The masters of the house don't go near the servant's quarters any more, not since their youngest was found half in the oven. It was on Christmas too, way past when the servants had all left to see their own families. Wasn't so much as a stable boy to hand that night.
There was always this unspoken rule that upstairs was for the masters and downstairs was for the servants with only the family's personal servants allowed to traverse the two. You'd get the sack if you were caught on the master's floors but they'd get worse for coming down to us.
It's the old house steward, Mr Mollport. He was a proper ferocious bastard and utterly obsessed with things being in their good and right order. He may have made our lives hell while he was around but at least it all ran smoothly.
When his body was found at his desk, God rest his soul, something in the air changed and it hasn't been quite right since. The Butler and our dear Mrs Housekeeper are trying their best to keep everything running in his stead but he's still got his hands in our business.
Worse than that though, he's fixated on keeping us trapped downstairs and keeping the masters upstairs. The doors are getting harder and harder to open each day, the windows might as well be painted on for all the good they are and the masters aren't faring much better.
Of course they still have it easier than us, the locksmith is allowed upstairs but he's too much of professional to be allowed down here. Were it not for their child's unfortunate passing as the unseen hands of Mr Mollport I dare say they'd have more pity on us.
Such as it is though, we are being replaced. They're building new servant's quarters on top of the stables in the hopes that the damned ghost won't go near it but I reckon it's all in vain. Mr Mollport will want to keep the old order going, even if it meant moving the servants down below himself.
Poor buggers won't even know what'll hit them.
There was always this unspoken rule that upstairs was for the masters and downstairs was for the servants with only the family's personal servants allowed to traverse the two. You'd get the sack if you were caught on the master's floors but they'd get worse for coming down to us.
It's the old house steward, Mr Mollport. He was a proper ferocious bastard and utterly obsessed with things being in their good and right order. He may have made our lives hell while he was around but at least it all ran smoothly.
When his body was found at his desk, God rest his soul, something in the air changed and it hasn't been quite right since. The Butler and our dear Mrs Housekeeper are trying their best to keep everything running in his stead but he's still got his hands in our business.
Worse than that though, he's fixated on keeping us trapped downstairs and keeping the masters upstairs. The doors are getting harder and harder to open each day, the windows might as well be painted on for all the good they are and the masters aren't faring much better.
Of course they still have it easier than us, the locksmith is allowed upstairs but he's too much of professional to be allowed down here. Were it not for their child's unfortunate passing as the unseen hands of Mr Mollport I dare say they'd have more pity on us.
Such as it is though, we are being replaced. They're building new servant's quarters on top of the stables in the hopes that the damned ghost won't go near it but I reckon it's all in vain. Mr Mollport will want to keep the old order going, even if it meant moving the servants down below himself.
Poor buggers won't even know what'll hit them.
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