Under a Stern Reign

by Raymond Wilde

  Genevieve felt despair at the announcement. What was the matter with her friend and why couldn’t she visit her? She began to feel lonely. She breakfasted alone and wondered what to do for the rest of the day, hoping Elise might feel better as it wore on.

  But as the afternoon came Elise still had not emerged, and glumly Genevieve decided to take a walk alone. Without a fixed itinerary she wandered across the lawns and headed for the woods beyond. A path cut through the trees and she followed it for some time.

  She soon began to relax. It was lovely in the woods, and the singing birds and the rustle of the wind through branches lulled her. Her thoughts slowly returned to Elise and then to Rodolfo.

  It now seemed so long since she had seen the man. It was difficult to remember just how he looked. Especially after the games she had played with Elise.

  The dark hair and powerful eyes of the man and her friend merged, so that Rodolfo suddenly loomed in her mind like a sorceress and Elise became a dashing foreign gentlemen. She would see Rodolfo again soon, though, she remembered.

  What would he feel for her? Would a man capable of so casually doing what he had done with Elise be capable of ever loving her? And would she please him? After all, what did she really have to offer? Nothing any more, except her heart and love.

  Genevieve came across a rutted road cutting through the woods, and caught sight of a small house. She had walked for quite some time now, and was beginning to feel tired and thirsty. Perhaps the occupants would allow her a drink and a little time to rest.

  But from first impressions the house appeared to be deserted. Slightly nervously she tapped on its heavy oak door, but there was no reply. Again she knocked, harder this time, but again there was no reply. She waited for a minute or so before deciding that there was probably nobody there, but just as she turned away the door creaked open.

  ‘Can I help you, mademoiselle?’ a soft voice asked.

  Genevieve turned back to see a young blonde girl of about her age standing before her.

  ‘Is everything all right, mademoiselle?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Genevieve replied, after a pause, slightly taken aback by the loveliness of the girl. ‘I’ve been walking in the woods for a long time and was wondering if I could perhaps ask for a drink to quench my thirst.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ the girl chimed sweetly, a bright smile lighting up her clear face. ‘Please, come in.’

  As Genevieve accepted the invitation she remained quiet, for there was something about the girl that fascinated her. She could hardly take her eyes from her lovely face.

  Sitting at the scrubbed table, Genevieve watched the girl fetch her a drink of milk, and kindly place a plate of bread and cheese before her too, noting how quiet the house was and sensing the girl was its only resident.

  As Genevieve enjoyed the frugal but tasty snack and cool drink she gazed at the surroundings. It was obviously not a prosperous place. The wooden floorboards were clean but loose and in need of repair, and the walls had evidently not been painted for many years. On a few hooks there were dusty traps and snares that had clearly not been used for a long time and now served as ornaments.

  She thanked the girl warmly for the refreshment and gazed at her, taken with her good looks despite her worn, woollen skirt that had been patched many times. It was probably the only one the girl had. Quietly, the girl took a mop and began cleaning the floor, but the worn skirt and blouse did not hide altogether what was obviously a shapely and beautiful body beneath. And then it dawned on Genevieve why she was so fascinated by the girl; there was something peculiarly familiar about her, like looking at herself. They could be mistaken for sisters or cousins, Genevieve realised. They had the same soft features, the same light blonde hair, and the same pale blue eyes. Her figure, slim and graceful, was like hers too. Even her voice had the same soft ring. Genevieve felt a deep fondness for the girl.

  ‘Why is it so quiet here,’ she asked, still watching the girl. ‘There’s not a soul around. Do you live here all by yourself?’

  ‘I do, yes.’ The girl stopped mopping, and with an innocent smile turned to Genevieve. ‘Many have left this area, with it being so close to the Tranville chateau. The word is that the revolutionaries could call on the count at any time, and who knows what would happen to him, or to anyone thought to be a friend to him.’

  It was true, it dawned on Genevieve. She had been so lost in her friendship with Elise and life at the chateau that she hadn’t really noticed the gradually thinning local population.

  Why was her guardian’s home so empty? It had not seemed so at first, when she arrived there. But where were all the servants? She ran through those remaining in her mind; the elderly cook, two old maids that doubled as chambermaids, the old man she occasionally saw walking horses early in the morning... so few for such a large place. There was a coachman too, but even he was aged. Why, the place was almost empty apart from these ageing, quiet spectres.

  And what of the revolution that was tearing up the country and that had taken her family? At the chateau it seemed not to be going on at all. Within the sturdy old building there was hardly ever mention of it, neither from her guardian or Elise.

  The fear of it, if it existed, could only be apparent in the emptiness of their world and the absence of those who might otherwise share it. Since the visit of Rodolfo, the count had entertained no other guests, save Madame Coubette.

  The girl’s large eyes sparkled brightly and her face glowed pink. Genevieve gazed at her mouth, her teeth pearly white and neat, and when she talked she would occasionally moisten her lips with a darting glide of her tongue.

  ‘I am alone now,’ the girl went on. ‘My husband left me not long ago. This place was his, and he left it to me. So, I suppose I should be grateful to him for that. Anyway, he drank too much, and he said I didn’t love him enough. He didn’t think there was any future for him here. He said he might come back one day, but I doubt it.’

  Pity for the girl suddenly mingled with Genevieve’s affection. ‘But you’re so young to be on your own,’ she said. ‘I would never have imagined you to be married. Why, you can’t be any older than me. Do you miss him?’

  ‘No,’ the girl replied, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t love him. It was a mistake from the start.’

  ‘Then why did you marry him?’

  ‘I had liked him at first, though I soon regretted it,’ the girl replied matter-of-factly. ‘There was little choice after I lost my job at the chateau, though.’

  ‘You worked there?’ Genevieve asked, surprised by the news.

  ‘Only for a short time,’ the girl muttered slowly. ‘I was a kitchen maid.’

  ‘And what happened?’ Genevieve asked.

  ‘Well, the count took me on as a kitchen maid, but I soon found out that he had other things in mind. He’s a distinguished man, and was very kind to me, and one day, as I brought him his breakfast, he made his fondness for me very clear. I’m sure he would have carried on being kind to me, if it wasn’t for Mademoiselle Elise.’

  At the mention of Elise, Genevieve felt her heart quicken and her curiosity sharpen. The name caused something to stir in the blonde girl, too, she saw. She seemed suddenly to be on the verge of tears. ‘What do you mean?’ Genevieve probed.

  ‘Elise...’ the girl sighed. ‘She took an interest in me. Almost from the start. She played all sorts of games with my heart. Games that were cruel and that I didn’t understand. At times it was wonderful, but at other times I felt she was wicked through and through... but she won my heart.’

  The girl seemed lost. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly with her sleeve.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you were... were lovers?’ Genevieve asked, aghast, staring deeply into the girl’s damp eyes.

  The blonde maid looked back wistfully at Genevieve. ‘At first I thought we were, yes,’
she admitted. ‘But for some reason Elise soon stopped being my lover and became cruel and distant.’

  The girl stared down at her feet and then looked back up at Genevieve. ‘In any case,’ she continued, ‘the count put a stop to it and sent me away. I was penniless and alone until I met my husband. It’s probably just as well, because the chateau is a scary place. They say the ghosts of his wife and his ancestors haunt it. I suppose I’m lucky to be out of there.’

  ‘Oh,’ Genevieve said absently, ‘but it’s since become my only home.’

  ‘Then, I’d urge you to be careful,’ the girl advised, stepping closer and putting her hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. ‘If I may say so, you are very beautiful, and seem to be kind of heart too. That place is dangerous, I think. Dangerous for you.’

  It was getting late and Genevieve realised she needed to be making her way home. ‘Can I come back and see you?’ she asked, realising how much she had enjoyed the brief time she’d spent with the girl.

  ‘Of course, mademoiselle,’ the girl beamed, brightening up at the prospect of having some occasional company, ‘I would be very happy for you to visit me.’

  ‘And I don’t yet know your name?’ Genevieve prompted.

  ‘It’s Emelie, mademoiselle,’ the girl told her.

  ‘Emelie,’ Genevieve echoed. ‘That’s a lovely name.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘And don’t call me mademoiselle,’ she said gently. ‘My name is Genevieve.

  ‘Now, I’d better be going.’

  ‘It’s getting colder outside, I think,’ the girl said, peering out through one of the small windows. ‘I’m going to light a fire soon and prepare a broth. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for the night? There is room for you.’

  Genevieve gazed into the girl’s eyes thoughtfully. How pretty they were. ‘No, thank you,’ she responded. ‘They would wonder where I was. Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘Then perhaps you might like to borrow a cloak to take with you.’

  Genevieve accepted the thoughtful offer and Emelie hurried to another room, returning with a heavy woollen mantel and wrapping it tenderly around Genevieve’s shoulders.

  ‘What fine hair you have,’ she said, gently pushing back the golden locks of Genevieve’s hair over the collar of the cloak. Affectionately Genevieve took Emelie’s hands as she finished fastening the cloak at her throat, without thinking she kissed the girl’s cheek, and as she did the girl turned her face and met her lips with her own.

  Emelie gave the kiss intimately, with her eyes closed, and as Genevieve’s mouth lingered on hers, she subconsciously allowed her lips to part, surprised to feel Emelie’s tongue grazing hers. It probed nervously and she allowed it to roam inquisitively for a few seconds, as if to signal that the unusual response to her farewell kiss had been noted, her heartbeat quickening.

  Then, reluctantly pulling away, Genevieve gazed at the girl. ‘I really must be going now, but I’ll come again soon,’ she whispered.

  ‘Be careful,’ Emelie called, standing at her front door, waving as Genevieve set off on her way.

  The trace of the girl’s lips remained with Genevieve as she walked quickly through the woods. It was getting chilly, but she felt gratefully warm beneath the cloak. What a lovely new friend she had found. The memory of Emelie’s prettiness and soft nature made her smile. It would have been so delightfully cosy to remain there.

  She pictured herself sitting by a warm fire next to the girl, chatting into the night. Then she thought of the kiss again. What had inspired her to do something like that with a stranger, and to let the stranger return her kiss like she had?

  Then for a moment she felt like turning back, but she feared her hosts at the chateau would worry about her absence.

  Much of what Emelie had said left her worried and curious, though. What if it were true that the revolutionaries could descend on the chateau and arrest them at any time?

  And what about the experiences the girl had been through at the hands of the count and his stepdaughter? She remembered the count’s erect member as Madame Coubette knelt at his feet, and tried to imagine him doing the same to fair Emelie as she took him his breakfast.

  And what had Elise done to her that still seemed to haunt her so? It had sounded as if Elise had been very cruel indeed.

  Was Elise trying to do the same to her now? Had she decided to make her Emelie’s replacement? If so, what sort of fate awaited her? But whatever was to be, it appeared she had found a new friend, she reflected.

  Before she knew it, it was getting towards dusk and she decided to increase her pace. The singing of the birds had been replaced by other less familiar and somewhat disconcerting sounds, and she wanted to get home. This time she kept to the road, and after a little while she heard a noise behind her and turned to see a coach and horses approaching, and she recognised it at once as Madame Coubette’s.

  The prospect of meeting the woman again was not in the least bit welcome, for she recalled how the woman was present when the count discovered her and Elise together. There was, however, little chance of avoiding the coach.

  It soon caught up and halted, the near door swinging open. ‘Why, if it isn’t the fair young Genevieve,’ crowed Madame Coubette. ‘What are you doing out here by yourself?’

  ‘I was just taking a walk,’ Genevieve replied shyly, ‘but I got a little distracted and didn’t realise how late it’s getting.’ She didn’t see any reason to tell the woman about her new friend.

  Madame Coubette wore a brocaded gold dress, studded here and there with bright stones. It was cut low to reveal her ample cleavage, and on the generous upper slope of one breast Genevieve could see a small tattooed design that, at a glance, looked like a star. Above her powdered visage the woman wore her usual white wig. ‘Don’t you know it’s not safe for you to be out here alone any more?’ she said. ‘It’s getting dark and cold, too. Come, get in and ride with me. I’m on my way to the chateau to see the count.’

  Genevieve found herself blushing as she climbed up; what could she say after spying the spectacle of the woman and the count? And what would Madame Coubette be thinking after witnessing the shameful spectacle of her and Elise together?

  ‘I hope the count did not punish you too severely yesterday morning,’ the woman said without preamble. ‘He often has too quick and hot a temper, and a heavy hand.’ Genevieve remained silent, sitting beside Madame Coubette. ‘Perhaps,’ the woman continued, ‘your pretty little derrière is still sore. Like most men, he does not understand we ladies.’ She casually laid a hand on Genevieve’s knee and squeezed. ‘He’s lucky that I understand him, though. That’s why we’re such close friends, despite our backgrounds.’

  Coyly, Genevieve glanced at the woman. She radiated an elegant voluptuousness. It was enticing and yet daunting. She thought how she had at times heard talk of courtesans and women of pleasure, and though she had never met any, she imagined they would be something not so far removed from the ornate woman beside her.

  Madame Coubette returned the inspection, her look indecipherable and invasive, and it made Genevieve lower her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be so shy of me, my darling,’ the woman chided. ‘Your little liaison with Elise seems perfectly charming to me. We girls have all sorts of passions of which men know nothing. There are things we can share with each other that men simply don’t understand. Men have created the world and they are the masters of it. It is for this reason that we must please them. We are their toys and we learn how to make them happy. But when it comes to our pleasures... oh, it is so often only another woman that understands.’

  Madame Coubette moved closer to Genevieve and the hand on her knee massaged gently, making Genevieve uncomfortable. ‘I-I don’t understand what you mean,’ she stuttered defensively. ‘And I think you may have the wrong idea; Elise and I are good friends and we were only playing a game.’

  ‘Oh, of course you were
,’ the woman mocked, her eyes sparkling mischievously. ‘But tell me, are you just Elise’s whore, or are you available to outside offers too?’ Genevieve couldn’t believe her ears, but the woman went on before she could relay her indignation. ‘I mean, do you have a going rate? A list of services offered, perhaps?’ Anger gripped Genevieve, but she was rendered utterly speechless by the woman’s outrageous musings. ‘How much would you charge, for example, to provide a little tongue work on a lady like me?’

  The hand on Genevieve’s knee moved and clamped through her dress between her thighs, the fingers finding and latching to the lips of her sex, and the harsh assault sent a bewildering, unexpected tremor through her.

  Then with the poor girl stunned and distracted by the speed and unexpectedness of the assault, the woman gripped her blonde hair with her free hand and tugged back, arching Genevieve’s slender neck and making her squeal at the vicious discomfort, involuntarily thrusting her breasts forward.

  Madame Coubette’s countenance was now extremely alarming as she undid the rough cloak around Genevieve’s shoulders and gazed hungrily down at her bare throat and cleavage. The girl’s breasts swelled as she breathed anxiously, her tight bodice rendering their creamy upper slopes available to the woman’s greedy eyes.

  ‘It is best that you know and understand this well, my little orphaned slut,’ the woman whispered harshly, her face close to Genevieve’s. ‘As far as your guardian is concerned, I am his mistress and the only mistress and lady of the de Tranville estate. I am all he could want, and I have been as close to being his wife as any woman will ever be. I have worked hard to make it that way, so you’re whoring in the wrong place.’

  Genevieve stared at Madame Coubette in utter shock.

  ‘And if you’re going to try and curry favour with anyone, you’d do well to start with me and stop your little pussy-kissing games with Elise. With her you are wasting your time, but I will teach and reward you.’