Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  I nodded, for what else could I do? Dewel had been playing puppeteer ever since I’d given him permission to take me over. I dared not doubt his maid’s intent — nor his — and this thought made me quiver with a curiosity that burned in my cheeks and my chest…and in that place between my legs that hadn’t gotten nearly enough attention these past seven years.

  My gaze wandered beneath Monique’s brief black skirt. ‘Where’s your underwear?’ I challenged, realising how matronly and disapproving I sounded.

  ‘I don’t own any.’ Her lips twitched with a smile. ‘I like the feeling of freedom, and I like to defy society. But mostly I enjoy knowing that Dewel, and my beau, Tommy Jon, think about me being naked down there. They consider the possibilities constantly — for that’s what men are all about, Auntie Eve.’

  Another draw on her cigar, another puff of smoke, and Monique became a seductress extraordinaire. Her legs fell languidly apart to display a neatly trimmed black bush with a pink nub protruding from it. I could smell her sex, so intriguing, with a riper pungency than mine.

  I swallowed hard. Never had I seen another woman’s private parts, much less my own.

  And why not? my thoughts suddenly demanded.

  ‘Time for our first lesson, oui?’ she asked, stroking my sleep-mussed hair from my forehead. ‘My new Auntie Eve has much to learn, and she’ll make me a fine pupil. Your wild, erotic dreams of Dewel are only the beginning, cherie.’

  3 An Inquisition, and My Christening

  As we went downstairs to breakfast, the aromas of fried ham, Andouille sausages and sticky pecan buns sent my mind into a tailspin. Why was I allowing myself to be cajoled this way? And how would I explain Miss Picabou to Fanny, a housekeeper who was the soul of propriety? I was ravenous for the morning spread this motherly woman always prepared, yet deep down, somewhat below my growling stomach, a forbidden hunger demanded to be fed as well.

  Dangerous, this illicit dare I’d taken. Monique smiled demurely, keeping pace as I rounded the outside spiral of the staircase — until, with a girlish giggle, she hefted one hip on to the mahogany balustrade and deftly slid the rest of the way down. With a neat little hop, she hit the vestibule floor and then grinned up at me.

  ‘Smile, cherie, look happy,’ she entreated, her olive complexion alight with her smile. ‘Today you become as free as Monique!’

  An alluring thought; an idea that inspired my envy, for when was the last time I’d had fun? When had I last indulged in doing as I pleased, the devil — and high society — be damned?

  I hooked my arm through hers, and together we marched down the short hallway to the dining room. I felt ready to burst into some rollicking song, for the sheer joy of it —

  But there sat Chapin.

  He glanced up from his breakfast, regarded my top-knotted companion with a raised eyebrow, and then rose from his chair. Always the proper gentleman, my husband. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?’ he prompted in a tight voice.

  I quickly unlinked our elbows. Why did I feel like a child who’d been caught at something naughty? ‘May I present Monique, my — my new lady’s maid — since you’ve told me so many times I should hire more staff,’ I added in a rush.

  Then I turned to the woman beside me, who stood with her hands clasped before her. Her prim smile camouflaged what she knew about my husband and his extramarital activities. ‘Monique, this is my husband, Mr Chapin Proffit. Although I’ve taken you on as my personal assistant, you will, of course, be responsible for any tasks he assigns you as well.’

  ‘Of course,’ she echoed, with only the slightest hint of derision. Her curtsy appeared extremely graceful, considering how the tops of her gartered stockings showed when she lifted her skirt. ‘It is an honour to work in your home, for your lovely wife. I will give her excellent care, monsieur.’

  With a quick, efficient nod Monique then disappeared through the kitchen door — the proper move on her part, to carry out the role I’d assigned her on a moment’s notice.

  But it left me alone with a man who now inspired questions that squelched my appetite. How could I sit here as though I’d seen nothing yesterday, with a man who didn’t usually eat breakfast? Was I to interpret this odd behaviour as his atonement? A way to spend more time with his neglected wife?

  Chapin was not the only one going round the proverbial mulberry bush — or whatever he called it, on his ‘niece’. I, too, had to dance around his covert courtyard activities, acting as though I hadn’t seen his wild abandon as he approached her from behind…that grimace of ecstasy as they muffled their cries of delight.

  He pulled out the chair beside his, going through the perfectly proper motions, as he studied me with unaccustomed candour. When I perched on the edge of the seat, however, he scooted me forward until my midsection pressed the table — an unusually aggressive move. ‘What were you doing with Dewel yesterday?’

  My heart stopped and I nearly choked. ‘I’d been to Madame LaRue’s for a fitting,’ I squeaked. ‘He happened along and, as a gentleman, he escorted me to the carriage so I wouldn’t walk alone —’

  ‘A gentleman does not swat his brother’s wife on the butt!’ Chapin snapped, his hands still gripping my chair. ‘That bastard’s up to something. Now what is it?’

  Had my husband always had a cruel streak, or was I just now seeing this side of him? After a few uncomfortable moments, and my protesting gasp from being pressed so hard against the table, he released me and reseated himself. Chapin Proffit was the picture of Southern gentility in his crisp suit of ivory linen, with a white shirt and pale yellow cravat, and his golden, collar-length hair flowing back over his ears. He was his mama’s fair-haired boy in every sense of the word — but Virgilia died before his father, so she’d had no control over how the family properties were divided.

  This bone had always stuck in my husband’s craw, and he was picking at it again. His pale blue eyes pierced mine, demanding an answer. His fingers drummed the table beside his plate, making his crested signet ring glisten in the light from the crystal chandelier.

  I took a few terse moments to lay my napkin across my lap. ‘You misinterpret what you saw, Chapin,’ I hedged, my voice deceptively low and calm. ‘When my shoe wobbled on the carriage carpeting, he reached up to keep me from falling backwards. You would do the same for a lady in a similar circumstance.’

  I held his chilly gaze, and then turned my attention to the platters of food that no longer enticed me. After all, what did I have to explain, after what I’d seen him engaged in? As I chose a sausage and a bun that spiralled around its sweet pecan filling, he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

  ‘And where did you procure Monique? She’s decidedly crude and unsuitable.’

  I should’ve pricked him with my fork, to deflate that puffed-up tone of his! But I caught myself: what did he know, really? What had he seen, both with Dewel and when I entered this room arm-in-arm with Monique? I couldn’t create any connections between his half-brother and my new maid, so I summoned up a province over which he had little control.

  ‘Madame LaRue recommended her,’ I fibbed, pointedly filling my mouth with food so I wouldn’t have to answer him further.

  ‘And you asked for no references?’

  Damn this man, had he always been so difficult? Years I’d managed his household, and he’d never been so picky! I continued to chew, slowly and methodically, while looking him straight in the face. I was thinking up a logical reply, of course, and having a hard time of it.

  ‘I’ve had no occasion to question my dressmaker’s taste,’ I replied. ‘Why are you so testy this morning, Chapin? Did you not sleep well? Or is there something you need to tell me? Some crisis in the family finances, perhaps?’

  He wouldn’t reveal what he’d been spending, nor with whom, but my question had the desired effect: he became so interested in his meal, all I heard for the next several moments were the delicate clatterings of our fork tines on the bone china plates — a civilised sound that
echoed in this cavernous chamber with its long, polished table and gilt-framed mirrors.

  Guilt-framed, to be sure, I mused as I forced down food I wasn’t hungry for. But I refused to cave in. I’d had my share of illicit fantasies and unexpected adventures in the past twenty-four hours, but they were nothing compared to what I’d caught Chapin at.

  I’d have to be careful, though. Being too smug about my new-found knowledge would cost me if I forgot these little lies I’d been weaving. Like a spider’s delicate web, they’d collapse if I made a wrong move or gave conflicting details.

  Finally he rose from the table and, as an afterthought, he clasped my hand. ‘Our finances are fine, Evie — never stronger, as demand for cotton increases on the market. Not that you ever need worry your pretty head about such matters,’ he added with a protective smile. ‘And I’m pleased you’ve taken my advice about increasing the household staff, for it seems I’ve been placed in the running to become the next mayor of New Orleans.’

  What wife wouldn’t feel excited about such a surprise? ‘Well, congratulations, Chapin!’ I said, as pleased about this new topic of conversation as I was not to be the centre of it.

  ‘Thank you, Evie. I’m rather tickled myself.’ His smile lit up his entire face, making him one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen. ‘It behoves us to engage the rest of our new staff from a reputable clearing house. We’ll be hosting parties for the city’s most prominent political forces, and I can’t abide any social blunders, or suspicions about stealing the family silver — or, God forbid, any jewellery belonging to our guests. I’m sure you’ll do your best, Miss Eve.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ I murmured, accepting his peck on the cheek with a tight smile.

  He strode to the dining room doorway, and then fixed me with a gaze that camouflaged his former animosity. ‘Please accept my apologies for that unpleasantness about Dewel. I suppose being placed in such a public fishbowl has made me very aware of whom you and I are seen swimming with, my dear. He may be my half-brother, but I’ll tolerate no more of playing second fiddle in this family. Nor will I allow him to wreak havoc on my campaign, just for the fiendish joy he’d get from it.’

  ‘I can certainly understand that,’ I said with an emphatic nod.

  ‘I knew you’d see it my way. Have a fine day, dear wife.’

  ‘And you as well.’

  The quiet clatter of his custom-made boots bade me a genteel farewell as he crossed the vestibule. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding, with a touch of mockery.

  ‘Crude and unsuitable, am I?’ came a lilting whisper behind me. ‘Well then, we’ll procure the master a household staff from only the finest school for domestics, Auntie Eve! Or shall we call you…Auntie Evil?’

  I turned to protest and correct her, yet I began giggling. Monique stood with her fists planted in her hips and her bared breasts shoved above her pinafore’s placket again, making them jiggle lewdly. With a cheroot between her teeth and that riot of raven hair tumbling loose on one side, my new maid was the image of impropriety — and other things I didn’t even know how to think about.

  She responded to my shaking head with an unladylike snort. ‘What’s sauce for the goose is good on the gander, oui?’

  I couldn’t argue with that. Monique obviously had some unique form of retribution in mind, and it would be a tasty change to watch Chapin simmer in this pot he’d set to boiling.

  4 A Lewd Awakening

  As we entered her quaint little shop, Madame LaRue gawked openly from where she stood beside a sewing machine, checking the work of her assistant.

  While it was true Monique presented an unseemly image in this haven for society’s finest, at least she’d tucked her breasts into her dress again and had looped the loose hair back on to her head. Her smile radiated a zany mischief that made my heart dance despite the explanations I’d have to make.

  Or would I? By God, this dressmaker had collected enough from Proffit coffers these past seven years that she could put up with anything — or anyone — I brought into her shop! I walked towards her with my politest smile.

  ‘Good afternoon, Françoise, Nicole,’ I said, nodding at the two in turn. ‘This is my new maid, Monique, and we’re here to fetch those dresses you’ve just completed.’

  My companion prodded me with her elbow.

  ‘And,’ I added, ‘I’d like to experiment with a few new things as well — for some upcoming masked balls. My husband is in the running to become the next mayor of New Orleans.’

  This widened their eyes with the respect I normally received. ‘Why, congratulations, Miss Eve!’ Madame LaRue gushed, steering me towards the back dressing rooms with a proprietary air. ‘Mr Proffit will make our city a fine leader, indeed. And I should think his lady would want the brightest Mardi Gras colours — stunning sequins and beaded trims for —’

  ‘Black lace,’ Monique stated from a few steps behind us. ‘Perhaps something in scarlet as well. Silks and satins. Fabrics that cling to her curves and drape alluringly.’

  My seamstress scowled over her shoulder. ‘But those colours are far too severe for Miss Eve’s auburn hair and fair complexion. Might I recommend —’

  ‘Black,’ I insisted as we reached the door of a private room. ‘With your most outlandish feathers and sequins — in scarlets and purples. Greens and golds!’

  ‘Severe and outlandish — oh-la-la!’ Monique summarised with sultry glee. ‘That would suit my Aunt Evil quite well.’

  Once again the seamstress stared at me as though I’d lost my senses, yet as I entered the richly appointed fitting room, I was filled with a giddy sense of adventure I hadn’t known in years. Whatever my maid had in mind would be the perfect foil for Chapin’s high-handedness. Within moments, another assistant hurried in with my four newly completed gowns, and then we were left alone while Françoise and her staff found the fabrics we’d just requested.

  I watched Monique scrutinise the gowns. With quick fingers she tested the flounce of the sleeves and the fullness of the skirts, glancing from the dresses to various parts of my body. I removed my hat and gloves, and then felt her brown eyes assessing me as I unbuttoned the jacket to my forest-green walking suit.

  ‘Your new gowns are fine, as far as they go,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Fine, for the wife of a politician. But if you wish to seduce him, Aunt Evil, you must expose —’

  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. It makes me feel like I was spawned by the devil.’ I was removing my outer clothes, to try on something else, and the glint in those dark Cajun eyes gave me pause.

  ‘But that’s how you must think now, ma tante,’ she explained. ‘Evil! Wicked!’

  To make her point, she grabbed the lace edging of my corset cover and tore it off me. ‘Men, they want to see their women, hints of skin and lengths of leg that get their minds off everything but their cocks. And this corset must go. It only gets in the way — cuts ugly marks into your skin, oui? And by the time a lover gets it off you, it’s no wonder he’s lost interest!’

  At that moment, Madame LaRue entered the room and blanched. We must’ve made a startling sight, with me being stripped and lectured by a young hussy who cast all decency aside with my clothing.

  ‘I’ll come back later, when you’ve decided what you’d like,’ the little woman murmured. She dumped her armload of fabric bolts in the nearest chair, exiting with a tsk, tsk that would’ve done a nun proud.

  Monique grinned lasciviously. ‘Oh, I’ve already decided what I’d like, merci. And I’ll say it again, Aunt Evil — you have absolutely nothing to feel inferior about. You have no idea how beautiful you are, or how to use that beauty to your advantage. But Monique will teach you.’

  My pulse pounded, for when had I ever heard such praise for my body? The breasts and midsection I kept bound beneath a corset…the legs and arms I always covered like a proper wife…the wavy red hair pulled up into a pompadour and hidden beneath the compulsory hat. When the young woman behind me f
inished unlacing my stays and flung away the tight foundation, I let out a sigh of utmost…downright hedonistic relief.

  I caught my breath, however, when Monique stepped in front of me with a furtive smile. ‘Take off your camisole and drawers, cherie. Then we’ll drape you in that fine black lace.’

  My windpipe tightened until I thought I’d never breathe again. Yet my fingers did her bidding, peeling away the last layers of fabric, leaving me bare before her, except for my dark stockings and pumps. I stood there nervously, unsure of what to do with my hands, until they instinctively covered my breasts.

  ‘Non, non, non,’ she murmured, brushing them aside to catch my fingers with her own. ‘You must show yourself proudly…stick them out and wiggle them. Feel them shifting on your ribcage while your lover warms them with his fiery gaze. Because he will, ma belle. No one in his right mind could resist you this way.’

  Was there a hidden meaning couched in Monique’s remark? She’d used the male pronoun, as though still referring to my husband, yet I couldn’t miss the quickening of her respiration…the widening of those jet-black pupils in eyes that nearly filled her face. When she licked her lips, a feline gesture giving a quick glimpse of her white teeth, something inside me quivered.

  ‘Ah, oui, the nipples, they’re responding now,’ she murmured, still holding my hands out at my shoulders as though we were dancing. Monique then shifted me, side-to-side, watching the shimmy of my loose breasts, letting her gaze wander to my navel and below. ‘Black lace, so fine and provocative. It’s time to try it, oui, ma tante?’

  I doubted she was talking about the bolt of fabric in the chair. My body stiffened at the idea of what she was gazing at, and what she might do to it, yet I felt a traitorous trickle of warmth pooling inside me…down there. Down where a proper lady didn’t explore, much less contemplate such activity with another woman — and in a room where my seamstress might walk in at any moment!