Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  Two bright patches of pink appeared beneath the big brown eyes she was batting. She pulled a cheroot from the bosom of her uniform and bit off both ends. ‘Miss Delacroix’s a very busy lady, so —’

  ‘Have you even met her, Monique?’

  Resentment flared with her match, and then she swatted away my question with the hand that held her cigar. ‘Oui, we meet — months ago — but she wouldn’t recall little Monique Picabou. Brushed me off like a housefly! She was out of the school when I went to hire the maids yesterday, so I just handled it, Auntie.’

  What she hadn’t said spoke volumes: my maid hated to be ignored, so she was repaying the headmistress’s offense in her own inimitable way. ‘So you didn’t pay my fee,’ I said, which answered my question from yesterday and gave me a very solid reason for visiting the school. ‘If Miss Delacroix didn’t recommend these three maids, how were they selected?’

  The maid’s eyes brightened slyly. ‘I conducted a very extensive interview —’

  ‘May I see your list of questions? The written references you got from each one?’

  ‘— by testing each student, and inspecting…’ She sighed like a deflating balloon. ‘Oh, all right! I had all of Miss Delacroix’s students stand in a line and lean over.’

  Only Monique would conduct such an interview! As this picture ran through my mind, I had to stifle a giggle in spite of my serious situation. ‘You chose the ones with the best butts? Monique, I’ve tried to impress upon you —’

  ‘Chloe, Annabelle and Sylvia were the most motivated,’ she insisted. ‘They’re ready for the challenge of serving in a household. And now that we gave them new names — a whole new life — those three will not only serve you, Auntie Evil, but they’ll love you so much they’ll risk their reputations — their lives — for you! This is much more important than good answers to interview questions, non?’

  She blew smoke out her nose, eyeing me like a dragon who might well be the one to test their loyalty — and mine — although I couldn’t see it becoming a life-or-death matter.

  You didn’t foresee Chapin taking you in anger either.

  A sobering thought. One that reminded me the time was passing, and that I had many proverbial fires to put out. Not the least of which might be set by the husband lurking somewhere in this house.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said, placing the cover over my breakfast plate. ‘I’ll visit the illustrious Miss Delacroix this morning, and pay my fee for these fine maids you’ve hired. I want to see what sort of woman I’m dealing with here, so choose me a dress that’s suitable for such a visit, Monique. Something elegant, yet —’

  ‘Powerful,’ the little Cajun whispered. ‘Honore Delacroix is another name for power.’

  * * *

  An hour later I went downstairs feeling ready to face the city’s most formidable headmistress. I wore my new suit of forest green with a pleated cream-coloured blouse, and a fashionable hat that didn’t diminish me to the frilliness of a debutante. A final check in the hall mirror bolstered my resolve: I would retain the maids Monique had chosen, for I trusted her instincts. But I would also question Honore Delacroix closely: I suspected an inexplicable something about a woman who would acquire three young boys under such dubious circumstances.

  ‘Going out, my dear?’

  Chapin’s genteel tone couched his suspicions about my destination — and the company I would keep. I turned to him, biting back my resentment — and wondering what things he hid as well. He was nattily dressed in a frock coat of brown and gold houndstooth that brought out the blonder highlights of his swept-back hair.

  ‘How handsome you look,’ I remarked, for he cut a stylish figure even when he didn’t leave the house. ‘And how nice to have you home. What changed your travel plans?’

  He smiled tightly, and remained in the doorway of the dining room. ‘My platform committee called a lunch meeting at the Beau Monde Club today, to plan our campaign strategies. And you, dear heart?’

  Deer heart. Yes, that’s how mine was beating — like the pulse of a doe in a hunter’s gun scope. I’d caught his scent, but wasn’t sure which escape route was safest.

  I didn’t dare quiz him about the inconsistencies of his story, as he could certainly ask questions I didn’t want to answer.

  ‘I’m going in to pay the acquisition fee for our three new maids,’ I replied carefully. ‘Now that I’ve seen them work and we’ve acquainted ourselves, I’m sure they’ll perform quite well.’

  ‘Excellent. I look forward to meeting them.’ He reached inside his coat then, his expression getting edgier. ‘Before you go, perhaps you can explain this. The greengrocer’s delivery boy tripped over it this morning.’

  The blood raced from my face as he pulled out a long object of black leather, and then nailed me with his knowing gaze. Laced with red cross-stitching in strategic places beneath its mushroom-shaped head, the custom-made dildo looked even more incriminating by light of day than when Tommy Jon had brandished it in the fountain. ‘I have no idea —’

  ‘Oh, I think you do, Miss Eve,’ he whispered, advancing towards me with the toy extended from his fist. ‘But for propriety’s sake, we’ll say you’re going to ask that Cajun maid of yours to keep better track of her personal possessions. Mrs Frike grew rather agitated when the boy asked her what it was.’

  Chapin slapped the dildo into my hand and left with a smirk, donning his derby as though he’d once again proven me a wanton and incompetent liar. Damn that man! Playing cat and mouse with me. Talking of propriety, while making his silent accusations about how I’d spent my time.

  Why hadn’t he just lifted my skirts and rammed the leather shaft inside me? At least I would’ve felt something besides a cold, growing resentment as the door slammed behind him.

  * * *

  My visit to the School of Domestic Endeavor was as disheartening as my chat with Chapin: Honore Delacroix wasn’t there. And her secretary wasn’t any more inclined to give me a tour of the school than to answer my questions.

  ‘When do you expect her return?’ I asked, masking my impatience. The girl behind the desk was an insipid spinsterish sort decked out in a flouncy gown of yellow, with a disposition that sucked lemons.

  She slammed her desk drawer, as though I might try to peek at her files. ‘I don’t expect Miss Delacroix any time today. She’s making home visits, to ensure the suitability of the positions our girls are being hired into.’

  ‘What an excellent practice. Might I find out when she expects to visit the Proffit home? I’m sure the three…girls we’ve procured will be pleased to see her.’

  ‘And you would be…?’

  ‘Eve Proffit — Mr Chapin Proffit’s wife. He’ll soon be hosting campaign parties, and —’

  She stopped riffling through her ledger to stare up at me, above the thick lenses of her spectacles. ‘And why have I not met you before, Mrs Proffit? I never forget a face.’

  Once again my credibility was called into question — and I was damn tired of it! I placed my gloved hands on either side of her account book, so she would get a good look at whom she was dealing with. ‘My assistant came here yesterday and procured three domestics, Miss…?’

  ‘Sully,’ she replied with a rancour matching mine.

  Quite sure no one would sully this unpleasant woman, I reached into my reticule. ‘I’ve come to pay my fee. And to make an appointment for a home visit from Miss Delacroix, please.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll be seeing her soon. She’s not at all pleased with the way your assistant sashayed out of here with three of her own domestics!’

  I arched an eyebrow, and then scribbled out a cheque for one hundred dollars. Probably not enough, for a deposit covering three maids, but I was beyond caring what this twit in yellow dimity thought. ‘Tell Miss Delacroix we can’t wait to see her.’

  I left the old brick building then, sensing an atmosphere of decay and disrepair about the surrounding neighbourhood that I hadn’t noted wh
en I’d gone inside. Perhaps it was the proximity to the courtyard where I’d seen Chapin and Savanna that held such unpleasant associations, or perhaps it was simply the way this morning had been going. The carriage ride home had me stewing over events and details sent spinning out of my control. I kicked myself for getting caught in so many seemingly careless mistakes — most of them made by Monique! I just wanted to be left alone in my room.

  I had gotten no further than the table in the vestibule, however, when I heard the swish of short skirts and the quick clatter of boots on the parquet flooring. ‘Auntie Eve! It’s your big day,’ she announced. ‘The perfect time for —’

  I peeled off my gloves without looking at her.

  ‘— your next step into white-hot marital bliss.’

  I raised my eyebrow. The fact that ‘marital’ and ‘bliss’ came side-by-side in Monique’s sentence, and that it involved Chapin Proffit, proved another ironic thorn in my side. Why had I gotten caught in this seduction scheme, the victim of everyone else’s imaginations?

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m going upstairs, and I don’t want to be disturbed.’

  My maid cocked her head, looking like a cocker spaniel whose ears had been hiked up into a white lace ribbon. ‘Surely Miss Delacroix wasn’t that rude, that you —’

  ‘Forget it, Monique.’ To drive my point home, I opened the table’s centre drawer and fished out the object I’d hidden behind my handkerchiefs and calling cards. ‘Chapin presented me with this before I left. He said I should talk to you about leaving your personal effects where others might stumble over them, but he knows damn well it’s mine.’

  The sight of the dildo, shaped like her beloved T-Jon’s cock, made the maid giggle impishly and grab it out of my hand.

  ‘This is good, oui?’ she exclaimed, wagging the black-and-red leather cock at me. ‘Now Chapin not only knows his little wife is not so naive — but he wonders what she does with this dildo while he’s gone. His curiosity’s piqued, like his cock, and he —’

  ‘Monique, did you take this from my drawer and put it outside the service entrance this morning?’

  Her eyes snapped black and brown and she turned towards the stairway, gesturing with the dildo for me to follow her. ‘You’ll never find out, if you don’t go along with my plan, Aunt Evil. Hurry now! We have a rendezvous with a handsome man — or two. For lunch.’

  12 Lip Service

  ‘The Beau Monde Club? You know damn well they’ll never let us in there!’

  ‘Have I ever led you astray, ma tante?’

  ‘Don’t get me started on that.’ Once again I tried to separate myself from another cockamamie scheme my maid had cooked up, betting she’d eavesdropped on my conversation with Chapin and knew where he’d be in about an hour. ‘What on earth does this have to do with my dildo? Or with — with sucking Dewel’s cock last night?’

  Even as I said these words, in the privacy of my own bedroom, they shocked me. That I had sunk so far below socially acceptable vocabulary and activities — in only a few days — attested to the mental state Monique Picabou had created so effortlessly. That I was watching her slip into trousers and a white shirt she’d snatched from Chapin’s closet further proved this young woman was nothing but trouble.

  Consider the source, my thoughts warned, and this brought Dewel Proffit’s lewd suggestions to mind…how he’d coaxed me to take his thick shaft into my mouth and then swallow after he climaxed! Only a desperate woman would fall so far so fast.

  And so I was. Desperate for male affection; for words and gestures to assure me Eve Proffit was a desirable woman, worthy of love and the passion that seemed to be passing her by. Was that too much for a woman of thirty to ask? To have a man hold me, and kiss me, and make love to me as though he enjoyed it so much he lost control?

  Monique’s chuckle brought me out of my musings. ‘You’re much happier with Dewel than with his brother, non?’ she observed in her forthright way. ‘But you’re trying to be the faithful, loving wife, and I admire that. So, will you follow my plan, Auntie Evil? Or sit home worrying that your man will ask where you got your sex toy?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ I asked doubtfully. She had something outrageous in mind, for the wily maid had pulled her hair into a tail at her nape and then tucked it down the back of the loose shirt.

  She looked for all the world like a boy.

  ‘We’ll dress you like this too — skirts are too awkward for slipping you under Mr Chapin’s table,’ she explained. ‘I’ll convince the waiter his tip will be much better if I serve today. We’ll hide you when no one’s looking, and voila. You’ll have all those flies to choose from. All those fine, upstanding men who must sit still while you suck them, as though nothing’s happening, while they talk politics over lunch! Too funny, oui?’

  How could I not grin at this scenario? It would be the ultimate coup, to breach that all-male world of the venerable Beau Monde Club. To make Chapin and his campaign committee squirm in their chairs, trying not to grunt and grimace as they climaxed.

  ‘But what if somebody looks under the table? Or kicks me, and my scream gives me away?’ Eyeing Chapin’s clothing on my bed, I couldn’t believe I would even consider this. It was as though a gremlin had gotten inside me…daring me to do what the proper Mrs Proffit would consider repugnant and unthinkable.

  But Auntie Evil would lap it up. What a lark — to suck my husband in public. To make him squirm in front of men who’ve invested thousands in his political campaign!

  ‘Nobody’ll kick you, cherie,’ she said, gesticulating in her exasperation. ‘You remember how T-Jon loved to be sucked? How Dewel said only special women do that, and do it well? Your big chance comes in about an hour — but only if we stop wishy-washing around here!’

  I reached for the trousers she’d laid on my bed, and then drew back. ‘But if I’m under the table, and Chapin can’t look, how will he know it’s me? What will I prove?’

  ‘Must I think of everything?’ she wailed, and then she grabbed the buttons of my suit. ‘Find a way to bring it up, when you talk to him tonight. You do talk to him, non?’

  I closed my eyes against memories of our recent conversations, for I could already imagine Chapin’s reactions when he learned that the hot, willing lips under the table belonged to his own wife. ‘But then he’ll realise everyone else was wiggling around —’

  ‘So you can tell him Mistress Monique was under there too. I swear, Auntie,’ she rasped, tossing aside my green jacket and then tugging my blouse from my skirt. ‘We’ll make something up, oui? For a woman so smart, you’ve got no brains at all!’

  I should have slapped her. I should have ordered her out of my room to oversee whatever our new maids were doing. I should have shut away the mental images of well-dressed men around a table, eating some of the city’s finest cuisine while throwing fortunes towards their golden boy, trying not to cry out when they came.

  But I couldn’t get it out of my mind, that power I would have, over Chapin and whichever helpless men I coaxed to a climax they couldn’t show.

  We were on our way out the pantry door fifteen minutes later, with Chapin’s derbies perched on our heads and his frock coats buttoned over our trousers. Why was I not surprised that Tommy Jon awaited us with a carriage? As he drove us into town, he gave suggestions for passing ourselves off as men once we entered the club.

  ‘Walk slower. Take bigger steps, and don’t swing your hips,’ he instructed. ‘Just nod when the other men address you, so talking won’t get you into trouble, and walk directly back to the dining area. If you act like you belong there — a privileged member of long standing — nobody’ll question you.’

  ‘That’s how it goes with most things, oui?’ Monique chimed in. She was straightening her clothes and, when we drove along a street where no one else was watching, she smoothed my shirt and coat. ‘Pretend you know what you’re doing, and most people will believe it! After all, you’ve been actress enough all these years that Chapin assume
s you’re happy, non?’

  The sad truth of that statement dampened my spirits, but by then we were passing the whitewashed brick building that housed the Beau Monde Club. Tommy Jon parked around the block, and then the three of us strolled like the elegantly-attired gents we were to the front door. As he reached for the heavy brass knocker, I thought of another stumbling block.

  ‘How will we get past the doorman? Chapin has mentioned old Iverson as one of the stodgiest —’

  The raven-haired Tommy gave me his most debonair smile, gripping his lapels like he had a hold of the world. ‘I’ve been here once, as a guest, Miss Eve,’ he whispered. ‘I left T-Jon back in the bayou, so Monsieur Beaumont can do the talking. Just follow Monique’s lead, and —’

  The maroon double doors swung open with a majestic swoosh, to present a wizened old fellow in a tuxedo. He bowed low, to camouflage how closely he was looking us over. ‘And how might I help you?’ he prompted in a stately voice.

  ‘I’ve travelled the world, Iverson, but there’s only one Beau Monde Club,’ our escort replied with a bow of his own.

  Iverson stepped aside, smiling. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I can’t recall your name.’

  ‘Thomas Beaumont,’ T-Jon replied with a flourish of his card and a polished French accent. ‘My business abroad has kept me from visiting of late. I understand Chapin Proffit will dine here today, and my friends and I wish to contribute to his campaign.’

  ‘He’s not yet arrived, sir, but I’ll inform him —’

  ‘Oh, I love a surprise,’ the devious Tommy said with a wink, and he pressed folded money into the doorman’s palm. ‘We’ll proceed to the dining room — if someone would kindly point out the proper table — and greet him when he gets here.’

  Just that easily, we were in! We strolled across the marble floor of the vestibule with our footsteps echoing, as though we toured a grand museum. I tried not to gawk at the high-ceilinged elegance which ensconced the members of this elite organisation. The Beau Monde Club was truly a retreat from the outside world, and its groupings of leather chairs and small tables graced with Tiffany reading lamps encouraged perusal of newspapers from all over the world, or subdued conversations over brandy. Men who were engaged in such things nodded at us, as though we had every right to be there. Others sat in a haze of fine-smelling pipe smoke and silence, poring over chess boards.