by Anna Rose
I stared at the dark ceiling for what seemed like hours before the creeks at the staircase outside announced that everyone else was retiring for the night, and then the house stilled entirely. Much as I tried, I couldn’t find ease in this strange bed in this strange house, shifting about the bed in frustration.
“Will you give it a rest?” Helen whispered suddenly, annoyed.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
I turned onto my side, shifting to the very edge of the bed, my body stiff as I deigned to keep from disturbing her again but I couldn’t help the rather dramatic jerk as she turned and her length pressed against me.
I felt the heat of her through my nightgown, was sure I could feel her heavy breasts against my back.
I shivered, wanting to die of mortification and shame as a hot wetness gathered between my legs. My centre throbbed slowly, a dull, hateful reminder of my perversity in finding Helen – a female – attractive.
Pressing my warm face to the coarse pillow, I prayed for the blissful numbness of sleep to claim me.
***
“Did you sleep at all?”
Peering vaguely across the dark room at the question, I shrugged tiredly.
It was still pitch black outside – a time when one should be safely tucked up in a warm bed, not hopping about from toe to toe as a biting chill swirled around you.
But all traces of grogginess left me as Helen stripped off unashamedly, throwing her nightdress over her head. Her large, naked breasts bounced as she briskly moved about the cold room, and despite the darkness circling us, I could make out more than enough from the moonlight: her nipples were hard from the cold, her areola large. The bush between her legs was dark and small.
I turned away on a belated jerk.
“You’re not shy, are you?” I heard her amused rebuke then, my head pounding slightly. “You hoity toity lot are a right bunch of prudes!”
I said nothing, knowing that my voice would most likely shake with the repressed desire beating through me.
Helen laughed again and sailed past me to the door, now fully dressed, as I struggled out of my nightgown. I listened to her retreating footsteps a little anxiously, hurrying to dress.
By the time I arrived downstairs, Helen was already buttoned up and ready to set off, a frown pulling at her lovely brow.
“You’ll make us late,” she warned, urging me to hurry, and I mumbled an apology.
We entered the dark, empty street, the bitter winter chill hitting me hard.
“Suspect it’ll snow soon enough,” Helen mused as we traversed the narrow pavement, and the journey up to the manor house I’d be working at for the foreseeable future passed in sleepy silence once we’d mounted the conveyance which, each morning, collected the few workers who didn’t board at the house.
I watched as the narrow buildings that made up the port village disappeared; as acres of forestry and greenery replaced the dismal display that was now my home.
As my place of employment came into view I gasped, full wakefulness coming to me. My father may well have been a wealthy man before his troubles but it had been nothing compared to this. The Moreland’s manor house was a sprawling white-brick beauty, the grounds surrounding it lush and expansive.
We entered through the servant’s entrance after dismounting, something I found amusing and novel given my life of privilege on the other side thus far, and I was put to work swiftly, peeling and chopping mounds of potatoes and other vegetables for breakfast. My mouth watered as the cook, a thin, sallow looking woman, fried my morning’s efforts in herbs and butter.
When it came time for the staff to eat their morning meal in the small servants hall where Helen had informed me the staff congregated on their breaks, it was well past ten and I felt almost lightheaded having picked at my food last night.
Shyly, I stared around the cluttered space, taking in the people laughing and chattering as I sat alone. I’d seen Helen briefly thus far and she had barely acknowledged me when we had come upon one another. I felt slightly sore at her dismissal but shrugged it off – we were not friends. We were not even family, really.
“Cheer up, love. First day can’t have started off that badly. You’re Helen Simmonds’s cousin, aren’t you?”
I finished off the last of my breakfast, nodding, warily eyeing the boy who had just taken a seat next to me on the bench.
“Well, what’s your name, love?” he leaned across the table, grinning.
“Lara,” I supplied before rising from the table, but he stayed me with a hand over my own.
“Stick with me and I’ll show you the ropes – been here since I was ten. I know how things go ‘round here.”
Helen’s earlier warning came back to me, and I smiled sardonically. “Thank you – however I shall be perfectly alright.”
His handsome face twisted slightly and I felt my face warming at my prim, clipped response.
“Suit yourself, your highness,” he scoffed on a mocking laugh, earning quite a few mocking looks from those in the room.
I hurried away from the servants’ communal room in embarrassment for it wouldn’t be long, I thought in regret, before news spread of my ‘airs and graces’ if that boy’s expression of disdain was anything to go by.
***
By the time I left the Moreland’s it was dark, a fact I found depressing since I’d risen in pitch blackness only to step outside again after a full day of work to the same.
Helen scoffed when I mentioned this. “Best get used to it now that it’s winter – you’ll barely see daylight,” she tutted as we entered the house.
I bumped into my mother on the upstairs landing, her face pale and drawn.
“Oh, it was awful,” she moaned as I enquired after her day. “I don’t know how people endure it.”
I shook my head at her lack of tact, but at least she had the good sense to whisper.
“I need a new dress, mama – my plain grey one was still too fancy. I’ll need something black and also a white apron-”
“Nonsense!” my mother cried, frowning. “I see no earthly reason why we should be expected to dress badly just because our station in life is currently difficult.”
“But mama, I was scolded this morning by the head housemaid – I haven’t a choice in the matter.”
“You can borrow one of mine,” a loud voice declared then, and my mother and I started as Helen climbed the stairs, my mother looking far from impressed at her brazen eavesdropping and boldness.
“Oh – well, thank you,” I nodded.
“Though they’ll probably all be too big,” Helen mused, as I followed her into her room.
She looked me up and down critically and the urge to self-consciously cover myself was strong.
“We’re of a similar height,” I shrugged.
“True enough but you’re a narrow thing. Take that off and try this,” she threw a slightly faded black dress my way.
I slipped out of my gown awkwardly and pulled Helen’s dress over my shift, my eyes trained to the floorboards in embarrassment the whole time; I’d be damned if I voiced my discomfort at casually undressing before her and earn her mockery.
“Those dresses you wear don’t do you any favours, you know,” Helen sounded surprised as she assessed me. “You’ve got narrower hips but we’re about the same up top,” her eyes slipped to my chest. “Did you get any bother today?” she asked then.
I thought of the boy who’d suggestively offered me his services this morning and the resulting cool looks I’d received from him and his friends whenever I’d chanced upon them.
“None at all.”
“Well that ain’t what I heard,” Helen mocked. “Do you want me to give Harry and his lot a talking to?”
So that was the boy’s name, I mused, shaking my head. “I don’t need mothering. I can handle him.”
Helen arched a brow. “Suit yourself,” she shrugged.
While she went off to the bathroom, I hurried to bed, eager to get to sleep be
fore she came back, which, judging by how exhausted I was, would be soon enough. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to Helen pressed flush against me in this small bed. It was just my luck that this long forgotten so-called cousin of mine was beautiful, I thought on sigh.
I considered what she’d said earlier – that we had similar sized chests. Judging but what I could feel when she lay against me, and what I’d seen on those rare occasions when my hateful eyes would stray, her breasts were rather a bit larger than my own. I felt the familiar heat low in my belly as I thought of Helen’s naked breasts. I was no better than my brother! I pounded the pillow a little and shifted about, hating my train of thought.
***
“You’ll freeze out here!”
“Oh, I’ll be alright…” I looked over my shoulder at Mabel, the cook.
I was currently hopping from foot to foot by the servants’ entrance, waiting for Helen. It was well past ten o’clock and I’d been hovering here for a good twenty minutes already where usually I’d depart earlier with the rest of the staff who didn’t board at the manor – but I’d stayed a little later than usual today to help old Mabel prepare some of tomorrow’s food, missing the usual ride that took the others back to the village.
I’d been working at the Moreland manor for almost four weeks now and in that time I’d gotten the hang of things quite well, glad that I’d established a tentative friendship with the older woman since she gave me first pick of the left-overs when it came time for the staff to eat.
“Waiting for Helen, I suspect,” the older woman nodded sagely. “Go on in and get her, for goodness sake. The girl works too hard by half – she’s not like the other lazy chits who do the bare minimum. She’s picking up young Lydia’s slack owing to the girl’s head-cold so I suspect she’ll be up in the laundry room.”
I nodded and thanked her, hurrying through the warm kitchen.
were few servants milling about as I discreetly made my way to the laundry room, tucked away at the back of the house, the household having died down owing to the Moreland’s dining out tonight.
As I reached the laundry, wary to tread quietly, as Lydia, the young girl who’d been frogmarched into showing me the ropes on my first morning had said, I heard my cousin’s disembodied voice drifting over as I entered the steam-filled laundry.
“We can’t, Liz,” Helen sighed. “It ain’t right – not with your being married now.”
“Well it feels right enough. We can meet tomorrow at-”
I stilled as I rounded the corner and spied the two women who’d been furtively talking before, watching in stunned surprise as a brown-haired maid I’d seen briefly during my time here reached around Helen’s front, cupping her breasts, squeezing them through her dress.
While I was certain there was no breath left in my body at the shocking sight – and conversation – something must have alerted the two women to my presence for they were turning in alarm, staring at me wide-eyed as I hovered by the door.
“The cook said I’d find you here but I…I wasn’t sure how much longer you’d be staying behind tonight. I-I’ll leave you to it,” I said quickly, clumsily turning away.
I moved through the silent house quickly and I was glad of the cold evening once I exited the manor, the chilly air soothing my burning cheeks.
It could not be, I thought. I must have been mistaken in what I saw.
“Wait up!”
I stopped, glancing over my shoulder as a pale figure jogged towards me.
“You certainly walk fast!” Helen panted, shaking her head as she reached me. “Well – aren’t you going to say anything, then?” she asked on sigh after we’d made our way around the back of the building, waiting for one of the riders to ready a cart and take us back to the village.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I shrugged, stopping in the stables.
I turned away from Helen to stroke the horse beside me, running my unsteady hands over its quivering body.
Helen snorted. “Pull the other one – your face said you’d been nosy for long enough-”
“No!” I defended, lowering my voice even though we were quite alone for the moment. “I did nothing of the sort, I-”
Helen flapped a dismissive hand. “No one ever comes to the laundry at that time but we were silly to have been so careless. Will you tell, then?”
The question was asked in such a nonchalant way that I found myself relaxing in spite of the awkward situation.
But I hadn’t a chance to reply for a good-humoured man was jogging up to us, gesturing for Helen and I to mount the cart.
“Stayed late again tonight, Helen?” he called over his shoulder as he urged the horse into action.
Helen replied, shaking her head as he continued,
“Will you come out with me Friday night? We can walk along the sea-front and-”
“No, thanks, Andrew,” she said firmly, and his broad shoulders lifted in a shrug.
“‘Nother time, then,” he nodded, and Helen said nothing.
He dropped us off a little way from Maypole Street and we closed the gap to Helen’s house in silence.
After a quick chin-wag with my tired mother, I washed and dressed for bed, my body heavy with exhaustion. The monotony of my new daily routine was almost pleasant.
Helen was already in bed once I left the bathroom and I slipped in beside her – my pallet had arrived shortly after my arrival here but it had been so worn and stained that my aunt had been mortified, and I’d ended up sleeping with Helen ever since.
I whispered after a moment of debating with myself whether I should bother: “You may think me coddled and an eavesdropper but if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a gossip,” and then I turned onto my side and closed my eyes.
“You mean it?”
Helen’s quiet reply hung in the air for a moment and though I’d only known her for a short while, her sudden soberness struck as uncharacteristic and I found myself hastening to reassure her.
“Of course. Is she – are you together?” I blurted out then, knowing that if I didn’t ask now that the topic was at hand, I’d never be brave enough to chance it again.
“Liz is married,” Helen said after a moment. “I know it ain’t right – I mean, isn’t,” she corrected on a huff of laughter, and I smiled at her impressive mimic of my mother’s cut-glass accent whenever she’d correct Helen’s speech.
“Is that why you haven’t married?” I murmured.
“Never will, either,” Helen declared boldly, though she whispered as I had. “I love women and that’s that. I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
“I daresay you have, but not for reasons you expect,” I muttered.
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” I heard the scowl in her voice and laughed.
“I – well, I am aware that there are women who like women…and men who like men,” I added.
“Well I’ll be! That’s what they’re teaching you in the schoolroom, is it? There I was thinking you’d swoon at what you walked in on!”
“I’ve seen a few paintings that would have succeeded in that job were I the swooning type,” I said dryly.
“Dirty pictures, you mean?” Helen sounded quite interested.
“I suppose you could call them that...”
“Of women together?” she persisted. “Doing what?”
“Hmm?”
“The paintings-”
“Oh,” I opened my eyes to darkness, face feeling warm, stomach fluttery as I recalled the Gustave Courbet painting I’d seen in Paris a while ago of two women lying nude together, limbs entwined, on an unmade bed.
I’d attended his salon with a friend of mine – we’d evaded our maids to make the trip to see the man’s scandalous paintings, his name famous around all of Europe. My friend had tittered in mortification at the paintings, but I’d been stunned at that particular one, hardly daring to believe that he’d been bold enough to paint such a thing – to paint what I’d fantasised about without quite re
leasing it. Suddenly, I hadn’t felt quite so alone in my secret desires. Since then, I’d seen a fair few erotic drawings of both men and women together though it was those depicting two women that I’d always paid special attention to.
“Too shy to say, eh? Was they muff licking?”
“Helen!” I groaned in mortification.
“Well, no point beating about the bush, if you’ll pardon the pun,” she laughed.
“As a matter of fact, I have seen such pictures,” I declared quietly, hoping to shock her at my inability to shy away from her goading. “They were quite beautiful.”
