gave her a command in deliberately neutral tones.

  It was at this juncture that something remarkable happened. Since she had arrived, the subject had shown no inclination to exhibit the due deference of a maid to a mistress. Indeed, something in the way she pronounces the word ‘missis’ (her favoured nomenclature for myself) makes it almost more of an insult than a courtesy and she has to be gently and often reminded to employ the term ‘ma’am’. Of curtsies and other tokens of respect, there had been no sign. Perhaps this is only to be expected. In a factory, I doubt that one rarely, if ever, encounters a person of any breeding. However—she now proceeded to make me a curtsey! So very happy was I with this turn of events that it took little effort to adopt the next of my humours, that of
extreme indulgence. Predictably, the girl is—like most of her kind—unsettled by such behaviour in a person of superior status. She gave every sign of being uncomfortable and her relief, when I announced my intention to retire, was palpable.

  Clearly, the disorientation had produced in her some (albeit deeply-buried) trait of servility—but I began to wonder whether the mere fact of having been awoken from sleep caused this or whether it was provoked by one of the humours that I had displayed, and if so was it anger or indifference? I was even tempted to wake her for a second time and try the experiment again and it was only with great difficulty that I refrained from doing so.

  I have heard tell of distinguished and learned gentlemen who spend all night in their laboratories, mixing chemicals in vials and scrupulously recording the results of their experiments. Of course, I could not compare myself to a true Scientist, being only a Dabbler, but even I have lost sleep, so preoccupied have I become with my little ‘hobby-horse’. Nevertheless, no matter how great the urge to press on with my enquiries, I must be careful not to disturb the subject’s rest too much. After all, she is not a vial of Sulphuric Acid that can be lifted and peered at and shaken, no matter what the hour of day or night. Sulphuric Acid needs no sleep and does not hand in its notice, whereas maidservants can and do.

  CLOTHES MAKETH THE MAID

  I am still strongly of the opinion that, in order to make a subject truly obedient, she must be appropriately dressed. Neither of the frocks that Bessy arrived with is in the least maid-like. Perhaps that sort of apparel goes un-remarked in Glasgow among the factory crowd, but here in the Shires, ordinary folk dress more simply and I suspect that (particularly given our dairymaids’ scandalised attitude to her) eyebrows would be raised at the sight of satinet and scarlet silk.

  Not only must the subject feel like a maid, all who see her must be able to identify her as what she is, in order that they respond to her appropriately. Thus any faux pas can be avoided. I have heard tell of a lady’s maid who, in best clothes and on her day off, took a shortcut through the drawing room, and was there engaged in conversation by a gentleman who had mistaken her for a fellow houseguest. The girl was inexperienced enough (or perhaps the more cynical among us might say sly enough) to talk to him as an equal and it seems that quite a budding romance was underway when, just in time, the mistress of the house appeared. One can only imagine this lady’s mortification, under the circumstances. I do not know what happened to the maid in question, but there can be no doubt that she was severely chastised. Of course, a servant need not have a uniform—and indeed in all but the very best households uniformed staff can strike a vulgar and aspirational note. However, to avoid embarrassment, a maid should always be dressed simply and plainly, in her proper clothes.

  To this end, I sent our new girl off on an errand yesterday while I had a look through my own wardrobe for something for her to wear amongst my old everyday clothes. I found nothing suitable but then remembered that in the attic I had stored the belongings of Nora, the very excellent and devoted maid whose death is recorded elsewhere in these pages. It occurred to me that it might be eminently practical to get some use out of her things. They are doing no good to anyone, hidden in a box, and it seems unlikely now that someone will turn up to claim them. Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more I considered it to be a sheer act of extravagance to leave them up there, mouldering, when here was a girl under my roof in desperate need of decent attire!

  The clothes were in need only of a little pressing, which task I accomplished in a matter of moments. The girl returned from her errand soon thereafter (to my great relief—I had begun to worry that the call of the open road, her natural Gypsy instincts and the money in her pocket might seduce her, after all, into wandering off to Edinburgh). Anxious to see what she would look like in the clothes—in other words, that they would be the right size and that she would look appropriately maid-like—I persuaded her to try them on. They are a little tight in the here and there but the fit is adequate. I must say, she was quite transformed. Of course, I certainly did not want this subject to dwell morbidly on the origins of these frocks. Girls of her sort, especially the Roman Catholics, are ruled by a complex set of superstitions, and so I gave her a plausible explanation for the sudden appearance of the clothes.

  The afternoon brought a gentleman caller. Subject served us tea and although Nora’s clothes and a little instruction had made her more maid-like in rehearsal, when faced with a real guest some aspects of her performance were disheartening. It seemed she took a dislike to this guest (all too evident in her dealings with him) and in general, her demeanour lacked an appropriate level of civility. A maid should never betray her own feelings, no matter how deeply they run or how much she absolutely detests and despises a particular character. Unfortunately, we do not always have a say in who enters our home, in who must be entertained and given refreshment. But we have to be polite nonetheless.

  Following his departure, I happened to catch the girl dancing a little jig in the hall and I suddenly had a glimpse of her as a ‘person’. For a moment, I almost envied her the freedom she has—the lack of responsibility and care, only simple duties to carry out, no need to deal with irksome society, her brain untrammelled by the kind of anxieties and worries that plague her superiors and so on. Of course, one could not imagine changing places with such a person—and nor would one wish it! Nonetheless, I suddenly viewed her in a slightly different light.

  I also felt a rather mournful regret for dear Nora. If only it were she, dancing in the hall and not this new girl! I may not have mentioned it before, because it is of no importance, but there is a slight resemblance between the subject and Nora. This Bessy has a little more flesh on her and is younger and under scrutiny, of course, it is clear that she is not dear Nora (with her charming habit of calling me ‘m’lady’!). Nonetheless, Bessy is of Irish origin, of similar height, and the hair is a comparable shade—though Nora’s was, of course, always tidy. Even the shape of face and length of the nose are similar. Of course, anyone might have remarked upon Nora’s prettiness, whereas this girl is not so much pretty as—perhaps, one might say—voluptuous, but now that she was wearing Nora’s clothes, the similarity was more pronounced. I mention it only in passing, as it is of absolutely no importance. All the wishing in the world will not bring Nora back and no-one can replace her since she was in many respects, the perfect servant.

  OBEDIENCE TESTING AND ‘PURPOSE’

  I have already documented the use of the ‘stand/sit’ test for gauging a subject’s tendency to obedience (a less hazardous and more easily controlled version of the ‘walk’ test). Without question, I have shown that the stand/sit test is initially an excellent indication of whether or not a subject is naturally inclined to obey. Readers may not fully appreciate, however, that thereafter, it can be used to measure how well a subject is progressing in terms of aptitude for servility. I had hoped to illustrate this with Morag, Bessy’s predecessor, but her refusal to co-operate in anything but what she saw as ‘regular’ duties meant that we were often in conflict. She refused the stand/sit test point blank, no matter how many times I tried to persuade her. I admit that I was at a loss to know how to proceed. In the end (and with some misgivings) I trapped her in the pantry one morning, having first ensured that it contained some food, a jug of water, a chamber pot, a cushion to sit on and her preferred reading material. I told her (through the door) that I would let her out only as and when she agreed to submit to my test. Morag remained in the pantry for four and a half hours (the length of time I believe it took her to read ‘The Courant’ and take a short nap), after which she seemed to realise that my will was stronger than her own and she agreed to co-operate if I would only set her free. Upon release, she refused to speak to me, and glared rather a lot, but when asked she did perform the stand/sit test for the first time, achieving a rather poor six repetitions. Despite this, I congratulated her and gave her gifts of a shilling and the rest of the day off. It seems
, however, that she was only shamming co-operation in order to achieve her freedom, as—within the hour—she was gone forever from this house. I will pass over the exact manner of her departure. Suffice to say, it was plain that she had very much taken against me and had no intention of returning. (Luckily, that was the day that the new subject wandered onto our land.)

  Of course, Bessy lacks the kind of natural obedience that was present in dear Nora, but at least she is certainly more compliant than Morag. However her early results with the stand/sit test were also a little disappointing. Of course, one must bear in mind that she is not used to service and is therefore perhaps not accustomed to responding, daily and unthinkingly, to what a mistress might ask of her. Unlike those that have been more in the world than myself, I have no real knowledge of how a factory operates, but I imagine that once the labourer has mastered his small task—the pulling of a lever here, or the turning of a cog there—he is left to get on with his work unsupervised, and if this (as I strongly suspect) is the girl’s habitual environment, she will be unused to taking repeated commands.

  When asked later why she did not co-operate fully with the experiment, Bessy stated that she did not understand the ‘porpoise’ of what she was being asked to do. Of course, a truly obedient mind would not question purpose but carry out instructions as commanded, without stopping to analyse why or how. This and certain other of the subject’s peculiarities add weight to my suspicion that she is not innately obedient.

  In an attempt to draw more evidence from the subject, I found occasion to ask about her so-called previous employer. The girl has clearly invented this character—‘Mr Levy’—in order to fit in with her story about having served as a housekeeper. Having created this invention, however, she appears to have been taken in by it. She talks incessantly—and always in glowing terms—about her ‘Mr Levy’. One would think that the man was a saint. I find myself disliking him intensely—and yet I realise that he is only a figment of her imagination! (Needless to say, there has been no reply to the letter that I sent to the address she provided.)