Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  We both chuckled over her turn of phrase as we entered the new valet’s quarters, where the three maids were already hard at work. Cleopatra, as the tallest, was running her covered mop around the ceiling to catch cobwebs, while Antoinette and Cinderella rolled up the rug. As they shifted the long, loosely coiled weight between them, Monique placed the rug beater under Toinette’s arm.

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ she murmured, and as the two of them passed through the door they gave me a cheery ‘Good morning, Miss Eve!’

  ‘Hard at it, bright and early,’ I remarked. I noted Monique’s gaze lingering on the rug beater, an open paddle-like contraption with a long handle.

  ‘We want Mr Proffit to be extremely pleased with our work,’ Cinderella said. ‘Can’t have this Schuck fellow reporting any…stray cocks.’

  ‘Loose roosters? In my house?’ I quipped. ‘Why, I haven’t seen any such thing, have you, Monique?’

  Her lips quirked. ‘The only wild cock around here will be the one Mr Chapin aims your way, when he can’t keep it to himself,’ she said when the maids were out of earshot. ‘We’re ready for your next lesson. Come with me, ma tante.’

  As we strolled downstairs, I felt excitement thrumming through the arm she tucked around my waist. We entered the music room — a sunny salon seldom used these days, since no one played the grand piano. Monique playfully swatted my bottom before closing the pocket doors. She was in a feisty mood, judging from the way she pivoted and flipped her short skirt up to expose her bare backside.

  ‘Spank me. With your hand,’ she teased.

  My hand instead went to my mouth. ‘Why do you enjoy whipping the new maids?’ I asked quietly. ‘And why on earth do they put up with it?’

  Monique gave me a look that said I might not understand the answer, if I had to ask such a question. But then she stood straight, removing her short black uniform to tease me.

  ‘Our sissy maids, they like a lashing because that sting across their ass excites them — or because they long for the mama who spanked them as boys. They want a woman to take charge. So they can submit to her.’

  My eyes widened. I thought very carefully about this as my maid began to remove my dress. ‘But when I got a spanking, I detested it.’

  ‘Because you were the child, and the one with the switch — or the cane, or the hand, or the hair brush — had all the power, oui? For me, it’s all about the power — especially over a man,’ she added gleefully. ‘We women have so few chances to bring them to their knees, non? And when they’re so grateful for it — like Cinderella last night — we do them the ultimate favour by teaching them how to please us.’

  Her smile waxed absolutely wicked as she raised my camisole above my breasts. ‘And no matter what a man says, deep down he wants to please his woman. This way, she’s more likely to give him what he wants, oui?’

  Comprehension dawned, yet I couldn’t miss the mischief on Monique’s face as she tossed the silky garment away, leaving me to stand before her wearing only my drawers, the stockings gartered above my knees, and my pumps.

  ‘Pretty, pretty breasts,’ she murmured, tweaking one until its nipple hardened. ‘But turn around, cherie. Show me that sassy ass! Mr Chapin, he got very excited last night when the girls were getting birched.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’ll let him strike me! Why, if he thinks —’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ she whispered, crossing her arms saucily beneath her breasts. Her topknot swayed as she bit back a grin. ‘Bare it, ma tante. I won’t spank you, I promise. Just another love lesson. You want Chapin crazy for you, non?’

  Little minx. I’d trusted her to sneak me under the table at the Beau Monde Club and get me home, so I could hardly deny her this playful…perhaps educational request. I slipped my fingers into the waist of my silk bloomers and slowly lowered them, watching her reaction.

  ‘Oui — ooh-la-la! It’s good, to hold the eyes and make him wait, while you reveal your treasures. You’re a natural, Auntie Evil.’ She approached with her hand extended, as though to caress my backside. ‘Now, what do you think of this?’

  Her smack startled me so, I had to grab the mantel to steady myself. But then Monique began to rub the spot she’d just affronted, her warm palm making firm, lazy circles around the globe of flesh…gently pressing while the friction of skin against skin sang an alluring song. My eyelids lowered. My backside extended to fill her hand. I was getting wet between the legs, hoping her fingers would stray to the top of my thighs and then between them.

  ‘Point scored for Monique, oui?’ she asked as she stepped closer. ‘It can be very soothing, but very sexy, this rubbing…this rhythm that hypnotises with its pleasure. Then I slip my fingers lower, where this pussy’s purring so nice…ooh-la-la, ma tante. You’re dripping wet.’

  When her middle finger entered me, and then was joined by another, wiggling deep into my core, I moaned. I leaned forward, forgetting about valets and irate husbands and the three male maids, as this foxy little female rubbed a knuckle against my —

  Smack went Monique’s hand on my ass again, only this time she giggled and bolted beyond my reach. I was suddenly chasing after her, following as she ducked around the piano. She waggled her ass at me before sprinting across the carpet — a sight to behold, in her high-heeled boots — before I cornered her at the bookcase near the door.

  ‘You little — you deserve a spanking!’ I laughed, grabbing her around the waist and smacking her backside. ‘This’ll teach you to leave me hanging, missy!’

  Who else could howl and laugh in a French accent? Monique feigned great discomfort and shock — between giggles, anyway — so I continued to spank her, just below her garter belt, with satisfying smacks that rang around the high-ceilinged room. She was wiggling so enthusiastically, her hair came tumbling down in a black velvet curtain.

  I made the mistake of nuzzling that soft, wild mane — and then she turned on me. Just that fast, she tucked me under her arm, facing away, and slapped the bottoms of my cheeks. Monique’s hand landed daringly close to my slit, which was surely exposed to her inspection from that angle. As my insides began to tingle as much as my butt, I yowled like a feline in heat.

  ‘Please, enough!’ I cried out. Yet I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop.

  Smack. Smack. ‘You’ve not had enough till Mistress Monique says you’ve had enough. Take this, wicked woman!’

  Her fingers slipped between my folds and then dove for my hole. I immediately went hot all over and, with my rear still a-tingle and my slit begging for more, I was totally caught up in the moment’s frantic magic.

  I didn’t hear the door slide open beside us.

  ‘Miss Eve, there’s a — Miss Eve!’ Fanny stepped into the room and quickly slid the pocket door shut, staring at the two of us with an alarm that wilted her usual starch-collared dignity.

  ‘Mrs Proffit,’ she whispered urgently, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but Honore Delacroix is waiting for you in the parlour. She’s here for her home visit.’

  14 The Devil’s Mistress

  ‘The nerve of that woman, showing up without an appointment,’ I whispered as I hurried into my clothes. Monique was assisting me, but in her wayward Cajun view of things, she found this enormously funny.

  ‘A headmistress who spanks her sissy maids might feel more welcome if we ask her to join us, Auntie Evil.’

  ‘None of that. I’ve got serious business to — ouch! Stop it!’ I slapped her hand away from the clit she’d pinched, hoping my words didn’t carry down the hall. ‘Round up the girls but keep them working upstairs. In case she wants to see them.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll want to see them,’ Monique replied slyly. ‘Any woman who dresses her young men in white panties does a lot more than look at them.’

  With a final glance in the mirror — and yes, I looked like I’d been chasing the maid around the piano — I took a deep breath to slow my racing heart. I’d planned to be so competent and collected, with a
list of questions for this dubious Delacroix woman. And yet, the disheveled redhead with the bloom in her cheeks, and her breasts rising and falling from having fun, appeared more vibrantly alive than I could ever recall.

  Miss Delacroix’s opinion be damned! She was about to find out that Eve Proffit wouldn’t knuckle under to her as though the sun rose over her illustrious shoulder. This was my home, and these were my maids. I’d been brushed off by her secretary, and I was justifiably incensed at the way I’d been treated.

  Straightening to my full height, I let my footsteps echo in the vestibule to announce my arrival. I paused in the parlour doorway, to take full account of my uninvited guest. She was a school marm, after all — merely glorified by her reputation among the city’s elite. Knowing how she’d humiliated Cleopatra, Cinderella and Antoinette, I had little respect for —

  She was the most stunning woman I had ever met.

  When she rose proudly from my couch, her gaze brazenly direct, Honore Delacroix inspired my utmost envy: no amount of coaching or cosmetics would give me her haughty height, or those high cheekbones in that sophisticated face, or that lustrous ebony hair arranged around a decadent red hat with a veil of fringe. Just enough so she could look out without others fully seeing in.

  Her gown of shimmering crimson draped her body to perfection, defying decency by skimming her hips without benefit of a bustle, and accentuating ample breasts that rode high and proud. She did not look like a headmistress checking on her pupils’ progress. She looked like the madam of a very prosperous whore-house, come from Bourbon Street to lure me into her web of secrecy and sin.

  ‘Mrs Proffit?’ she asked, extending a hand sheathed in a scarlet glove. ‘Honore Delacroix. I believe you have something that belongs to me, and I’ve come to take it back.’

  The voice was low and smoky, with a soft drawl that slithered like a snake. Such vipers could hypnotise their victims as they fixed them with their slanted eyes, so I reminded myself that looking too long and too closely might be my downfall.

  ‘I believe you’re mistaken,’ I replied, ignoring her hand. ‘I left a deposit with your Miss Sully when she refused to disclose your fee. I intended to settle this yesterday, so please — sit down while I get you a cheque.’

  ‘You can’t pay me for services you’re not going to receive. Oh, you could,’ she corrected with a subtle laugh, ‘but I don’t think you’re that stupid.’

  I crossed my arms to control my rising temper. ‘What are you accusing me of, Miss Delacroix? You run a school for domestics, and I’ve engaged three of them. They’re working out very nicely, I might add.’

  ‘As well they should. But they’re not for hire, Mrs Proffit. They are my personal attendants.’

  The word slaves came to mind, but I set aside this accusation to pursue the matter at hand. ‘If that’s the case, how was my personal attendant able to procure them? And no one prevented her.’

  ‘I run a school, not a prison,’ the headmistress replied coolly. Her camouflaged gaze mocked my rumpled skirts. ‘My girls come and go as they please, but I believe some underhanded tactics came into play. A large sum of money, perhaps. It will be refunded, of course, when I get to the bottom of this…unfortunate mistake.’

  How I wanted to order this insolent creature out of my home! She was talking in circles that made no sense — a large sum of money? Three young men she discussed as though they were her possessions, bought and paid for? I knew their stories — or at least what they’d shared in brief, unguarded moments — and something inside me welled up in their defence.

  ‘It’s not yet public knowledge,’ I said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘but my husband, Mr Proffit, expects to be elected the next mayor of New Orleans. Surely you understand — and even take pride in — the fact that three of your charges are now serving in his home, preparing us for balls and receptions which —’

  ‘I understand that Annabelle, Chloe and Sylvia are somewhere in this house,’ Miss Delacroix whispered tersely, ‘and if I have to search room by room, by God I’ll find them!’

  ‘No need to trouble yourself,’ I retorted. ‘My maid has told them you’re here. They’ll be downstairs momentarily.’

  Standing just beyond arm’s reach, scowling at each other, we could’ve engaged in a spitting match. I’d heard such laudatory remarks about this headmistress that her disregard for common courtesy shocked me. Honore Delacroix was clearly from a grittier world, where proper wives like myself didn’t venture, yet she was training maids! Supposedly teaching young ladies the finer points of domestic service, in a traditional Southern city where honest, loyal help was hard to come by.

  Perhaps her brusque manner and disciplinary measures prepared her pupils for the worst they might find among future employers, but my stomach churned with her nasty accusations — as though I’d stolen something! Or bribed her secretary! She stood as judge and jury, condemning me for the sort of transaction that kept her in business.

  As footsteps approached, I studied Honore more closely. Something about her seemed familiar, which was maddening, since she was the kind of woman I tried never to associate with. She enjoyed confrontation, sending poison-arrow insults to anyone who dared cross her. Assumed her reputation would excuse idiosyncrasies her clients found distasteful.

  I wished I’d pressed Monique for more details about procuring the ‘girls’ in Miss Delacroix’s absence. I wished I’d quizzed the three maids more closely about their years at the school, and their relationship to this imposing woman in red. But there was no time for such questions now.

  ‘Shall I bring them in, Miss Eve?’ Fanny’s voice came from the doorway. My stout housekeeper also appeared to be keeping her temper tightly reined, so I could only guess what she’d endured from this headmistress before fetching me.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I replied.

  The three maids filed in as though going to their own execution: despite short, pert uniforms like Monique’s, their grim expressions and the hands clasped at their waists gave the appearance of a final confession. Last rites.

  And why was this? I glanced at Miss Delacroix to gauge her reaction — which she masked by tilting her head so the red fringe veil hid her eyes. Damn siren looked like the devil’s own mistress as she assessed their bared legs and shiny black shoes, shaking with her indignation.

  ‘Thank you, ladies. Please be seated,’ I said, gesturing toward the settee. ‘It seems we have —’

  ‘They shall remain standing. Those indecent dresses will only compromise them further.’ Miss Delacroix stepped forward, stabbing me with her glare. ‘I can’t believe the future mayor’s wife would dress her domestics so inappropriately.’

  The short black uniforms were a surprise to me too, but I couldn’t admit that. My mind searched for a pithy reply — but then in strutted a masked mistress wearing a black corset with an inset of crimson leather lacings. Her bush was exposed above dark stockings gartered mid-thigh, and a pair of knee-high boots that fit like skin. Ebony they were, with insets of red leather in the shape of flames. With each step, she appeared to saunter through the fires of hell.

  ‘You’ve got questions about these three maids? Ask me, lady.’ Monique’s Cajun singsong sounded as tightly drawn as a drum head and, as she flicked a riding crop across her gloved hand, she stared boldly at our visitor. ‘Mr Lincoln freed the slaves decades ago, Miss Delacroix. Yet you bought Cleopatra from his mama, way back when —’

  ‘I don’t know who you are, or where you got your information,’ the headmistress said in a coiled voice, ‘but the circumstances of these young ladies coming to —’

  ‘Let’s call a spade a spade,’ I interrupted. ‘These servants are young men, who — mostly because of you — now live as women. That alone would cause quite a stir, were I to tell my friends — or the authorities! — about the deceit being carried out at the School for Domestic Endeavor! I find it quite interesting that you came here, without an appointment, to reclaim them as though they were your…possess
ions.’

  Honore Delacroix’s face hardened with her anger. ‘This is none of your business, Mrs Proffit. It is between the girls and me, how I —’

  ‘Shall we stop talking about them as though they’re not here?’

  Monique turned to the maids, who stood apprehensively before the settee, watching the volley of remarks. ‘Antoinette, Cleopatra, Cinderella,’ she continued in a friendlier tone, ‘let’s sit down, to have a civil, productive discussion. So Miss Delacroix understands you’re not going back with her.’

  ‘Why do you put words in people’s mouths?’ the headmistress snapped at the minx in black. ‘And speak up, you three! Since when do you go by Antoinette, and Cleopatra, and Cinderella, for God’s sake?’

  The redhead in the centre smiled bravely. ‘Since we’ve been declared queens.’

  ‘And a princess!’ Cinderella piped up.

  Disbelief dawned on Miss Delacroix’s face. ‘You’ve allowed them to rename you? After a queen who was beheaded, and another who died of a snakebite? And a fairy tale maid?’

  ‘Marie Antoinette was a victim of her times and circumstances,’ Toinette replied more boldly. ‘Not unlike a certain young boy wanted by the law, for setting a fire of questionable origin. Moulded and controlled by those in power. Made to behave as they wanted her to.’

  ‘And Cleopatra asked for that snake,’ our raven-haired namesake declared. ‘Rather than live as a slave, she chose a cobra — which, according to Egyptian beliefs, granted her immortality. She was a brave, adventurous queen who chose her own destiny even after she no longer ruled her world.’

  The headmistress shook her head, as though three stupid sheep had gotten loose from their pen. ‘And of course you’d go along with whatever the other two did, Sylvia. How quickly you forget the advantages I’ve given you! The freedom from working as common maids —’