The Wolven Manor Ch. 02

[DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this work of fiction are meant to be over the age of 18. In no way, shape, or form have I, as the writer, wanted to imply that any character who indulges in sexual activities, or any other activities that are prohibited for people below the legal age, in this chapter, or the subsequent chapters, is underage.]

THE WOLVEN MANOR

Chapter II: Sophie

Like it usually happened, Sophie was the first maid to wake up in the morning. When she opened her eyes, rays of early sunlight were only beginning to pour into her tiny room through an equally tiny window. She winced as a reddish beam sneaked onto her fresh face, then yawned, stretched groggily, and, clad in her plain and helplessly overworn nighty, shuffled barefoot over to the door. As expected, it opened with the customary creak, and the young servant peered into the hallway. Not a single soul in sight, or even a faint trace of sound. For now, the mansion was still asleep. She was perhaps the only one awake at this unholy hour.

It was a rough night again. The animals had been howling louder than ever, and the youngest of the maids could swear that at some point one of those ungodly creatures had got perilously close to the manor. One of the howls had sounded so distinct and clear, so near the mansion, that Sophie had almost jumped out of her skin. Whatever those beasts were, they were getting brazen and much more venturous. Could they be attracted by the smell of food waste? The hoarded garbage piles hadn't been taken away in weeks, so it was only natural that animals with keen noses would be approaching the premises to feast on the scraps. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk about this problem with the housekeeper, Mrs Sullivan, when she woke up. Surely, she could convince the lady of the house that it was about time to get rid of the trash. If wolves, bears, or whatever other dangerous wild animals living in the woods were to get used to snooping around so close, the manor's residents would be in grave danger even in daytime.

With these thoughts in mind, Sophie hurried towards the servants' washroom. One of the perks of waking up before everyone else was that she could wash her face without having to fight her fellow maids for the right to use the basin. After splashing her face with lukewarm water, the lass glanced at her reflection and couldn't help but notice just how pale and weary she had become over the past few weeks. Her blue eyes looked tired, and so did the rest of her face, now moistened by rivulets of water trickling down her cheeks. Otherwise, she was the same pretty girl who had come to serve the Gladstones some years ago, when she had turned sixteen. The maid smiled and cupped her cheeks in front of the mirror, her long chestnut curls softly bounced as she tilted her head from side to side, admiring the youthful glow of her ruddy skin.

Having freshened up, Sophie felt significantly more awake and ready for another busy day, so she tied her hair into a neat bun, returned to her room, and pulled on her uniform. Other maids would wake up soon and begin their usual bickering with each other as they got ready for the job. Then, everyone would gather in the kitchen to eat the leftovers from the previous day, before being given individual instructions by the housekeeper. Fortunately, the young maid had all the time in the world before all that happened, and she decided to take a walk around the ground floor to see if anything specific needed to be done.

The hallways were awfully quiet at this early hour. The only sounds the lass heard were the muffled echoes of her own footsteps, and perhaps the occasional rustle of her black and white dress as it brushed against the floor. The mansion was painted deep crimson, and the dark colour only served to highlight the silence. Every once in a while, Sophie would pass by one of many portraits of Mr Gladstone's family members that had been lined up on the walls for ages. Most of the ladies and gentlemen glared at her with disapproval, as if they found her, a lowborn country girl, unworthy of setting foot inside their prestigious home. There were, however, a few exceptions, for some of the mostly late Gladstones watched her with mild curiosity, interest even, like they were expecting something from her.

Before Sophie realised, she walked past the door leading to Miss Anabelle Gladstone's bedchamber, which made her halt and take an unsure step back. The daughter of the maid's master and mistress and the twin sister of Mister Daniel Gladstone was the only family member who preferred to sleep on the ground floor, in one of the guest bedchambers, essentially sharing the floor with her servants. The relationship between the two girls were complicated, for Anabelle had been trying hard to befriend her handmaiden ever since their first meeting in the capital, while Sophie herself had been stoically trying to keep her distance, afraid that too much familiarity might cost the maid her job. But even so, she found herself drawn to the young miss's kind nature and secretly looked forward to their small, idle talks whenever they had the chance to spend time in each other's company. She really wanted to get closer to her lady, too, and it pained her to act cold and distant to someone who had been nothing but nice to her, but the maid simply couldn't afford to risk losing this job, not with her little siblings depending on her.

And though Sophie knew that she shouldn't disturb the young noble, especially this early in the morning, something nudged her to reach out for the doorknob. She couldn't tell what exactly. A bad feeling hidden somewhere at the back of her head? A premonition of sorts? Or mere curiosity? Whatever the reason, it was enough to make her crack the door open, just enough for her to slip in, and close it right away.

The first thing she noticed was a strange smell that permeated the chamber despite the open window. It was a bizarre, musky stench that didn't quite fit her understanding of a noble lady's boudoir, though at a glance, the room looked quite tidy and proper. Normally, Sophie and her fellow maids would add a droplet of lavender oil or rosemary essence to the sheets in an attempt to sweeten the air, but she couldn't smell any of the usual scents. What she did smell was a good deal stronger, to the point of it being pungent, but surprisingly enough, not entirely unpleasant. The closer the young maid plodded towards the large canopy bed, the thicker the smell grew, so much so that it began to tickle the back of her throat. By the time she reached the bedside, her eyes had got used to the reddish dimness of the chamber, enough to make out the figure sprawled on top of the creased and crumpled bedsheets.

"M-Milady?" the lass whispered.

She was not wrong. The figure really belonged to Anabelle Gladstone. The aristocrat was lying on her back uncovered, her blonde hair dishevelled and nightgown rolled up past her waist. Her face looked peaceful, probably too peaceful for someone asleep. To add insult to injury, Sophie noticed that in some places the bedding was torn, as if someone had taken a knife to it, or ripped with claws. However, the most alarming of the sights were dark stains smeared over the linen, with the biggest of them soaking through the sheet right underneath the noble lady's somewhat splayed legs. This, and the flapping curtains of the open wide window, made the serving girl think of countless terrible possibilities, all of them suggesting the worst.

As soon as Sophie regained her wits, she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

"Miss Anabelle! Oh, dear Lord... Are you alright?" the maid cried out while shaking the woman's shoulders.

"Ugh... Sophie? Wha... What are you doing here?" Anabelle languidly opened her eyes, her tone sounding subdued as she turned to look at her servant in between the strands of messy hair covering her face.

"Are you hurt? What happened here?"

The blonde sluggishly raised her head and made a pained grimace as she propelled her upper body off the mattress and supported herself on her elbows. As she did, one of her hands accidentally brushed against the damp sheet, and she hastily recoiled it, surprised by the wet and sticky sensation against her skin. As the reality dawned upon her, the colour in the noble's face drained, and her emerald eyes darted towards the window. Her expression changed from blissful tranquillity to one of abject terror within a split second, and she simply sat there, motionless, staring blankly into the void while she recollected the events of the night. Words seemed to fail her, and Sophie understood that something terrible must have happened.

"I-I don't have any scratches, do I?" she finally brough herself to say and ran her hands over her bare legs, stomach and buttocks. "Or bite marks? Anything at all?"

Sophie quickly examined Anabelle's body and shook her head.

"No, milady. No wounds or bruises. You just have blood... uh... down there."

The young aristocrat's face turned even paler at the news, and she clenched her legs together to hide the shameful sight from her maid's eyes. The fabric of her light blue nightgown clung to her like a second skin, outlining every curve and hollow of her form. Her delicate fingers fiddled with the hem, pulling it down to cover more of her thighs, but it was all in vain, for the garment was simply too short to cover any more of her smooth legs than it already did.

"It ought to be my period then, r-right?" her voice sounded shaky. "H-Happens every month. It j-just began earlier, is all."

It did seem to be the only explanation, but for some reason, the lady herself didn't look convinced by her own surmise. Her breath stayed erratic, and she kept swallowing over and over again, like she was trying to push down a big lump in her throat. Her gaze was glued to the open window, and she only reverted her eyes when Sophie touched her shoulder.

"Miss Anabelle, please, calm down," the maid murmured in a soothing voice, petting the shoulder gently. "It's alright. Everyone in the mansion is still asleep. I'll take the sheets away. Then, I'll bring water and help you wash up. Nobody needs to know about this."

"Sophie..." Anabelle hugged her servant who was predictably taken aback by this act of familiarity. "Thank you for being here for me."

"I'll be back in a moment. Please, wait for me in the bathroom."

Sophie grabbed the stained linens and hurriedly walked out of the bedchamber. She needed to act fast to evade running into other maids or, even worse, any of the Gladstones, who could well be awake for some reason, on her way to the scullery. Providentially, she happened to remain the only wakeful servant in the entire building, and she succeeded in shoving the bedding into the dolly tub, where the dirty textiles were kept to soak for overnight, without being seen. Then, the maid headed outside to pump a couple of sizable buckets of fresh water from the well. With her hands full, Sophie returned inside.

As expected, Anabelle was already waiting for her in the chamber's en suite bathroom. It was by all means not the most lavish of places in the mansion, since it was but a part of the guest room on the ground floor that the mistress's daughter had chosen on a whim over a proper, fitting room upstairs. This lavatory was rather small, even if it had all the necessary features, including a copper boiler, for heating water on the spot, and a wooden bathing basin.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Sophie. I'm so sorry," Anabelle whispered as her maid emptied the pails into the boiler and started a fire underneath it. "Rest assured, I will find a way to express my gratitude."

"There's no need, Miss Anabelle. It's my job to..."

"Sophie, please. We have been there before. Stop calling me 'miss'. You are the closest person I have to a friend here. You don't need to be so formal."

"I-I don't think I can. It'd be impolite to address my betters in such manner, Miss Anabelle," Sophie argued.

"I insist. At least when we are alone, call me Anabelle. Or Ana, if you wish so."

The lass went silent for a moment. She found this demand strange, yet somewhat comforting. Sophie did not have many friends back in her village, and she had surely not made any among other members of the staff. Perhaps, this could become the beginning of a beautiful, albeit forbidden, friendship. She could meet up with Anabelle in secret, exchange pleasantries with her, and talk about girly things, like clothes or boys, all the while knowing that if they were to be found out acting overly familiar with each other, her days as a housemaid for this family would come to an abrupt end. If the lady or the master of the house, once he returned from his trip, were to learn that a lowly servant had been fraternizing with their daughter, they would end up thinking that Sophie had been trying to take advantage of Anabelle's kind heart for personal gain. They would cut every tie with her, and there was no guarantee that she would find another job soon, let alone one as good as this. With her father passed away and mother sick, the family was relying on her wages to put food on their table. She dreaded the thought of her younger sisters going all the way to the city only to find out that the Gladstones had ceased giving out Sophie's earnings at the bank.

"There is a reason why I can't, Miss Anabelle," Sophie tried to smile, but judging by the look on Anabelle's face, she failed miserably.

"Is this... somehow related to you being in love with my brother?" the noble asked while settling her naked form into the empty bath.

The handmaiden had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach upon hearing these words.

"I-I beg your pardon, milady? I don't know what you're..." she stammered, not expecting Anabelle to come to a conclusion as ridiculous as this. This was not the reason why the maid refused to strike up a friendship. In fact, she could barely see any sense behind such an assumption. Was it not that if she wanted to have a relationship with Daniel, she would have, instead, tried to please his sister as much as possible in order to get closer to him? However senseless the eccentric blonde's statement was, Sophie's cheeks were now blazing red, since the aristocrat was not entirely incorrect in her accusation. She did like Daniel Gladstone, though she had accepted a long time ago that he would never return her feelings.

"I am not blind, Sophie. I could see it in your eyes ever since the first time you came to our house that you were smitten with him."

"N-No! You're mistaken, Miss Anabelle! I'm not smitten with..." Sophie faltered on the verge of panic and averted her gaze from the young woman sitting in the empty basin.

"It is fine, really! No need to get flustered. Let me guess. You don't want the two of us to get close because you are afraid that once we are on friendlier terms, you'll let your affections slip. Is that correct? Have no fear, Sophie. I shall be discreet, I promise."

"No, I..."

"As a matter of fact, I would even support your bond. I know that you are a maid and he is a patrician, but like they say in the books: 'au fond, c'est la passion qui compte'. At the end of the day, love is what matters. I wholeheartedly believe you and my brother would be perfect for each other."

The Gladstone grasped the side end of the basin with both hands, like a mischievous kid would, or a kitten waiting in a mock ambush, and gave her obviously anxious maid a wry smile.

"Milady, please, stop teasing me!" Sophie pouted and tried if the water was warm enough with her vernal, yet already roughened from hard work, hand. As embarrassed as the servant girl was at that moment, on the brighter side, Anabelle appeared to feel much better. She seemed to have forgotten about the sudden menstruation occurrence that had happened during the night, which was great news in the handmaiden's opinion. "The water is warm enough. Let's begin with the, uh... lower half? Shall we?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

The smile, as promptly as it had occurred, faded from the young woman's face once she remembered the reason for the early bathing. She stood up on her feet and presented the bloody thighs and nether regions to her maid, who did her best to avoid explicitly staring at the exposed private parts. It was not that Sophie did not want to look. No, quite the contrary. Anabelle had a beautiful body, and it was a sight even another woman could appreciate, let alone men. She was truly her mother's daughter, but while Eleanor's beauty was more mature and exquisite, the daughter took after her in a younger, more playful way. Though the mother had the curves, Anabelle had that special something, a certain juvenile charm and a touch of purity that made her look less mature than her actual age suggested. Her bust might not have been as generous as her mother's, and her hips somewhat narrower, but she had inherited the impeccably smooth and fair skin, along with her mother's womanly features. Everything about Anabelle was pretty. If the mother was a beautiful swan, the daughter was closer to a soaring dove of the purest white, just like her brother.

Cautiously, the maid poured some water over her lady's blonde bush, letting the lukewarm fluid rinse the dried clots away. Streams of rubescent liquid rushed down Anabelle's thighs and pooled at the bottom of the wooden bath, forming a shallow puddle of diluted blood. Sophie kept looking into the noble woman's eyes, ensuring that she felt comfortable, while tracing her fingers along the slender figure's contours.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" the lass asked as she splashed more water to properly wash the tender skin.

Anabelle shook her head.

"Not particularly, no."

Nodding in return, Sophie grabbed a bar from the soap dish and began to lather it between her wet palms. The sweet smell of lavender and rosemary quickly filled the young aristocrat's private bathroom.

"May I use soap to..." the maid hesitated, "c-clean you down there as well?"

"You may, Sophie," Anabelle's cheeks flushed, but she did spread her legs a little more, to give her servant a better access to that most private area, and laid her hands on the sides of the bath for support.

"Thank you, milady."

Sophie's smaller hands were shaking when she touched Anabelle's womanhood with the rough tips of her digits. There was a surprising sense of intimacy that came with the act of bathing another. The sense that made her feel embarrassed, in the same way that a girl feels embarrassed before a naked man. She, who was constantly refusing to chum up with the young Gladstone, was now doing something even the closest of friends should not be allowed to do. During bathing, servants rarely helped their employers with their personal hygiene, so, in a sense, Sophie was overstepping the recognised and respected boundaries. With slippery fingers, she raked the soapy lather over the hot entrance to the lady's undoubtedly virgin passage. From what the maid had heard during work, aristocrats discouraged their daughters from having intimate relations with men before marriage, and Anabelle's family was no exception in their stance on the matter, which is why Sophie was so certain that the young woman was still pure.

Anabelle's hips bucked at the touch, greatly surprising the subservient girl.

"Apologies, milady," Sophie mumbled, pulling her soapy fingers away. "I'll be more careful."

"No, no," the blonde softly shook her head despite her voice, which was trembling from what must have been a blend of anxiety and humiliation. "I merely didn't expect it. Please, go on."

Enlivened by these reassuring words, Sophie did what she was told and rubbed the damp mound with the palm of her hand, perfectly snuggling the womanly crotch in her grasp. With every cautious, cleansing dab between the legs, Anabelle let shallow, sharp gasps escape her pursed lips, while her own hands continued to grip at either side of the high basin with so much strength that her knuckles had gone white. For Sophie, it was a telltale sign that her employers' daughter was doing all in her might to bear this unwanted minute of shame, and the maid sought to spare her any more of it than absolutely necessary.