Candle Street Hall

by Monica Belle

  When we did I was half hoping that the coach would fill up, giving me an excuse not to be so dirty. It didn’t, two people getting off in return for just one, and he chose to sit right at the front. I was biting my lip as we pulled away again, but every time I thought of Julian and how he’d handled me my muscles gave a little, sharp jerk. The moment we’d picked up speed again my skirt was up. I was soaking wet, which was no surprise, and just to touch myself brought my naughty feelings on so strong there was no going back.

  As I began to stroke myself I was imagining that Julian was with me, his mouth set in that wry smile of his as he watched me masturbate. He’d order me to do it, enjoying my shame and the thrill of making me be dirty with myself as much as the sight of me with my skirt hauled up and the damp white triangle of my knickers on show as I stroked myself through the material. Yet that wouldn’t be enough for him. He’d want me bare, and he’d tell me to pull my knickers aside, no, to take them right off.

  To think was to act. With trembling fingers I slipped my knickers down and off, stuffing them hastily into my bag before getting back to work. It wasn’t going to take long, not long at all. I was rubbing eagerly, my clit a hard bump under my finger, the steady vibration of the engine an added thrill. Again I thought of Julian making me do it, and making me return the favour, bent down into the double seat with his lovely big cock in my mouth.

  I hadn’t sucked him, though I’d wanted to; I felt a sudden pang of regret even as my orgasm started to build. It was such a shame, when his cock was so perfectly suckable, and I’d only insisted we might still have been at it when Vanessa caught us. I’d have been on all fours, my bottom stuck up in the air and my knickers off to show her every single rude detail of my body as she came in, grabbed me by the hair, forced my head down on Julian’s erection and held me firmly in place until he’d come in my mouth, calling me a slut as she forced me to drink down every last drop. It was a lovely climax, long and hard, but as I finally let myself go limp and hastily tugged my dress back down all my earlier shame came flooding back, for what I’d done and the way I’d been caught, but mainly for coming over the thought of the vicious bitch holding me by my hair as she made me swallow Julian’s come.

  It wasn’t exactly the first time, more like the thousandth. I’ve always had a little kink in my brain which makes the most inappropriate things the most exciting, especially when I’m just about to come. Fantasising about Vanessa Aylsham being rough with me was really no different from 101 similar dirty details which had crept into my mind at the moment of orgasm. I’ve learnt to handle it, sort of, but there’s no getting away from that first moment of hot shame when I’ve just given myself an orgasm over the thought of somebody being cruel to me, or unspeakably dirty with me, or humiliating me in some way, and more often than not it’s another woman. Vanessa was a prime candidate too, with her knowing sneer and her money and her perfect but artificial beauty.

  I did my best to put her out of my mind, but I wasn’t giving up on Julian so easily. Back in Ipswich I immediately checked my email, but there was nothing and I didn’t want to seem too eager, so I didn’t send anything. I probably would have done the next day, because I’ve never been very good at playing hard to get, but real life gave me a nasty shock. My room was owned by the university and I knew full well I wouldn’t be able to stay there for ever, but with no students coming up until well into September I’d hoped to spend the summer there, and even that they might forget to charge me any rent for the period.

  The shock, the first shock anyway, was padding downstairs in my nightie and knickers just in time to meet a workman coming in at the front door. He was big, fleshy and completely bald, with a pair of little piggy eyes fixed firmly on my chest. I beat a hasty retreat, returned more decently clad to find five of them in the kitchen, where I learnt that the entire house was due for redecoration over the summer. They were very nice about it, and offered to let me stay until they needed to get at my room, but that was only a week. Not that I could really stick around for that long when they were going to turn most of the utilities off.

  My first thought, the natural one, was to give up on my independence for a while and make for my parents’ place in Brittany. It wasn’t the perfect solution though – far from it – as not only would I be putting myself under constant pressure to find a job but I’d have completely blown any chance of seeing Julian again. Finding some casual work locally and renting a room would have been a better choice, but there’s not much call for a third-class degree in the history of art and burger flipping wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

  For three days I held off, but it looked like Brittany for me and I was pretty fed up when I came down on what had to be my second to last day in Ipswich. Julian hadn’t been in touch either, and I’d begun to wonder if he actually thought of me as no more than a quick shag. It was nearly noon, and the workmen had put the post on the table, two items of obvious junk mail and a large, expensive-looking envelope with a crest. I only glanced at it casually, expecting it to be some sort of fiddle but was surprised to see that it was addressed to me, and by hand.

  The letters under the crest read “Aylsham Estates”, sending me into a panic as I imagined Vanessa suing me or having me summoned for misusing her bed. I tore open the envelope and my stomach went tight at the formal “Dear Miss Anthony” and the dry tone of the opening line. That stayed the same, but my reaction turned from apprehension to astonishment. It was an offer of a job interview, for the post of assistant manager at Candle Street Hall, and from the secretary of Sir Henry Aylsham Bart. Sir Henry Aylsham could only be Vanessa’s husband.

  I could only imagine it was Julian’s doing, because Vanessa had made her opinion of me extremely clear and I hadn’t even met her husband. That suggested Julian had a great deal more influence than had been apparent, enough to persuade a self-satisfied bitch like Vanessa that the girl he’d been bonking in her marital bed was an appropriate candidate for a job. That in turn suggested that Julian wanted me, badly, which set my heart racing as I read over the letter twice more in case anything had escaped me.

  Nothing had. It was absolutely straightforward, offering me the interview and providing a phone number and an email in order that I could respond promptly. I did, hoping to get Julian, but finding myself talking to the secretary, who confirmed the offer and asked if I could come over the following afternoon. With that I could no longer hold back. I rang Julian, only to be put straight to voicemail.

  Puzzled and frustrated, I set about sorting the last of my things out. Fortunately I’d had good friends in the year below me, rather too good in fact, because they were one of the reasons I’d spent my time partying instead of revising. That did at least mean I could store my stuff, and I spent that night in an almost bare room, thinking of what might happen the next day until I drifted off to a sleep troubled by dreams of Vanessa as Lady Howard, stalking me through the Norfolk lanes with a gigantic, spectral hound at her side.

  I woke early, to a day already warm and still. My interview wasn’t until mid afternoon, but I was determined not to be late and hoping to speak to Julian first, perhaps rather more. The coach was a lot busier than before, the bus hot and stuffy, so that the journey to Candle Street seemed to last for ever. I was supposed to go to the estate offices, which I’d assumed would be in the Hall but turned out to be in a red brick gatehouse at the beginning of the drive, which I’d passed on my way home before but failed to notice the sign. It was very different to Candle Street Hall itself, with double-glazed windows opening into white-painted rooms and everything seeming very brisk and efficient. I didn’t need to be there for an hour, but made the mistake of pausing to read the historical information on the Hall, which was displayed on a huge board beside the drive.

  ‘You’re early, Chloe, which I shall take as a sign of efficiency.’

  It was Vanessa, speaking from directly behind me and, for the second time, nearly making me jump out of my skin. I babbled something about not liking to be
late, but she took no notice, turning on her sharp designer heels and making for the gatehouse. She was still talking, but didn’t bother to turn her head.

  ‘I suppose I can find the time to interview you now. Follow me.’

  I followed, feeling a bit like a puppy, and a badly behaved one at that. We entered the house, passing a room in which a thin man who I took to be the secretary was working at a keyboard, but instead of going into any of what were obviously offices, she clattered up the stairs, still not bothering to look back. The upstairs was a flat – small, comfortable and modern – again very different to the Hall itself. She obviously lived there and I felt a touch of relief that I hadn’t after all intruded on her marital bed for sex.

  ‘Sit down.’

  She had indicated a straight-backed wooden chair as she spoke. I sat down, feeling rather small, as if I were once again in the headmistress’ study and about to be told off for putting a hockey ball through the window of the Senior Common Room; for all that I knew I’d been sat on the plain chair in order to make me conscious of my low status next to Vanessa. She poured herself a drink – gin and tonic – made slowly and carefully with ingredients taken from a small fridge within what looked like an antique sideboard. I didn’t get offered anything, and when she sat down it was on the big sofa opposite me, with her long legs crossed and the toe of one shoe pushed out as if she expected me to go down on my knees and kiss the shiny black leather. She took a sip of her drink, then nodded, her dark eyes regarding me thoughtfully, her painted mouth scornful, amused. I felt I ought to say something, but when I began she raised a finger to hush me and I found myself obeying automatically. She was dressed in a suit of fine grey wool – very businesslike, especially for the country, and obviously expensive, adding to my sense of inferiority, because while my interview suit was smart by student standards her own clothes made it look cheap and shabby. Finally she spoke.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I’m 23, but I do have experience in conservation ...’

  ‘And you have a degree of sorts, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, in history of art, which I hope would be ...’

  ‘And you’ve known Julian since you were at college?’

  ‘Well, yes, I ...’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  ‘Yes, quite well. I ...’

  ‘Do you have any strong religious convictions?’

  I hesitated, because it seemed an odd question, and one expecting the answer to be yes, otherwise it was hard to see why it would be important. She spoke again before I could find a convincing answer.

  ‘Clearly you have no morals in any event.’

  ‘Mrs Aylsham!’

  ‘Lady Aylsham.’

  She went quiet, leaving me blushing and fidgeting, yet not daring to challenge what she’d said. Her eyes were fixed on me again, with that same superior, knowing look, but I finally managed to find my voice.

  ‘Lady Aylsham, look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but ...’

  ‘Not at all. I think we started very well and I think we shall get on very well, as long as you do as you’re told. When can you start?’

  I’d meant to respond to her first remark with some comment about fulfilling my duties to the best of my abilities, for all that I wanted to ask exactly what she meant, but her question took me completely by surprise.

  ‘Start?’

  ‘Yes, start work.’

  ‘Er ... as soon as you like, I suppose.’

  ‘Good. Tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp then. You can go.’

  I hesitated, astonished by how abrupt it had all been and very sure that wasn’t normal for job interviews, despite my lack of experience. She took another sip of her drink then looked up.

  ‘Run along then. You can go and see lover boy if you like.’

  ‘Yes, but ... I mean, thank you, but where will I be staying? How much does the job pay?’

  ‘Graham deals with the money. You can pick a room at the Hall – any of them except the ones open to the public, and that includes the one where I caught you getting your little tail serviced.’

  My mouth came wide in outrage and astonishment for her words, but instead of the cutting response I intended I found myself thanking her again and leaving the room, dismissed. I’d got the job, and if the way they ran the estate seemed highly peculiar then at least I would be with Julian, and living in beautiful Candle Street Hall. It was impossible not to feel good about it, so good I wanted to sing.

  Graham was the secretary, and he rather grudgingly allowed me to interrupt his work in order to sort out the paperwork necessary to make me officially an employee of the estate. The pay wasn’t brilliant, but with accommodation and presumably food thrown in I couldn’t really complain. I’d have a lot of free time too, by the look of things, and I knew exactly how I planned to spend that time.

  Chapter Four

  UNFORTUNATELY JULIAN WAS NOWHERE to be found. I’d been more than eager to tell him the good news, and imagining how we’d celebrate, which left me both disappointed and frustrated, but there was plenty to do. First was my choice of room, and while it was a great pity not to be able to use any of the grand and beautifully furnished main bedrooms, even what had once been the servants’ quarters were quite spacious and had wonderful views across the fields to the distant Broads, with windmills and the sails of yachts rising above the hazy green of the reed beds.

  The best of the servants’ rooms occupied one corner of the building where it turned into itself and overlooked a more or less derelict area of stables and outhouses. Julian had taken it for himself but it was unlocked, allowing me the guilty thrill of looking over his things, although I stopped short of actually rummaging. There was plenty of interest anyway, including some very peculiar books, on haunting, witchcraft, the occult, which I could only suppose gave him background for his job. There was also a skull, from a goat or maybe a sheep, with curly horns and a black candle on top, half burnt down so that the white of the bone was spattered and streaked with wax. I told myself that would also be a prop, along with the bronze pentagram and the dagger of curious oriental design on top of his chest of drawers. The box of coloured children’s chalks was a little harder to explain, but only made him seem more mysterious.

  I was sure he’d come back and catch me, and be angry, so I soon left. It seemed likely I’d be spending my nights with him, or at least I hoped I would, but I wanted a room of my own anyway. The next best seemed to be the one across the passage, also a corner room but smaller and looking directly across the fields to the fringe of reeds that marked the river. I’d only brought an ordinary bag, but put it down on the chest of drawers to mark my occupation. The bed was bare and I set to work finding pillows, sheets and blankets because they didn’t seem to have discovered duvets, all the while hoping Julian would come back.

  With my room as habitable as I could make it I spent a while looking around the rest of the house, still waiting for Julian. I was staring out of the window in the room where we’d made love – if that was at all the right expression for the way he’d handled me – when I caught a glimpse of somebody among the trees, some distance from the house. Fairly sure it was him, I went outside, following a path round the house to the old yard and in among the oaks and willows that formed a little wood to the rear.

  The rise of land on which the house was built extended quite a way at the back, and only a narrow path led through the woods, although I could tell it had been wide and straight, while the biggest oaks had been planted in neat lines and must once have formed a short but fine avenue. That seemed a little odd, as I was heading for the river, but at the margin of the wood I came across a folly of flint and brick and black iron, which seemed to have been built on the foundations of an earlier bigger structure. It had five sides, with steps leading up from the path between twin pillars and tall arched windows looking out at the woods and across to the distant Broads.

  I went in, to find the interior dry and bright with sunlight, the air fresh an
d clean but tinted with the smell of the woods and something else, faintly organic. There were two stone benches and a dais at the centre, perhaps designed for a panorama of the view but now blank but for a dark stain as if somebody had spilt ink across the stone surface. I wondered if Julian came there to write, and if so whether it would be prose or poetry, and whether he would ever allow me close enough to want to share it.

  As I stood there, thoughtfully tracing the outline of the stain with my finger I began to wonder if I hadn’t got it all wrong, and if he really wanted me at all. He wasn’t there, after all, and it was entirely possible that Vanessa Aylsham simply wanted a cheap and compliant estate worker. I’m very good at working myself into a depression over nothing, and I’d just got to the point at which I was wondering if it wouldn’t be best to make straight for the bus stop when I heard the crackle of footsteps on dead leaves. Julian appeared, jumping up the steps, his normally wry smile now broad and welcoming as he took me in his arms.

  ‘There you are! I’ve been searching for you everywhere. I thought you would be at the estate office?’

  ‘I was early. Vanessa ... Lady Aylsham interviewed me then and there. I got the job!’

  ‘Of course. I asked her to make the offer.’

  ‘And she did, after ...’

  He laughed, kissed me on the tip of my nose and carried on. ‘We have a ... a funny relationship, Vanessa and I, and she trusts my judgement. After all, it was me who turned this place around.

  ‘Yes. The estate was just about breaking even when I first came here, and now they’re doing really well, mainly from TV fees, although the tours bring in a bit. There are practically no overheads, and I’ve managed to secure grants, but that’s all very dull. I’m so glad you took up the job. Come here.’