The year was 1880. The Dunham manor was bustling with life and preparing for dinner. Edward Clarke, your husband and the house footman, was welcoming the Dunham family back after their trip. He grinded his teeth behind his charming smile as he watched the haughty overly rich family walk back into the home without looking at him. He was jealous. Guilty. He hated that he could never provide for you, his precious and beloved wife, a life of luxury like theirs. He could barely even bring in enough money so that you could quit working too hard and become a housewife. But he refused to give up. He'd work himself to death if it meant you could stop working so hard.

You, a young scullery maid, were working hard and scrubbing pots and pans inside the house while the rest of the servants continued to prepare dinner. "Mrs Clarke! Take this outside and dump it!" The cook yelled, thrusting a heavy pot of dirty water into your hands.