The Housekeeper Novels & Stories

My stomach had been knotted all day, but now it was a dull, insistent ache. I made my way down the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer. The house was too quiet. It lacked the smells of a real home—there was no scent of garlic or simmering soup, only the sterile fragrance of expensive floor wax and fresh lilies. I found the dining room, but the table was cleared. Not even a glass of water remained. "Looking for something?" I jumped, spinning around. A woman in a black-and-white uniform stood by the sideboard. Her name tag read Mrs. Gable. She was the head housekeeper, and her expression was a perfect mirror of Eleanor Wolfe’s: cold and unimpressed.

“Don’t you often find that position filled by a woman? It explains why you wouldn’t have time to focus on housecleaning.” “That and Hilda claimed years ago I could burn water and so I got banned from working in the main house’s kitchens.” “Who’s Hilda?” “She’s the chief cook and housekeeper at the p… main house. If you need anything for everyday living, you talk to her. She gets it all cleared away for accounting and such.” “Wait, you pool money together? Don’t you have your own money?”

Gage. It was softer, older, and warm in that maternal way only women who ran entire households seemed to have. When I finally blinked my eyes open, the blurred outline of the housekeeper came into focus. She stood beside my bed holding a small laundry basket, her expression apologetic as if she hated waking people even when it was her job. “Sorry to disturb you, dear,” she said with a kind smile. “I need to clean your room.” For a moment I just stared at her, confused.

She called the housekeeper to clean the hall of the debris of broken crockery and vases; she also ordered her “Remember to get the exact replacements first thing in the morning tomorrow.” “Yes madam” housekeeper nodded without any expression. She had only been with the Holston household for 2 years and was transferred here from the old house when the previous housekeeper retired. She didn’t have any sentiments or attachments to this mistress who treated everyone poorly. Michelle didn’t even give the housekeeper a second glance as she walked upstairs after giving orders, let alone apologizing for waking her up in the middle of th

The housekeeper hesitated for a moment, then cautiously added, “Sir, would you like me to make some soup for your hangover? You were quite drunk last night. Luckily, Mr. Han brought you back safely. Madam took care of you afterward.” Her words were casual, delivered with practiced neutrality, but they held a quiet undertone of concern. She had worked for the Montclair household long enough to observe things others might not. She rarely overstepped, mindful of her boundaries, but she also couldn’t help but worry. The house had felt different lately—warmer, perhaps, in quiet, fleeting ways. She didn't say anything extraneous. After all, she was worried about los

Jonathan teased Alicia, and she blushed and used her hands to cover her face. Alicia was shy, so she followed Jonathan as he led her into the beautiful house. The housekeeper, Helen Joseph was a middle-aged woman. She bowed and welcomed Alicia, who greeted her, "Good afternoon, Madam." "Welcome, ma'am," Helen said, and Jonathan introduced her. "Alicia, this is my housekeeper, Helen. She takes care of the house until we move in and hire other maids to assist her in taking care of the home," Jonathan added, and Alicia smiled.

She’s laughing too. Still, my stomach flips with… disappointment? I mean, maybe I wanted to see Alan again. She’s a tall, slender, olive-tanned brunette. Her hair is packed up in a ponytail and her light brown eyes are bright, like she’s genuinely happy to be here… in this echoing, cold house. “Hi! I’m Thelma. Housekeeper.” She gestures at the title on her uniform. It’s a shiny, white crest pinned above her navy blue uniform.

It’s ironic since Ariana was originally so vehement against the idea of falling into such gestures. She slides her phone into her back pocket and pauses by the kitchen, alarmed by the sound of the television playing. It must be the housekeeper Williams keeps around monthly. They haven’t been introduced yet, so Ariana pops in to say hello. The housekeeper turns out to be a woman named Dasom who’s older than her by a few years. They make small talk—Ariana explaining Walter’s condition, and Dasom reassuring that the food will be taken care of while she showers and fetches extra clothes.

Facing the queen-sized bed I’m currently on is a large flat-screen TV, with a white couch in the corner. How the hell did I get here? Suddenly I feel cold, as if I’m not wearing anything. I bring my daze down my body, shocked by my bare breast as I quickly lift the duvet to cover myself. “Shit.” I curse, pushing my wayward strands out of my face as I tuck them behind my ear. “I’m sorry, who are you again?” “I’m Helen, Mr. Gray’s housekeeper.” “Right. Of course.” I sigh, licking my bottom lip as I run my fingers through my hair.

He comes out and finds Ada Wood standing at the door in a long plain dress. Ada Wood's hands are grasping the corner of her clothes. Seeing the old housekeeper Abbott, she suddenly wants to give up. She remembers housekeeper Abbott. Besides Zora Baker, housekeeper Abbott loves her most. Unexpectedly, the servant has been changed, and the housekeeper is still the old butler Abbott. It was a long time before she opened her cracked lips. "Housekeeper Abbott, I'm Ada. I'm here to ask my mother to help me." "Second miss, you're back. Hurry up. You go and buy Ada’'s favorite dish." On Butler Abbott's wrinkled face hang two lines of sparkling tears.