When Daisy the housemaid spills a bottle of Ruby Rouge nail varnish on a priceless Persian rug, she finds herself at the mercy of Lady Worthington’s unyielding brand of domestic discipline. A painful and humiliating spanking with a heavy wooden hairbrush ensures that the redness soon spreads far beyond the carpet. The Ruby Rouge Calamity is an exquisitely upholstered tale of blemished rugs... and blistered seats.
In the well-upholstered calm of post-war England, where domestic staff still curtsied while polishing the silver, there resided in a grand Mayfair mansion one Lady Henrietta Worthington. She was a buxom, formidable creature, discreetly entering her fifties, and possessed of the stature of an Edwardian sideboard — with a similar air of uncompromising permanence.
Her floral-print dresses billowed with the pomp and ceremony of garden parties long past, and the pearl necklace she wore was not so much an accessory as a warning label. A descendant, or so she claimed, of minor nobility, she viewed the world as one might view a naughty puppy in need of correction.
When Miss Fenella Devenish checks into a country inn with swan-towel expectations and impeccable standards, she’s not prepared to encounter a chambermaid whose idea of turndown service resembles a laundry accident. But after a frank discussion involving chocolates, apron strings, and a well-handled shoehorn, standards are restored in style. Turn-Down Service is a tale of poise, presentation, and the curiously instructive charm of a properly folded towel.
There was a quiet perfection about The Brindlecombe Arms. The hydrangeas beside the entrance bloomed in a manner that exuded class. Dappled afternoon light filtered through antique lace curtains. And somewhere, from speakers carefully hidden among the cornices, the strains of harp music completed the regal ambience.
Miss Fenella Devenish arrived shortly after three, precisely on time. She was the sort of woman who travelled with her own pillow mist and noticed when a doily had been rotated ninety degrees off-centre. Her reservation was for a junior suite—the “Elysium Suite.” The poetic reference to Greek mythology had appealed to her, although she privately suspected the motif of heavenly tranquillity would not extend beyond the door plaque. Still, it would do.