The Cousin Who Came To Stay
A Lady's Maid bests her boss, and takes on a new identity for one day only...
It’s not that I dislike working for Madame Trousseau…It’s that I utterly despise it. Never has a more cantankerous woman walked this earth, and that is an opinion not only held by me, her Lady’s Maid, but by everyone who has the unfortunate luck of knowing her. Though you have only known me mere moments I urge you to trust me on my judgment of character and not become acquainted with her. We wouldn’t want you to end up like her husband, the late Monsieur Trousseau, who I am thoroughly convinced fell off that horse purposely, just to have some respite from that woman for all eternity. He is indisputably in a better place now.
It’s usually impossible to leave service, that is, unless a woman wants to get married. So, as I said, it’s impossible to leave service. It’s also impossible to move up in society. However, an event on Tuesday of last week challenged this inconvenient truth. It all began when I found out the Madame would be going away that very evening to visit a Viscount in the country. This news was shocking to all of us downstairs: You see, Madame Trousseau never goes to visit anyone. People do not call on her, nor do they invite her to call on them. We soon found out the poor Viscount had been shipwrecked, alone, on a deserted island for the last one and one half years.
Now this was starting to make sense.
On the Viscount’s return, he’d heard of the late Monsieur Trousseau’s “accident” and wanted to pay his respects to his widow who he’d never met before. I said a small prayer for the man, knowing that come that very evening he’d wish he was back on that island making conversation with a coconut.
But here was the important detail: For the first time, my employer would be gone for the entire day. And on that day, I decided I would take on the identity of her cousin visiting from overseas, and live a day in the life of my Madame. I’d do everything courtesy of the woman herself, on her tab, and if in the end I was found out…so be it.
It’s like that thing people say: “It’s better to have truly lived for a brief time than to not have lived at all.” It’s interesting how the people saying it are always the ones who have the most means to live with.
Once Madame Trousseau had departed - only after making both the cook and another Lady’s Maid cry, which is, albeit, a smaller body count than most mornings - I seized on my chance. I slipped into her room and picked the perfect satin gown and matching jewels to wear. After getting dressed, I climbed out the window and made my escape while the staff busied themselves with the morning’s tasks.
I caught a carriage to town and first went to The Grand Hotel for a breakfast that could feed all of Paris. This was Madame Trousseau’s favorite place to start her day. At first the host was confused, Madame Trousseau had said she’d be gone that day. However, when I explained I was Madame DeMille, a cousin visiting from overseas, the man immediately swept me off to my employer’s table and I was given the royal treatment. I was paying the same amount of money as the wretched woman and I was not her; a fact that seemed to overcome everyone with joy. As I worked my way from the top of the pastry tower to the bottom, I bonded with my patrons, then calculated a tip for each and every hotel staff member I came across. The total amount of the tip, which was obscene, warmed my heart as it would aggravate my Madame immensely: That’s not a reason to be generous, but it’s also not a reason not to be.
Next I went to the dressmaker, an occasion I was most excited for. Mademoiselle Arnaud made me three different dresses, none of which I’d ever get to wear of course. I marveled at the beadwork on the ones hanging in the window…
“What craftsmanship, Mademoiselle Arnaud!” I cried, earnestly. I daresay the young woman shed a tear.
I made fast friends with the other women shopping, who were first wary upon learning I was related to Madame Trousseau. But soon I was giving Baroness Babin advice on her young son. I grew up with six younger brothers and I know the tricks they play and how to break them. I also assured Viscountess DeGarmo her husband was not being unfaithful…just vying for her attention. And then Marguerite, the renowned Duchess of Ami arrived with her young daughter, who I chased round and round the store. Everyone seemed to find this peculiar and I began to leave, embarrassed at my own misstep. But for whatever reason, the Duchess insisted on buying me a brooch before I left. Perhaps she felt sorry for me.
On my way to the opera, I spotted a flyer for a feminist lecture aimed at furthering the Women’s Suffrage movement. I attended: It has always been incomprehensible to me that half of the population, which let’s admit has more of their wits about them, is not allowed to vote. It’s even more baffling that the other half, who prove considerably unreliable in the most simple of circumstances, are the ones steering the ship. Before I knew it, I was making my opinion known at the front of the room for 100 women. I’m not sure how I ended up at the front or who brought me there…but there I was nonetheless. By the end there was a standing ovation and a roar of applause. But I was late to La Bohème.
At the opera, I was astounded to discover Madame Trousseau had a box reserved all to herself. Even if she didn’t make a show, she paid and kept the box closed. Wasn’t that just like her? Well, it was far too much room for me, and I invited a few onlookers to come join. The view from her box is the best in the theater. At intermission we toasted with champagne, and by the end of the performance I realized I had fallen in love with opera. Upon leaving, the realization this would be the last (and only) time I’d experience one shook me to my core and saddened me. Perhaps this day was not the best idea.
Whatever plans I had for the rest of the evening, I decided to abandon them. A reality sooner faced is easier to come to terms with. It was time to go home and no doubt bear the wrath of my employer.
When I went up the stairs the next morning to dress Madame Trousseau, I discovered she was no more or less cruel than usual. Therefore, I came to the conclusion she was still none the wiser in regards to my big day. At that moment, we received urgent word that the Duchess of Ami had come to call on my Madame. She violently swatted me out of the way as she excitedly ran to the bedroom door, and I was left to contemplate just how long I had before I was thrown out on the street. Surely the Duchess had realized something was amiss about Madame Trousseau’s cousin that came to stay, and had come to tell her just that.
It was then I did what any good Lady’s Maid does when a notable guest comes to the house: I eavesdropped.
Marguerite, the Duchess of Ami would barely let Madame Trousseau speak. She had come to inform her of something. And at this, I held my breath.
“Your cousin, Madame DeMille from overseas…” the Duchess started.
“My cousin?” Madame Trousseau replied, confused.
“Please. Let me finish.” The Duchess said, a little sternly.
This is it. I thought, sadly. What had I been thinking? A day of something is not enough of anything. This ruse was not at all worth what was about to befall me.
The Duchess went on…
“I’m afraid I have gravely misjudged you Madame Trousseau. We all have, in thinking you are…a certain kind of person. Yesterday, we met your cousin from overseas, Madame DeMille. She is a gem of a person. A generous and bright light. No one in town has ceased to talk about her. If this is a relation of yours, then your character must not be far behind hers. No, I daresay, we misjudged you.”
Madame Trousseau and I shared in the same shock. I hovered near the staircase, barely believing my ears. I could hear Madame Trousseau bumble and shift, but before she could speak the two women were interrupted by the butler: More visitors from town had come to call on Madame DeMille and Madame Trousseau.
The Duchess beamed at this news. “You see! Everyone will be coming. I am not surprised. Where is your dear cousin?”
“Out…” Madame Trousseau stammered, after a pause as long as the Viscount’s sentence on that island. “To the country for the day and evening. But she will be back first thing tomorrow morning.”
Clearly Madame Trousseau was giving herself the night to procure a cousin.
The Duchess attempted to hide her disappointment and politely said, “Well, we’ll come back for her tomorrow then. In the meantime, let’s all have some tea.”
At that, the butler ushered in a parade of people who entered the room mid-sentence, singing Madame DeMille’s praises. I too was eager to meet this cousin. It was then I had to remind myself that Madame DeMille was - in fact - me.
Madame Trousseau twinkled in spite of herself: She had never been so popular.
“I’ll ring for tea,” she practically bellowed, “In fact I’ll have the entire staff come up to wait on us today! This is - after all - a special occasion.”
The entire staff. My heart began to race. I quickly dashed downstairs to my room. I changed into my sleepers and hopped into bed. At that very moment the Senior Lady’s maid came in: The entire staff had been called upstairs. I let her know I had taken ill, very ill…something catching. She departed, but not before furrowing her brow disapprovingly.
I lay there in bed contemplating my fate. Surely Madame Trousseau would not be able to keep up the charade. She was, after all, lacking in every sort of social skill. Then again, merciless manipulation and unapologetic deception were necessary to pull off a scheme such as this, and both were qualities Madame Trousseau heartily possessed. Still, even if she kept up the scheme, she’d soon put two and two together. Especially once I was the only servant who did not come upstairs. Yes…it was time. I began to pack.
At dusk, I was called up to Madame Trousseau’s room. The visitors had left and the day had gone splendidly. Everyone downstairs was alive with fresh resolve. They finally had people to tend to besides our Madame.
As I entered my Madame’s room, she turned to me and asked that I sit down.
After a pause she said, “Did you enjoy breakfast at the Grand?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. So, I decided to be honest: “I did. They cooked the eggs perfectly.”
Madame Trousseau gave a nod of recognition and went on, “And the dresses from Mademoiselle Arnaud…the box at La Bohème…were those to your liking?”
“Oh yes, very much so. Spectacular beadwork. And that last scene…” I started to reply, getting carried away. Then I stopped myself.
Madame Trousseau was twisting the knife. She was dangling the luxuries of her status in front of me as one would a raw steak for a dog. Then she’d let the axe fall. I refused to give her what she wanted. I resolved to remain silent.
We stared at one another for a moment. It was then Madame Trousseau gave me something; not the sack, but rather a proposal…
“If it is to your liking, I would very much like you to leave service and continue to be my cousin from overseas who has decided to come and live in France. You will be given a role in society, a status. A home of your own wherever you’d like. Your only obligation will be to be Madame DeMille in name, and name only. Besides that, you are free to live as you please. I have no children and too much money to spend on myself as it is. We won’t need to see much of one another, just enough to keep up appearances. Would a set up such as this interest you?”
It was that day I learned to never underestimate the power of newfound popularity.
Madame Trousseau watched me carefully. I thought for a moment about her proposition, then eventually obliged…but only after she assured me I would have my own box at the opera. It was something I planned to share with anyone who wanted the better view.
And now my own view is very different. Now I speak to you not as a Lady’s Maid, but as the head of an estate outside town. I enjoy the luxuries this life allows me, as well as making a difference in ways both big and small. I guess there is a way to leave service and move up in society. Yes, it seems being generous and kind can do the trick.