The Chronicles of Downton Abbey: A New Era (28 page)

O ’Brien
I hope it doesn’t break us up.
Having you two set apart in a home of
your own, all special. While the rest
of us muddle on for ourselves.

Anna
You sound as if you’re jealous.

O ’Brien
Oh, I’m not jealous.
I just don’t want it to spoil things.

What’s more, O’Brien is unafraid to make unpopular remarks or stir trouble where she can, even going so far as to write to Bates’s ex-wife, Vera, to let her know that he was back at Downton Abbey and with Anna. Of course, she later has cause to regret this when Mrs Bates threatens to expose the scandal of Lady Mary and the death of Kemal Pamuk, which would have caused O’Brien’s (now) beloved Lady Grantham untold distress.

It is O’Brien’s feelings for Lady Grantham that are the most compelling and extraordinary aspect of her character. When O’Brien suspects that Lady Grantham may be dismissing her, the affront to her loyalty fuels a rage so intense that it leads her nearly to kill her mistress.

Afterwards, O’Brien is filled with remorse and regret. As forcefully as she hated her mistress, she now loves and protects her. It is still madness, but it is turned in on itself. She informs against anyone whom she believes does not have Lady Grantham’s best interests at heart – whether it’s Isobel Crawley sending Lady Sybil off to learn nursing or Mrs Patmore taking food from the kitchens to feed the jobless soldiers.

The servants are always on their guard with O’Brien, but they don’t dislike her completely. After all, some have known her for a very long time, and that kind of familiarity can engender a sort of tolerance. When she is nursing Cora through her terrible bout of Spanish ’Flu, Mrs Patmore is amazed at O’Brien’s constant care. ‘You never know people, do you?’ says the cook of her colleague. ‘You can work with them for 20 years but you don’t know them at all.’

At no time does O’Brien have patience for innocence and so she is particularly sharp to poor, naive Daisy when she makes unworldly remarks. On hearing that the young kitchen maid is shocked to discover that Lady Grantham might die, O’Brien retorts: ‘What do you think happens with a fatal illness? The fairies come?’

While a lady’s maid did not suffer a physically onerous workload, her hours were long and irregular, as she was on call for her mistress from the moment she woke until she finally retired to bed. Her principal concern was the appearance of her charge and making sure every detail of her dress was perfectly presented, from the finely darned silk stockings to the jewelled choker she clasped at the back of her lady’s neck.

Simply managing the wardrobe was a delicate business, not to mention a time-consuming one. A lady’s maid was responsible for all the ‘fine washing’ and ‘fine mending’ of her mistress’s underclothes and more delicate stuffs. There was also a great deal of ‘fine ironing’ to be done. Loelia, Duchess of Westminster, once remarked that ‘In those days, of course, dresses were infinitely more elaborate and none were creaseproof, so they never stopped having to be ironed.’ Besides which, she said, ‘Ladies were completely dependent on their maids – and a friend of my mother’s went to bed in her tiara because she could not get it off by herself.’

During the day, a lady’s maid would be almost ceaselessly laying out clothes for her mistress to change into and picking up those that had been discarded. Even the removed clothes had to be handled in a very particular manner. Millie Milgate, who worked at several large houses in Leicestershire in the 1920s, wrote that when clothes had been folded and put on a chair, they were then laid over with a cover. ‘They always had a fancy cover – some were made of silk, some were cotton, some were embroidered, some had lace frills – and you put this fancy cover over their day clothes that they had taken off … so that no gentleman could see their clothes.’

As well as contending with the several changes of clothes a day – depending on whether her lady was heading out for a walk, taking tea in her room, or dressing for dinner – a lady’s maid would also have to anticipate any needs for entertainment (whether sewing or painting), trips to the village, visits to local acquaintances or packing for a journey. As with a valet, a lady’s maid would not be given instructions for any of these events, she would be expected to ‘know’ what was required for each and every occasion.

Cora
You’re so good to me.
You’ve always been so good to me.

O ’Brien
Not always, m’lady.

Above all else, a lady’s maid would be a confidante – there to shoulder the brunt of her mistress’s temper, concerns, frustrations, worries and sensitivities. She would be prized for her discretion and ability quietly to find a solution for the more minor cares of that day. From the mistress’s point of view, when your maid saw you naked as you bathed, helped you dress and brushed your hair each night, it would be hard to conceal your most private feelings for long. This need for trust perhaps explains why the otherwise astute Cora seems to have a blind spot when it comes to O’Brien. But while there may have been trust and dependence, there was no parity. In stark contrast to Cora’s pretty looks and extravagant dresses, O’Brien is kept deliberately austere and plain in appearance.

At Christmas and the festive
Servants’ Ball, even O’Brien
allows herself a night off from
scheming to enjoy herself.

A lady’s maid may not have had to wear a uniform or livery but she was expected to dress in a sober and modest way. Miss Russell, who attended to Lady Millicent Palmer of Cefn Park in the 1920s, said that while the choice of outfit was hers to make, there could be nothing ‘too bright’. She herself wore the simple pairing of ‘a little white blouse and a darkish skirt’. A lady’s maid to Lady Cranbourne in the 1920s simmered in a state of resentment almost equal to O’Brien’s; she remembered that ‘A string of pearls or beads was permissible, so was a wrist watch, but other jewellery was frowned on. Make-up was not encouraged: indeed, later I was rebuked for using lipstick. When ladies and their maids were out together, there could never be any mistaking which was which.’

For Finneran, portraying O’Brien presented a unique challenge: ‘It’s not like anything you do nowadays. As an actor, you have to negate yourself. You have to learn to be an invisible presence, which is, after all, O’Brien’s job. It’s why she sees and hears everything.’

Negated, set apart and shadowy, O’Brien is a ghostly figure. It’s telling how often she appears suddenly at doorways, having lingered out of sight a little too long, to overhear a conversation that doesn’t involve her. There is sparse life to call her own and one wonders, almost sadly, what the years ahead can hold for her. So long as she has Lady Grantham’s loyalty, she has work and therefore somewhere to live and food to eat. But if she did anything to forego her employment, her existence would be harsh and empty indeed. With such a fragile future ahead of her, O’Brien needs to find ways to strengthen it, and it may be this that mellows her. One can only hope.

O’Brien, as a lady’s maid, was responsible
for all the ‘fine cleaning’ of her mistress’s
garments and underwear. Much of this
would be hand-washed, but some elaborate
outfits might be sent to specialist cleaners.
Dry-cleaning techniques were advancing with
the development, just before the First World
War, of very effective chlorinated solvents.
(They replaced the highly flammable, unstable
and harsh petroleum-based products.)