I had always lived a privileged lifestyle.

I had a mother, and a father, who was a very successful

tradesman. I had never had siblings, nor did I know what it was like to have a brother or a sister. My best
friend, and my only confidant was my nanny, Miss Witherington. My father employed her to look after
me, and to give me a well rounded education. She was the only person I could talk to during the day,
because my parents were mostly out with their friends, attending balls, holding tea parties and ‘building
up a good image’, as they would say. They never had much time for me.

My father died when I was 8 years old. My mother said he died by some kind of heart problems, but I
never really knew the details. In fact, I barely knew anything about him at all. At the funeral, I didn’t cry.
My mother did, and as she kneeled in the dirty ground, sobbing, I tried to comfort her. I just didn’t know
how to, though.

Now, however, it is a few days after the funeral, and my mother has called me into my dead father’s
office. I had only visited his office once before, and even then, it was only so my father could enforce a
punishment after I nearly burnt the house down trying to cook me and Miss Witherington dinner. I had
told her I wanted to make dinner for her birthday, as it was that day, but I had never been properly
educated as to how to use an oven. My mother sits alone on a plush chair, sipping from a teacup. She
gestures for me to sit down on a nearby chair. I sit.

“Marie…” my mother begins. “Your father’s death has been difficult for both of us, but most of all for
me. As a widow, I simply cannot afford to keep you any longer.”

I try to make sense of what she is saying, but my mind cannot run through her meanings. What is she
going to do with me? I have a foreshadowing feeling that something bad is going to happen.

“I can no longer pay Miss Witherington’s wages. Your father took care of that. Since you are no longer
being educated, and I can barely find enough food to feed myself, let alone two people, I have decided
to enlist the help of an old friend.”

She pauses to take a sip of tea. I can see the smudge of lipstick her lips leave on the rim of the teacup.
Her words hit me harshly, but I feel numb. I leave my face clear of emotion. My mother continues,
despite my silence.

“I have known Charles Benningson ever since I was a little child. Although I have not seen him in many
years, he has agreed to employ you as a cleaner for his house. In return for cleaning, he will provide
food and appropriate shelter for you.”

She takes another sip of tea. I don’t know what to say, and apparently, neither does she. We are left
with an awkward silence.

“So you’re sending me away? Will I ever see you again?”

My mother hesitates. I can already the answer to the second question. “Maybe sometime in the future,
Mr. Bennington will allow you to visit me.” We both know that will never happen. “You leave tomorrow
morning. You are allowed to bring only one suitcase for clothes.”
I nod silently. My mother takes another sip of tea. “You are dismissed.”

The next morning is especially chilly. My suitcase is very light, as it only contains six pieces of clothing.
My driver lifts it up easily onto the rack on top of the carriage. He opens the door for me, and I stumble
to get inside. The steps are too big for me. The driver quickly starts the carriage, and I wave to my
mother through the back window. She waves back, but only once.

The journey is quick, and I arrive at what appears to be Mr. Benningson’s house in about an hour. The
driver retrieves my suitcase from the top of the carriage, and I carry it up with me to the house. No one
is waiting outside, so I knock on the front door, and hear quick, light footsteps behind it. An old lady
opens the door.

“My dear! You must be Marie Duvenstine! Please, come in, come in, it’s freezing outside.” She says. He
voice is very low for such an old lady.

“Excuse me, but where is Mr. Benningson?” I ask, as politely as I can. My mother taught me to always be
on my best behavior, and to be kind and polite to everyone.

The old lady ushers me into a living room. The house looks very expensive, with many important-looking
paintings hung up on the wall. “Of course, you must be wondering who I am,” the lady says, “but please,
first sit down and have a cup of tea.”

I sit down, and accept the offer of tea. “I am Mrs Benningson,” Mrs Benningson tells me. “I am Charles’
mother, and I used to do the cleaning around here, but I’m growing old, and my bones are growing
weaker! The simplest of chores tire me to no end, these days.” She shakes her head sadly. “Charles has
been looking for a new cleaning lady for a while now, and I was delighted when I heard it would be
you!”

She beams at me. I smile back, though only lightly because the only person who has treated me with
such enthusiasm before has been Miss Worthington, and I am not used to strangers being so kind.

“Oh, I still remember when Charles and your mother used to play in the fields in the summertime. They
were the best of friends. You know, you look a lot like your mother, when she was your age.” I listened
with interest. My mother had told me she had known Mr Benningson when she was young, but I had not
expected to hear that they were ‘the best of friends’.

I thought it was time for me to say something. “Well, thank you for letting me stay here. I’ll probably get
to work as quickly as I can.”

“Very well, then, dear.” Mrs Benningson replies. “Mr Benningson has just gone to collect some supplies
from the market, but I can show you your room upstairs after you’ve finished your tea.” She continues
beaming. It becomes a little unsettling, however, I don’t say anything, in case of hurting her feelings.
After I finish my tea, Mrs. Benningson shows me my room, which is half the size of my one at home, or
rather, my old home, however, it has everything I need. The bed seems comfortable enough, and the
wardrobe is big enough to fit all my clothes there. Mrs. Benningson also shows me around the house,
and gives me hints on how to clean various things. She shows me the bathroom, the four different
bedrooms, the living room, the library, and the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about the kitchen, though, dear, I’ll take care of that. I cook all the meals.” Mrs Bennington
says.

Then we come to Mr. Benningson’s office. “You’re allowed to come in dear, just knock first, in case Mr.
Benningson is in here.” The office is carpeted, and contains a desk and many cupboards.

“Don’t touch anything on the desk, and you can open all these cupboards to clean, except this one.”Mrs
Benningson points to a large cupboard with a door on it. “I swear if you do, I won’t stop Mr Bennigson
from punishing you. He was very strict about only two rules in the office, don’t touch anything on the
desk, and don’t open the cupboard.” It’s the first time I see her strict since I’ve met her. My mind
immediately begins to wander as to what that cupboard could hold; what Mr BEnningson wants to hide
so thoroughly. Although I am intrigued, we move on, and Mrs. Benninson shows me the gardens.

Maybe an hour later, Mr BEnningson returns from the markets. He is a stocky and tall man, with blond
curly hair and green eyes. He greets me politely enough, but does not really say too much. To me, he
seems to be acting a little out of place, even if I don’t know him.

Dinner is served by Mrs Benninson, a delicious lamb stew which would challenge even the amazing
dinners Miss Worthington cooks. I miss her already, but as I go to sleep that night, I think, ‘It doesn’t
seem too bad a place here. Everyone likes me, and my job can’t be too hard.’

The cleaning part is probably the worst part of staying with the Benningsons. Although MRs BEnningson
has kept the house relatively tidy, there were many things her old eyes missed, and my cleaning had to
be very thorough. Many weeks passed, and I did not have one message from my mother, however, in
my new home, I did not feel like I needed her very much.

Still, although I trusted the Benningsons whole-heartedly, I could not help but wonder what was hidden
in the cupboard in Mr. Benningson’s office. One day, the house was deserted, as Mr and Mrs
Benningson had decided to attend the funeral of an old friend, though quickly so. I had a whole day of
cleaning ahead of me. The Benningsons had invited a distant relative over for dinner, and he had stayed
for nearly the whole night. Usually, I would clean up straight after a guest had left, but at that hour, Mrs
Bennington had told me to leave my duties till the next day.

It was already early afternoon by the time I had cleaned the living room, the kitchen, two of the
bedrooms, and had just finished dusting the library. I decided to start cleaning the upstairs rooms, so I
knocked on the door of Mr Benningson’s office, forgetting that there was no one in the house. I almost
laughed at myself. I let myself in, and begain to dust the top shelves of the office. I tried to concentrate
on my work, however, my eyes kept on glancing towards the cupboard. It was not locked, and had no
security measures placed on it whatsoever. I tried to finish dusting the room without thinking about the
cupboard…. But if it had been something really important than Mr. Benningson would have put a lock on
it wouldn’t he? A little peek couldn’t hurt.