Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  Her feathers were smoothed, but the housekeeper’s doubtful glare followed us out of the room. Once we were in the hallway, Monique snatched up my hand with conspiratorial glee.

  ‘You should see them, Auntie,’ she whispered. ‘Three very pretty maids Mr Proffit — and you, of course! — will adore. Eager to please. Ready to do our every bidding.’

  ‘And how much experience —’

  ‘Green as the grass, cherie, but this way we’ll train them up right. Discipline is everything, so they’ll be ready for our important guests, oui?’

  How could I refute her? Monique’s Cajun features sparkled with the excitement of a little girl who’d received three exquisite dolls for Christmas, and couldn’t wait to play with them!

  ‘All right, I’ll follow your lead,’ I murmured as we approached the parlour. ‘But they must be ready before Chapin gets home. And how did you pay Miss Delacroix’s fee?’

  ‘Shh!’ she said fiercely, her finger at her lips. ‘You must never, never let them sense your doubts. You are the mistress of this house. You must exert control at all times.’

  I’d had little experience at managing staff, since Mrs Frike had overseen the hiring and firing of other domestics for two generations, with the Proffits’ blessing. So Monique made a valid point: high time I assumed the role that was rightfully mine. High time my decisions were taken seriously!

  She patted my collar into place, letting her hand stray to the swell of my bosom. ‘I will remain your favourite niece, of course,’ she teased in her low sing-song, ‘but these girls were born to serve, ma tante. The higher your expectations — the more you make them toe the line — the harder they’ll work for your approval. Now, let’s go whip them into shape.’

  She led me into the sunny front parlour, where the gold-flocked wallpaper and furnishings of royal blue and maroon set a rich yet intimate tone. The three girls sat straighter when we entered, and when one stood up — she had russet hair and a complexion tawnier than my own — the other two followed with tight, anticipatory smiles.

  Their dove-grey uniforms had high, buttoned collars and fell just above sensible black shoes, and their white aprons bore the school’s monogram — SFDE — on the upper placket. They all looked about twenty; prettier than I expected of girls going into service, with a coltish air I attributed to their inexperience.

  ‘May I present your new mistress, Mrs Chapin Proffit — most likely the wife of our next mayor!’ Monique added with a flourish. Then she waxed more serious. ‘You may call her Miss Eve, as is our Southern custom. You will find her fair, yet exacting. You’ve landed yourselves quite a plum for a first post, oui? So if you don’t meet our expectations —’

  Smack went her hands as she focused on each of them.

  ‘— Mademoiselle Delacroix will hear of it immediately!’

  The trio of maids nodded as though they’d heard this admonition from the headmistress herself. Their gazes followed Monique to the umbrella stand at the vestibule doorway. Had that slender cane always been there? My Cajun maid plucked it up with obvious purpose shining in her jet-black eyes.

  ‘And this — this is how we correct those who go astray!’ she exclaimed. ‘You must avoid having a backside too sore to sit on, oui?’

  Their heads bobbed as they glanced quickly at one another — and then at me. I was maintaining an air of highest propriety, but I’d never disciplined the help, nor did I want to start. Monique, the little imp, had now established this behaviour, so I couldn’t refute it without contradicting her — or myself, as the mistress she presumably spoke for.

  ‘And now Miss Eve wants a word.’

  I returned their avid gazes, and for a moment the four of us blinked in the bright light of Monique’s implied punishments, for crimes I hoped they’d never commit. ‘Good afternoon, girls, I —’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Eve,’ they chorused. Their eyes were alight with expectation, until the subtle tapping of that cane on the parquet floor caught their attention. Straighter they stood then, each of them smoothing her uniform as though to gain my favour.

  ‘I’d like to know your names and a bit about you, and then we’ll begin cleaning upstairs, in my suite,’ I said. ‘We’ll work our way into the main rooms of the house this week, and meanwhile we’ll discuss your roles at the upcoming soirées for my husband’s friends and political backers. You first, please, Miss —?’

  The girl with the russet upsweep and tawny eyes curtsied prettily. ‘My name’s Annabelle, Miss Eve,’ she said in a soft drawl, ‘and I am so pleased to be here, ma’am.’

  I liked her immediately. Clean and pretty, yet modest in her speech and manner. ‘Tell me about your family, Annabelle.’

  Her lower lip quivered. ‘They’ve all gone to heaven, ma’am. Victims of a fire, on a night I was…assisting a sick friend.’

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ I gushed — and then, catching Monique’s raised eyebrow, I guarded against further familiarity. ‘I hope you’ll find that time and honest labour ease your grief. I’m sure you’ll do us all proud, Annabelle. And you?’

  The centre candidate teetered on the heels of her pumps when she curtsied. She appeared to have Spanish — or perhaps native Indian — bloodlines, for her dark hair was knotted at the crown, to flow stick-straight past her shoulders. With her darker brows and high cheek bones, she looked quite exotic.

  ‘Chloe at your service, Miss Eve,’ she said in a lower, almost reedy voice — the oboe in a chorus of woodwinds. ‘My father ran off, so Mama and us girls came to the city to make our own way. It’s a pleasure and a privilege to be here, ma’am.’

  I nodded, aware of how petty my own grievances appeared compared to these girls’ stories. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Chloe. I’m sure your training with Miss Delacroix will make your future a great deal brighter than your past. We all have our misfortunes to rise above, don’t we? And you, Miss —’

  ‘Oh, I just can’t tell you how pleased I am to — why, everyone knows how splendidly successful Chapin Proffit has been —’

  Three taps of Monique’s cane didn’t deter this lithe, expressive blonde as she clasped her hands rapturously before her.

  ‘— following in his illustrious daddy’s footsteps! I just can’t believe my good fortune —’

  Three louder taps, and my maid stepped forward. ‘A simple introduction! We have work to do, oui?’

  The poor thing paled, then stared at her feet. Then she stepped towards me and kneeled, as though I were her queen. ‘Begging your pardon, Miss Eve, for my tendency to run at the mouth. My name’s Sylvia, and my chatter was so bothersome, even to my own family, that they cast me —’

  This time Monique rapped the cane sharply, right beside Sylvia’s shiny black shoe. ‘Miss Delacroix, she warned me of your chit-chit-chit,’ she said, quickly pinching her fingertips against her thumb to mock the girl’s mouth. ‘You’ll work twice as hard as the other two, to control this bothersome habit, oui?’

  ‘I’ll strive like no maid has striven before, yes, mistress.’

  ‘Yes, who?’ Monique crossed her arms beneath her breasts, letting the cane swing from her fist.

  Sylvia quivered like a trapped rabbit. ‘Yes, Miss Eve,’ she said with a bow to me, ‘and yes, Mistress Monique. I’m duty-bound, and my welfare’s in your hands.’

  ‘Come along — all of you!’ Monique said, briskly clapping her hands. ‘We’ll begin in Miss Eve’s suite, and we’ll show her how quick and efficient we are, oui?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress Monique,’ they chanted. Their voices differed in pitch, but their expressions looked the same: awed, and fearful.

  As she waved them towards the stairway, I was struck by hunches I couldn’t put into words, mostly involving this trio’s response to Monique. As though some sort of ritual were being carried out between a trainer and her…slaves.

  I couldn’t argue with my maid’s technique, however, for in mere hours she’d accomplished a miracle: she’d procured help from the city’s most talked
-about domestic service — without paying Miss Delacroix’s fee, I suspected — and she was already putting them to work. And Chapin wouldn’t even be in St. Louis yet! By the time he returned, his house would be in order. I’d have another chance to prove myself worthy of his name; an opportunity to win back his favour, and transform our marriage from a relationship arranged around finances to one that revolved around…fucking.

  That naughty word made me grin. Why shouldn’t I put a secretive smile on Chapin’s face as he campaigned? Think of the citizens who’d benefit from having a gratified, satisfied mayor at their helm. Monique’s lilting Cajun dialect was more demure now as she instructed the three new maids in my room. Almost as though she were sweet-talking them into cleaning, purring as only my ‘niece’ knew how.

  My thoughts wandered to those moments in Madame LaRue’s dressing room, when Monique’s pink, pointed tongue found my nub…perhaps the black lace we brought home might provide a few moments of private pleasure. I could slip into my bathroom, near enough to keep track of what the three new girls were doing, while I investigated Monique’s ideas for costumes.

  Once behind the closed door, surrounded by shiny white walls, I opened the box from the dressmaker’s. The folds of black lace rustled seductively as they fell open, revealing the delicate web of roses and ivy intertwined…looking downright decadent draped across my leg. Filled with an illicit thrill, I let my skirt and shoes and stockings fall haphazardly to the floor, and my blouse and corset followed.

  It felt absolutely indecent, disrobing where I could hear the three maids’ subdued voices as they spoke with Monique. I caressed my breasts, then cupped them out towards that adjoining wall — and I suddenly imagined a window there, where I could be on display like a mannequin in a store front. And what would Chloe and Annabelle and Sylvia think about that? Seeing the lady of the house naked, wrapping herself in filmy black lace as though she were a present for them to open.

  This thought so inspired me that I tied the lace in a very large bow over my breasts. The rest of my body remained bare, yet titillated by the furtive whisper of the fabric. And how would it feel, down there?

  Taking the longer piece hanging down from the bow, I gave myself a tentative caress. Why this sensation drove me, I didn’t know, but I shuddered so hard I fell back against the sink’s rim. I didn’t often engage in such wanton activities alone, for what did such stimulation accomplish? What proper lady aroused herself, just for — just for her own enjoyment? Because she can do it better than anyone else?

  I’d never pondered such things. Or at least before I met Monique, I hadn’t. The fantasy of standing in a store window, with Monique joining me now, licking me all over while those new maids watched us, sent my pulse into a trot. With quick fingertips I rubbed the lace against my coarse curls, parting the folds to caress that nub Monique had found with her tongue…as though it were a common thing for two women to share, like a new dessert recipe.

  Eat or be eaten. Or both, if you’re lucky!

  Desire sparkled like diamonds inside me. I rubbed fast and high, breathing in little gusts, feeling the dew pool at the rim of my hole and then run down my thighs in rivulets.

  Fearing I’d fall and attract attention, I leaned against the wall between the sink and the tub, sticking my hips out with my legs parted. I was panting. I imagined the three maids catching a glimpse of me and then coming to the window to watch. In their chaste grey uniforms, they seemed mesmerised by the lines my fingertips made around my slit.

  ‘Look at her clitty — how it juts out to be sucked.’

  ‘Oh, she smells delicious — I wish she’d give me a taste.’

  ‘I get her first —’ this from Annabelle, the redhead ‘— because I know just how to stick my tongue up her and make her spray all over my face!’

  Where had such thoughts come from? Never had I mouthed those filthy words or discussed such subjects! A lady simply didn’t —

  And isn’t it fun, not to be a lady at every moment? You have a secret life now!

  My head dropped back. My fingertips spread my moisture over territory that fascinated them, driving me insane with new-found need. My hips began to rock and wiggle and my insides flexed. I didn’t know whether to bring it all off with a burst, or to savour this stolen moment for as long as I could make the pleasure last.

  I was ready to let go, ready to succumb to my frantic fondling, when Monique slipped in and shut the door behind her. My God, she had seen me through the —

  ‘I wondered if my Auntie Evil wasn’t well, staying in here so long,’ she murmured. ‘But this — ooh-la-la!’

  She focused intently on my writhing, lace-wrapped hand. Her own fingers slipped beneath her short uniform, and then she slapped the rim of the tub with one booted foot, standing only an arm’s-length away.

  ‘It’s exciting to watch, non?’ she breathed, flicking her own clit to attention with the thrum of her fingertips. ‘We can play follow-the-leader. Do what I do, ma tante. Open your hole with forked fingers — this way — and then stroke your clit from the underside.’

  Her sharp intake of breath told me the sight affected her too. I’d never watched a woman fondle herself, yet Monique was clearly experienced at it — baring her most private parts with pale fingers separating rose-coloured flesh from short black curls, to give me a lesson in technique. Surely Dewel couldn’t have guessed she would —

  That’s precisely why he sent her, came my mind’s reply.

  The memory of his hot weight, pressing me against the iron gate as he rubbed his cock against my backside, made my desire spike like a fever. Monique was wet now, making juicy, secretive sounds as her fingers quickly drove her to my level of arousal. Her slit turned a deeper pink. Her agile body rocked in rhythm with mine, and with the moans that escaped her.

  ‘Oh, cherie — such a sight you are. Such a pretty piece,’ she coaxed. ‘I’m on the edge — so very close — come here and fuck me — mon Dieu!’

  And then Monique was on me, straddling my lace-draped leg so her folds could rasp against the black pattern. Her flexing thigh pressed the fabric against my clit, and I grabbed her hips when the pain and frenzy fused into white-hot pleasure. Together we thumped against the wall, searching for those moments of perfect contact…the completion of this secretive act we shared again.

  With a gasp, she landed against me. I’d have felt very awkward if one of the new girls came in and saw us, despite the way I’d previously imagined performing for them. But my fantasies — and my needs — went beyond reason sometimes. I didn’t have answers for questions I’d just begun to ask.

  ‘Why can’t it be this way with Chapin?’ I murmured. Words I wouldn’t have dared express ordinarily, yet I sensed Monique understood.

  ‘We can’t always have what we want, Auntie Evil.’ She was wetting a towel, and then gently wiped between my legs before she cleaned herself. ‘But sometimes, if we try for it anyway — finding ways to be happy, staying open to joy — we get what we need. Maybe not where we expected to find it, non?’

  Wise beyond her years, Monique, yet wickedly innocent. Her childlike view of the world set my own circumstances into perspective and, when she left me to get dressed, I knew Dewel had placed my budding sexuality in very capable hands. I could only hope Chapin would appreciate my new-found knowledge, even if I had to hide the way I was acquiring it.

  ‘Mon Dieu, what is this I see?’ My maid’s shrill voice penetrated the tiled white wall. ‘I left you for only a moment. I asked you to arrange Miss Eve’s new gowns in the closet above her new shoes. And I find — this!’

  Feverishly I buttoned my blouse. What catastrophe merited such an outburst from the woman who’d been a purring pussy moments ago?

  ‘Downstairs! This minute!’ she barked, and I envisioned a fist against her hip while she pointed towards the door. ‘Not here two hours, and already I’ve caught you playing on the job. Like sneaky little girls dawdling in mama’s closet. Out! Out!’

  Absolut
e silence then; the maids knew better than to sass back. As I was smoothing my hair in the mirror, Monique peeked into the bathroom. ‘We request your presence in the front parlour, Auntie Evil. I hope you’re ready for the…the spectacle they’ve made of themselves.’

  As she closed the bathroom door, and the purposeful tattoo of her boots went towards the stairway, I sensed Miss Picabou was not as angry as she’d led our new domestics to believe. This was part of her act, and she relished every second of being their superior.

  Far be it from me to intercede. I smoothed my navy skirt and tucked in my blouse, a natty nautical design with a sailor collar, as was coming into fashion now. Looking at it, no one would guess what I’d been doing to myself in here — and with a length of black lace! I folded the fabric back into its box, smiling at what I might want to do with it next.

  I descended the stairs, pausing outside the parlour to compose myself. I was the lady of the manor, the wife of a prominent politician, and I had an image to maintain in front of new employees: the dignity and breeding of Southern gentility must prevail if these maids were to properly perform their duties in the coming months.

  When I saw them, however, my hand flew to my mouth.

  The three domestics stood in a row, hands clasped before them, looking mightily afraid of the punishment to come. Chloe had let her straight black hair down and sported a thick coating of kohl around her exotic eyes; she’d rouged her cheeks and lips as well, and she looked like…well, like a tart in uniform. Beside her, Annabelle fidgeted in my new gown of turquoise tulle. She’d wound my longest strand of pearls into her red-brown hair, so it dipped dramatically over one ear. And Sylvia…Sylvia had removed her apron and grey uniform, presumably for a better view of the stunning new shoes that graced her feet. Shoes I’d had specially designed of an iridescent fabric with a shine like glass, to match my fanciest new ball gown.

  But it was Monique catching everyone’s eye. She’d stripped away her dress and pinafore — not a shred of innocent pretence remained about this virago clad in a black corset, with a matching garter belt and stockings above her calf-high boots. She surveyed the trio of maids from behind a wickedly thin black mask, and was pulling on velvet gloves that flared above her wrists. She retrieved her cane from the umbrella holder with a zeal that had me flinching, even though I’d done nothing wrong.