by Isha Dehaven
Hinterlands
An Erotic tale By Isha Dehaven
This is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.
Copyright © 2013 Isha Dehaven
For the river that flows to the sea
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Amelia was filled with anxiety and expectation as the carriage bumped along the dirt highway, and she felt herself jump involuntarily with each shake and jostle. She was doing her best to look composed and servile, not an easy task for a girl just turned 18 and away from London for the very first time. She clutched her small canvas bag tightly in her lap and sat up straight, just as her mother had instructed her to do this morning. In fact, those had been mother’s parting words as the carriage was pulling away: Sit up straight dear! Amelia could still hear them as if her mother was sitting in the seat beside her. It was a full 30 miles to Hinterlands estate and the normally smooth road through the moors had been damaged by days of rain. As a result there were sections of hillside that had washed across the carriage tracks creating frequent obstacles. Some of these washouts were nearly impassable, and in those instances the driver had his boy jump down to guide the horses as they carefully inched passed. After an hour of such holdups, the driver had apparently grown inpatient and had now decided to simply power through them as evidenced by the uptick in speed and violence of the ride. Amelia tried to turn her thoughts away from the dangers of the road and on to more positive things.
The sun shone with a brilliance that would cheer anyone, and Amelia knew she should feel buoyed at the prospect of this new situation: serving Lord Dunmoor at the grand country estate Hinterlands. Amelia’s mother had arranged for the serving position over a year ago when Amelia was just seventeen, and its importance couldn’t be overemphasized. The money she earned here would help provide a future for her mother and her many sisters at home. After the loss of their father to violence when Amelia was only 11 all of the children had made due bringing in what money and food that they could, in order to make ends meet. It was a rough existence in the streets of St. Giles, and the girl’s skirts and faces were often dirty with coal and soot spewed forth from the many chimneys that covered the ever-growing city. Their mother had been forced into working long hours as a washerwoman for a wealthy widow in a distant part of the city, and as a result of this, Amelia had fallen into her mother’s role at home, her young life a continual struggle to care for her three sisters. Often, they could afford only the smallest pieces of coal, and the girls had spent many nights shivering in their small cottage, their bodies pressed together before a tiny fire. At those times she often dreamed of being fabulously rich, and never having to freeze again. It all seemed a world away.
Amelia thought of these things now as she stared from the window of the carriage. She was far from the world of London and she wished to make it far from her mind as well. She thought instead of her body-scrubbed clean and slightly perfumed, with the faintest touch of rosewater—a parting gift from her youngest sister. She also admired the fine cream-colored working dress she was wearing, one that her mother had sewn herself over the past two weeks. She ran her hands over the fabric, cool to the touch, smoothing it against her slender thighs. She checked that her blonde hair was wound tightly into the working bun that was customary for her position. Amelia was very proud of her hair, and had always taken great care to keep the wavy golden strands healthy and clean. She shifted slightly in the seat, adjusting to the feel of her new stockings and pantaloons. She had never felt so formal, although she was only preparing to work as a housemaid. This position had meant everything to her mother and sisters. It was a chance at a new life for them all and she felt a great pressure pushing her from behind, urging her forward. The young girl inside of her however, the one who sought out adventure and romance, this girl too felt something. A deep craving that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once, and she couldn’t identify it even if she had tried. Yet nevertheless, as Amelia watched the rolling hills pass by she felt the subtle stirrings of happenstance, tugging gently at her heart.
As for Lord Dunmoor, Amelia only knew what was spoken of him by her mother’s employer in London. He was alleged to be a fair man, just, and fabulously wealthy. He had spent the better portion of his life fighting with the regiments in distant locales, earning commendation in the Crimea. He was said to have a passion for horses, and was rumored to have the most extensive stables in the north of England. As the Carriage approached the house, she could see just how expansive the stables actually were, long wooden buildings stretching through the lush green glens, nestled in vast expanses with beautiful horses running free across the grasses and purple nettles. Here and there she spied servants, like herself, corralling the horses or brushing their fine manes. A large barn-like building that must have been the serving quarters stood at the end of a long drive, and even this structure seemed to have a loveliness about it, as if there had been great care taken in its construction. But that was not to be Amelia’s place. She was to work in the manor house itself, serving Lord Dunmoor and his guests personally. Her mother had trained her for years to serve, just had as she her self had served, and Amelia had no doubt that she was up for the job.
The manor house came into view and Amelia was flabbergasted. It was simply the most beautiful home that she had ever seen. Large and gray, it resembled a castle more than a house, with many turrets and wings that extended skyward in myriad fashions. The drive curled back and forth in its approach to the house, and Amelia found herself being seduced by the sheer romance of the place, from its large windows which gazed out upon picturesque ponds filled with geese, to its ivy-covered arches and cornices, obviously molded by the hands of some master craftsman many years before. She wondered what lay in store for her within those stony walls, and made up her mind that she would do her best to serve the house well, and make her mother proud.
The carriage ground to a halt and an older white-haired gentleman opened the door for her to get out. He was wearing a long camel-hair coat and extended his hand to help her step over a small puddle. Clutching her one canvas bag tightly to her bosom and taking his hand, she stepped down from the carriage, feeling her heels crunch into the soft gravel. She glanced up at her new home, admiring the finely ornamented gables, and fine French style panes. It was the most elegant looking place a girl from London could imagine. The view was far too brief however, as she was quickly ushered into a side entrance by the older gentleman.
“I am Stephen Kendlewood, the Butler here at Hinterlands”, he piped in a thick Irish brogue as he led her down a hallway bustling with servants, “…but while you work for Lord Dunmoor you will call me Mr. Stephen. Is that understood Ms?”
“Kerrick.” Amelia replied with a bow of her head, “Amelia Kerrick”. They travelled past the massive kitchens and down a number of labyrinthine hallways in the bowels of the house, turning right and left before coming to a halt at the end of a particularly poorly lit alcove. Mr. Stephen opened a well-used door and gestured inside.
“Well Ms. Kerrick, you will be rooming here with Ms. Corzan and Ms. Enders. Presently, they are turning out the beds for the evening and aren’t here right now. No matter, get yourself settled in and report to me in the kitchen in about 30 minutes. There’s no point standing on ceremony here Ms. Kerrick.”
The room was tiny, cool and dark but was neat. The walls were covered in peeling paint that had originally been a shade of green but had over the years faded into a wholly indescr
ibable color. There were three small beds with chests at the foot, and Amelia chose the only one that was obviously vacant. As she removed her only pair of traveling shoes and stretched her aching feet, she wondered what had become of the last girl to inhabit this space. She hoped that she had gone on to make a life for herself, but knew there was a good chance the girl had died of fever. It had ravaged the countryside the past year and she had heard from her mother that this was how she had obtained this position in the first place.
Amelia had just placed a foot onto her clothing chest in order to adjust her stockings, tightening the small straps that kept them hoisted up her thigh when the door opened suddenly startling her. It was a foreign girl of 18 or 19 with dark eyes and a fierce but staggeringly beautiful face. Amelia dropped her skirt, flushing crimson. Her shyness had always been a problem, and she knew she would have to overcome it as a housemaid, but some things are easier said than done.
“Who are you?” The girl demanded with an accent that Amelia had never heard before.
“I’m the new girl Amelia Kerrick” she said holding out her hand and smiling as sweetly as she could. The dark skinned girl didn’t take it, staring at her suspiciously. She closed the door behind her and immediately began unbuttoning a line of fasteners down the side of her working dress, considering Amelia skeptically.
‘There’s no way to be bashful in thees place. You will find it’s a waste of time. Here help with thees buttons!” the girl commanded with authority, and Amelia began helping her unfasten buttons on the back of the dress. She fumbled awkwardly with them, perhaps due to nervousness, or this girl’s aggressive tone. As the buttons came apart she found herself looking at the delicate black hairs on the back of the neck, curling this way and that. The girl’s skin was also dark and smooth, and her body gave off an odor that was sweet, like cocoa and rich with a spice that Amelia couldn’t identify. As she helped her out of the dress and it fell in a bundle around her feet, Amelia realized with shock that this girl had been essentially naked beneath the dress, no brazier, no pantaloons. She now stood plainly in her stockings and boots and nothing else. Amelia turned her face away, wishing suddenly to be in any room but this one, but not before she had seen the gracefully turned neck, the long smooth muscles of the girls back, and her round buttocks. All of these curves were accentuated with her sheer stockings and stocking belt. Amelia had never seen a woman like this, so lurid and shameless. Feverish warmth spread throughout her body.
“Miss….you…I” Amelia stammered.
“Enza” the girl replied nonchalantly, rummaging through her chest looking for some piece of clothing. She seemed brazen about her nudity the way she bent over, almost intentionally provocative. She paused to pull up her stocking, taking her time. Then, finding a blue serving dress with white lace, she turned to face Amelia revealing her nakedness fully. “You don’t understand how things go here girl. But you will tonight. You will see how Lord Dunmoore is served, and then you will know your place here.” Holding the dress in her hands, but making no attempt to put it on and cover her nakedness, she sauntered directly up to Amelia backing her into the wall. She stopped only inches away, so close that Amelia could feel her breath. Gently turning Amelia’s chin toward her, she peered directly into her eyes.
“You are a pretty one aren’t you? Lips so soft, like the petals of a flower.” Enza lightly brushed her lips against Amelia’s and her heart fluttered and beat within her chest like a caged bird. The feeling was exciting and terrifying. She stiffened suddenly as Enza brought her other hand up under her cream colored skirt, running her fingers gently along the skin of her inner thigh. “And so sweet aren’t you? Yes, you will have much to learn here.” Amelia could smell something wild and thunderous emanating from Enza’s naked body, and she couldn’t help but notice the small and pointy breasts angled at her, and thick patch of hair that lay in shadow between Enza’s legs. At this observation, her breathing began to come in gasps, and an uncontrollable feeling of arousal suddenly flooded her senses. She was overcome with a hyperawareness of her own body lying beneath her dress and this left her breathless. She clamped her thighs together on Enza’s hand and turned her face to the side again, closing her eyes. Enza laughed in a mocking fashion and pulled her hand from Amelia’s skirts. She strode across the room where she began to put on her dress. “Tonight, after dinner, you will find out your place here.” She flashed her fierce and wicked eyes in Amelia’s direction and laughed a girlish laugh that was both enticing and frightening. After scarcely buttoning the dress over her naked body, Enza walked from the room.
It took Amelia some time to recover from her encounter with her new roommate. She was confused after Enza left, sitting quietly on her bed. She had never encountered a woman, so shameless and brash, and she had no idea how she was supposed to live in the same room with a girl such as this.
The house kitchens were alive and bustling with activity. When Amelia arrived the many men and women of Hinterlands were preparing a feast fit for a king, and Lord Dunmoore was king of this castle. The head cook barked orders at a dozen young girls as they plucked and cleaned pheasants, their small hands dexterous and quick. Still others washed and gathered ornate dishes and platters, setting them out to be loaded with decadently stuffed quail, and steaming puddings. A fat man kneaded dough roughly with his hands and folded it cleverly into sumptuous pastries. He shouted in French to his assistant, who sprinted for some ingredient tripping over a serving girl in the process. This in turn stimulated a shouting match between them both adding to the tumult of the kitchens.
Mr. Stephen met Amelia as scheduled and immediately scolded her for her cream dress and working shoes.
“Ms. Kerrick that dress simply won’t do! No, no, no. Ms. Farstone! Ms. FARSTONE!” he shouted loudly in multiple directions. “Please take care of this young lady. No. No. No.”
Ms. Farstone was a large intimidating woman (she was beginning to realize that everyone at Hinterlands intimidated her) with flaming red hair and a suspicious gaze, emphasized by her audacious eye paints. When Ms. Farstone came down the hallway, everyone seemed to get out of her way, choosing alternate paths, and avoiding her entirely. Taking Amelia by the arm she led her to a small dressing room and left her holding a blue dress with lace, much like the one that Enza had pulled out of the chest in their room. She also gave Amelia a pair of well-heeled boots to wear.
Amelia stripped off her cream dress quickly, taking care to fold it and set it neatly aside. She stood there in her stockings and underclothes momentarily, before starting to climb into the blue one that lay before her. To say that it was merely “blue” would be a failure of words. The true shade was deep and glossy, the result of hundreds of tiny ribbons wound round each other to create a blinding pattern of cerulean across the bodice. It wrapped her torso so tightly that it thrust her young breasts upward in a very provocative manner, exposing and emphasizing the cleavage. Once she fastened the stays she found that she could scarcely breathe and she took a moment to catch her breath. The back was low-cut, frighteningly so, exposing Amelia’s shoulder blades and the delicate shadow of her spine as it trailed down. Near her lower back a lattice of crisscrossing straps sat atop a pomp of white lace. The dress was also short. Much shorter than any dress Amelia had ever seen, coming well above her knees, almost exposing her thighs and the tops of her stockings. The sleeves were non-existent, merely rings of white lace circling her shoulders.
She looked in the mirror and felt deeply ashamed to be adorned in such an outfit. Her mother wouldn’t approve. In fact Amelia resembled the many women her mother had warned her to not approach, the bad ones that hung around the public fountains in London. But despite this impression, there was also another feeling which overcame her in that moment, something Amelia couldn’t quite place. This girl looking back at her in the mirror, this girl with her hair pinned up, with her slender arms peeking out from the white lace, with her softly rounded knees tapering into slender legs, legs healthy from chasing her sist
ers for hours around the poor working-class neighborhood; this girl was also beyond anything else, exciting. She was thrilling and enticing in some odd way. Amelia then found herself thinking of Enza again, with her smooth creamy skin, and fiery eyes. Enza was wearing this same dress, she thought. Enza’s body was being squeezed in this bodice, and her breasts, the ones she had brazenly displayed to Amelia; they were being thrust upward as well. She became lost in these thoughts as she ran her hands slowly along her sides and up under her bosom. The feeling was brief, and she came-to suddenly, as if awakening from a spell. The truth is that she was terrified to venture forth looking like this, but she had no choice if she was to work in the house of Lord Dunmoore. Mustering her courage, she exited the small room and reported to Mr. Stephen, who smiled broadly at her appearance.
“Now then, that’s quite an improvement. Yes, yes, you’re a lovely young lady when you put your mind to it.” This comment even elicited a favorable reaction from Ms. Farstone, something Amelia was to find happened quite rarely.
“Mr. Stephen, if I might ask a question sir?” Amelia felt almost too shy to speak as Mr. Stephen brushed lint from her shoulder, but she pressed on nevertheless; “Why is it sir, that I must wear these clothes sir, they seem very--immodest.”
“Immodest?” He seemed shocked. “Never! These dresses were designed by Dutchessa Montaigne herself! No, no, no. The dress is perfect young lady, and you look as no house maid as ever looked in it, I’m sure of it. I have no idea where you came from, but you must learn your manners if you are going to stay here.” Mr. Stephen and Ms. Farstone continued to primp and brush her as if they were preparing her for a ball. Ms. Farstone applied colored paints to Amelia’s face, and reddened her already flushed cheeks. As a finishing touch, Ms. Farstone brought out a large glass bottle and sprayed Amelia down with a noxious perfume, apparently another of this Dutchessa’s inventions.