the servants' door

the door that pretends to be a wall. covered both sides in green baize, padded thick, studded with brass-headed nails in fifteen quiet rows. on the family side it lives flush with the wainscot, on the kitchen side it carries the smudge of every shoulder that has ever pushed it.

through it pass the trays, the tea, the toast, the tea-bell answered, the apprentice with a question, and the housekeeper at speed when the bell has been rung twice. it does not lock. it is not meant to be noticed; only obeyed.

its sound is a soft fuff — a breath of cloth on cloth, swallowed by the baize itself. afterwards a small pulse of air arrives in the parlour, smelling faintly of onion or of polish. the family pretends not to hear it. the keeper hears it as the house breathing in.

field-note · stand against the baize for a count of ten. you become, briefly, part of the wall.